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

Bob's sensations were by no means agreeable as he kept pace perforce

with the Cossack's horse. The trot, fortunately, soon slackened to a

quick amble, or he must soon have been utterly exhausted. In spite of

the cold, the exertion of walking fast, heavily clothed as he was, made

him uncomfortably hot, and his physical temperature was matched by his

mental condition. He was in a rage; not at being made a prisoner: that

was only to have been expected: but at being tied up like a dog,

reminding him of the curs he had seen chained to bakers' carts in French

villages. Anger, however, was a mere waste of energy, as he soon saw;

at present he could only make the best of a bad case,--keep up his

courage and his pace without reminders from the evil-looking knout he

saw ready to the Cossack's hand.

As he trudged along, two reflections were uppermost in his mind. One

was that, having been captured and treated with indignity, he was

justified in regarding himself now as a combatant; this gave him a

little consolation. The other was, that in Chang-Wo, the Manchu, he had

an enemy of a particularly dangerous kind. He remembered Kobo's story

of him; and the knowledge that this same man was doing desperate work

for the Russians in Korea was not reassuring. The Manchu had evidently

recognized him as the stranger who had saved the little Japanese from

his vengeance in the Ueno Park, and clearly bore him no good-will on

that account.

The road was a difficult one, leading over the rugged hills. Darkness

fell, and still the troop pushed on. At length, when Bob felt on the

point of collapsing, they rode into a town or village of fair size,

which, as he afterwards learnt, was Yong-cheng, on the Pekin high-road.

He expected that now at least he would be allowed rest and food, but as

soon as the Cossacks arrived at the place they took him before a Russian

officer of some rank, apparently a lieutenant-colonel. When preliminary

explanations had been given, the colonel ordered the prisoner to stand

before him, and in peremptory tones began to question him in French.

Bob's French was not very fluent, but he answered as well as he could,

repeating the replies he had previously given. He refused to say who

had been in his company before he made off on the Cossack's horse, and

assured the Russian that he knew absolutely nothing of any

communications that may have passed between this person and spies on

shore. His persistence made the officer more and more angry, until at

last the latter shouted:

"You're a liar! Tell me the truth, or I'll hang you on the spot."

"I have already told you the truth," said Bob quietly. "I don't know

whom my friend may have met at Yongampo, and if I did, I could not tell

you--surely you must see that?"

"You're an insolent puppy. A means will be found to loosen your tongue.

I'll give you a night to come to your senses.--Take him away."

Bob, almost fainting with fatigue and hunger, was led away to a close

and dirty hovel, where he was given a hunk of coarse bread and a fat

sausage to eat, and there he remained in the custody of two Cossacks

through the night. At sunrise, feeling stiff and dispirited, he was

again taken before the officer, and again put through an interrogatory,

a trooper standing at his elbow holding a knout ostentatiously in his

view. But the colonel was again baffled; he received no more

information than before; and at length, with a curse of impatience, he

roared an order to his men. Bob expected the knout to be immediately

applied to his back, but to his surprise he was led out into the open,

and after a period of suspense he was ordered to mount a horse that was

brought up. A few minutes later he was riding out of the village, a

Cossack with cocked pistol on each side of him, and the Manchu in the

rear.

The explanation of this change in his destiny was that the Russian

colonel had not given up hope of obtaining information, and was sending

him to General Sassulitch at Wiju, where perhaps he would be brought to

reason. The Cossacks were ordered to guard him carefully, but not to

ill-use him, and Bob was somewhat surprised, after what he had heard of

the brutality of these reckless soldiers, to find that he was treated

with some consideration. The whole of that day was occupied in the

journey to Wiju. The country was hilly and rugged, and Bob realized,

from the slow rate of progress of himself and his escort, that the

transport of a whole army would take much time, especially in this

winter weather.

At various points along the road parties of Russian soldiers were met

with, but it was not until the three riders came within a few miles of

Wiju that Bob had striking evidence of the Russian occupation. To the

south of that frontier town large gangs of coolies were at work throwing

up entrenchments under the direction of Russian officers. Bob was led

close to a numerous party near the high-road, employed in excavating a

shelter trench. Their sullen looks and reluctant movements indicated

that they were forced labourers, and in the hands of several of the

Russians Bob noticed ominous-looking whips. He was not surprised, for

if they trusted to the efficacy of the knout in their own army and navy,

it was unlikely that they would spare it in the case of Korean peasants.

Like almost all Korean towns, Wiju stands on a hill; on one side it

overlooks a plain, on the other the river Yalu. Bob was glad enough

when, entering its walls and passing up the long straggling street,

filled with Russian soldiers, he was halted and dismounted at a house

over which a flag was flying. He was prepared by this time for the

worst. Several times on the way explanations on his account had passed

between his escort and enquiring soldiers, and he inferred from their

smiles and gestures that he must look for short shrift. He expected now

to be placed on trial as a spy, or perhaps summarily disposed of without

trial, probably after another attempt to extort information from him.

But after an hour's detention in the house, during which he was given a

scanty allowance of food, he saw the Manchu Chang-Wo enter and deliver a

message to the officer in charge. He was immediately ordered out and

made to remount; his weary journey was evidently not yet ended. His

Cossack escort grunted their displeasure, and scowled at him with dark

looks, while the Manchu, who again accompanied them, urged them to

hasten their pace and complete their unwelcome task.

They rode smartly down the hill. Presently Bob saw in the dark the

waters of what was no doubt the Yalu before him, banked by rugged bluffs

on the other side. This, then, was the famous boundary river dividing

Korea from Manchuria. On the Korean side the channel was still frozen

over; but the current was deeper and swifter under the Manchurian bank,

where it was hemmed in by a large island occupying a considerable part

of what must be in time of flood the bed of the river. In this part of

the river large blocks of ice were floating down with the stream. Bob

had forborne to put any questions to the Manchu; he would have liked to

ask now what was to be done with him, but on second thoughts he decided

still to hold his tongue. But in the course of the long wearisome ride

he distinguished the name Sassulitch more than once in a grumbling

conversation between his escort and the Manchu, though he was not then

aware that the owner of the name was a general of division.

It was late at night when they at length reached Antung, a low-lying

town on the river-side; dark as it was, Bob could see that the place was

substantially built. He was taken to a large go-down which had been

transformed into a barracks, and locked up in a room by himself. He was

very tired, and threw himself wearily down on the straw mattress spread

on the floor, hoping that for a few hours at least he would not be

interfered with. But he had barely fallen asleep when he was roused by

a heavy touch upon his arm. Sitting up, he saw an armed Cossack holding

a lighted taper. The man motioned to him to get up, and feeling more

dead than alive he followed his guide out of the room, where he was

joined by a squad with fixed bayonets, then through the streets, until

he arrived at a large house more freely illuminated than any other, and

guarded by a sentry. In a few moments he found himself in a lofty room,

standing before a table on the other side of which sat a number of

Russian officers. On the table were placed a few flaring tallow candles

set in clumsy candlesticks, and a couple of circular oil-lamps

resembling those of English railway-carriages. At each end stood a

Russian foot-soldier with fixed bayonet. In conversation with one of

the officers Bob saw the big Manchu, the one-eared Chang-Wo.

For some moments he stood there, the object of keen scrutiny to the

officers, who stared at him with various degrees of curiosity, and with

varying expressions on their faces. Then the officer who was evidently

of the highest rank among them,--it was General Sassulitch

himself,--motioned the Manchu aside and said a few words in Russian to

the younger officer at his right. The latter at once addressed Bob,

speaking in excellent English, with but faint foreign accent.

"Prisoner, you are charged with being a Japanese spy. You are English by

nationality, it appears; what have you to say to the charge?"

"I am an Englishman, it is true, sir," replied Bob. "As to the rest, I

am certainly not a spy."

"You had better give an account of yourself."

"My name is Robert Fawcett, and I am an engineer. I was sent out a few

months ago by my firm, at the request of the Japanese government, to be

at hand in case the range-finders on their ships required attention. The

vessel on which I was happened to come to the mouth of the Yalu, and I

had just landed when I was unlucky enough to be knocked over by a

Cossack's horse, and when I recovered I thought the simplest way out of

the difficulty was to make my escape on the animal; its master was dead.

The horse was killed by a tiger. Since then I have been wandering about

until I gave myself up to a troop of your men. I have nothing more to

say."

This reply was interpreted to the other officers, whose manner of

receiving it betokened for the most part blank incredulity. A few words

were exchanged among them, then the interpreter spoke again.

"You shot the Cossack whose horse you stole?"

"No."

"Who did?"

"I don't know. He was shot from the boat."

"You were armed?"

"No; I had nothing but my field-glass."

"You are not a soldier?"

"No; I am an engineer."

"A naval engineer?"

"Not specially. I've no naval experience except what I have picked up."

"In what ships have you been?"

Bob hesitated for a moment. Then he reflected that there could be no

possible harm in mentioning the names of the vessels in which he had

served.

"In the _Mikasa_ and _Hatsuse_."

"But neither of these brought you to Yongampo."

"No."

"What was the name of the vessel that did?"

Bob again hesitated. The _Kasumi_ was engaged in secret service. It

was impossible for him to know what might be the ultimate effect of

betraying her identity. In so doing he would in any case associate her

commander with the expedition to Yongampo. He made his decision.

"That, if you don't mind, I'd rather not say."

When this was explained to the officers they began to talk with some

excitement, and one of them thumped the table. The interpreter

continued:

"The general insists on knowing the name of the vessel."

"I am sorry, sir, but I can't tell you that."

"You know the consequence of refusing?"

"I'm not sure that I do," said Bob with a faint smile; "but in any case

I can't tell."

A short consultation took place at the table, then the officer resumed

his questioning.

"You had just landed from the boat, you say. Had you not been to

Yongampo?"

"No."

"Who had?"

"I cannot say."

"Why did you land?"

"To help a friend of mine who was hard pressed by the Cossacks."

"Had he been to Yongampo?"

"I cannot say."

"Who was he?"

"I really cannot tell you any more about him."

"Whom had he been to see?"

"I do not know."

"Was he also an Englishman?"

"I really cannot answer that question."

"Do you speak Japanese?"

"No."

"Chinese?"

"No."

"What language did you speak in Yongampo?"

"I have never been in Yongampo."

"How long have you been in the country?"

"In Manchuria?"

"Don't prevaricate. How long have you been in these parts--Manchuria or

Korea?"

"A few days."

"How came you to be on friendly terms with the native in whose house you

were captured?"

"Excuse me, I gave myself up. As to your question, I happened to do a

little service, quite accidentally, to the Korean gentleman, and he was

more grateful than the circumstances really called for."

"When did you do him this service?"

"A week or two ago."

"Where?"

"In Seoul."

"What were you doing in Seoul?"

"Nothing--merely visiting the place."

Bob felt as soon as he had spoken that this, the literal truth, would

certainly be scouted by his judges as wildly improbable. For some time,

indeed, the officers had been showing signs of impatience. Worn out as

he was, Bob held himself erect before them; he had replied to all his

interrogator's questions in the same self-possessed and courteous

manner; and while one or two of the Russians seemed impressed by his

bearing, the majority were growing more and more angry as they saw how

barren was the examination. They now formed a group about General

Sassulitch, and discussed the matter in excited tones. Then the Manchu

was called up and questioned, and from his gestures Bob guessed that he

was making very positive assertions. The discussion continued for some

time; then the Manchu was again dismissed, the group separated, and the

young officer standing beside General Sassulitch said:

"Prisoner, the officers of His Majesty the Tsar here assembled cannot

accept your denials. You were found within our lines; you were

undoubtedly associated with a Japanese who landed from some vessel to

enter into communications with a spy in Yongampo; we have a witness here

who declares that he saw you in Tokio, then in Seoul, and recently in

Yongampo--"

"Pardon my interrupting, sir, but that is false."

"Denial is useless. Our evidence is positive. By your own confession

you were concerned in the serious loss inflicted upon a troop of

Cossacks during the pursuit of the fugitive, who in all probability was

yourself; you confess to have made your escape on the horse of a Cossack

killed at that time; and you were captured at the house of a Korean who

is suspected on good grounds of sympathy with the Japanese. There is no

doubt in the mind of the court that you are a spy; your claim to British

citizenship cannot be accepted as any palliation of your crime; the

court condemns you to the penalty of a spy: you will be shot."

Bob flushed slightly. There was a silence, then at a sign from the

officer the two soldiers at the end of the room approached him. He gave

a quick glance along the table; noticed one officer leaning forward on

his arms, his handsome face wearing a quizzical smile; another lolling

back in his chair with an air of boredom; a third rolling a cigarette as

though the matter were of complete indifference to him; the general,

stern and inscrutable, in the midst. Then, between his two guards with

fixed bayonets, he was marched to his prison.

It was a longer walk this time. He was not taken back to the go-down

where he had expected to pass the night, but to a tower or keep built on

the wall by the riverbank. It was now too dark to see anything clearly;

but as he was led into the building one of his guards struck a light,

and as he mounted the narrow stairway to the fourth story he noticed

several padlocked doors, showing that here were other prisoners besides

himself. He was taken into a small room at the top of the building, a

thick rug was thrown in after him, the door was slammed, bolted, and

padlocked, and he was left to his meditations.

*CHAPTER XII*

*At Midnight*

Waiting--A Russian Offer--A Farewell Letter--What the Case

Held--Kite-flying Extraordinary--Prison-breaking--Free

Bob was so exhausted that he fell asleep at once, notwithstanding the

gravity of his position. When he awoke some hours after daylight, he

found some black bread and a plate of preserved beef and a jug of vodka

by his side.

"To keep up my courage," he said to himself. He was hungry, and the

bread and meat soon disappeared; but he found the vodka too fiery for

his palate, and wondered if he would be allowed some water. He was to

be shot, of course; when would that be? Shot! For the first time the

reality of last night's scene forced itself on his mind. He had been so

tired, and so strung-up in the determination to say nothing that would

betray Yamaguchi, that the matter as it affected himself had not

troubled him. But now--the thought of death struck him for the first

time. It was a strange idea. He was well and strong; rather stiff and

cramped, indeed, but that could easily be cured. Yet in a short time he

was to be dead. He could not realize it; on board the Japanese vessels,

in the poisonous box-battery on the _Mikasa_, on the _Kasumi's_

shot-pelted deck, the idea of death had never been present to his mind.

The oddness of it struck him most of all. It seemed absurd that he

should die, and for what reason? His explanations had been too simple to

be believed! He thought over the past days; there was nothing in his

actions he could have altered, even if he had known that death was to

come so soon. "Well, it can't be helped," he concluded. "I only hope I

sha'n't funk it at the end."

Life was so vigorous in him at present, that he looked round his narrow

room in an instinctive quest for some means of escape. It was about

twelve feet square. The outer wall was of stone, some eighteen inches

thick, pierced by a single unglazed splay window, narrowing from twenty

inches broad on the inside to seven on the outside. The bottom of the

window was about three feet above the floor, and it extended upwards for

about an equal distance. Below it, embedded in the wall, projected a

narrow platform about a foot high, which, Bob guessed, was intended to

accommodate a watchman or possibly a marksman, for the tower had

evidently been built as a watch-tower. Clambering up into the

window-recess, Bob looked through the open slit, and saw that it

commanded a view across the river, which flowed past at a depth of some

eighty feet. The water-course was obstructed by ice; to plunge into it

was impossible.

Returning to the floor, Bob noticed that the inner walls were of brick,

comparatively new in contrast with the mouldering stonework of the outer

wall. He concluded that at one time the whole story had formed a single

chamber, and that it had been partitioned off recently, though in all

probability before the advent of the Russians. The door was of massive

make, and hung on ponderous iron clamps; it opened inwards, and there

was no keyhole on the inner side.

"Things look black," thought Bob, as he convinced himself that there was

no means of escaping from his dungeon. He tramped up and down with bent

head, idly speculating on the scenes the old tower must have witnessed.

How often in bygone days, he wondered, had Chinese, Korean, or Japanese

flotillas passed under its walls up and down the Yalu? What romances

might be woven about the spot, going back into ages long anterior to

ironclads and machine-guns! He wished he knew something of the history

of these far Eastern countries, and was resolving to look it up on the

first opportunity when he suddenly remembered that he was to die, and

the remembrance brought him to a stand-still and gave his imagination

pause.

Looking again through the narrow opening, he saw in the distance a troop

of Cossacks picking their way across the hills. He watched them with

idle interest as they gained the summit and disappeared at a trot over

the crest. He followed them in fancy; they were soldiers going perhaps

to their death; and he wished that he too might meet with death in some

active, heroic way, instead of tamely as the target of a firing-party.

He was drawn from his reverie by the entrance of a soldier with a plate

and jug. The man set the food down on the stone platform and left

without a word.

Alternately pacing the room, sitting on the platform, or listlessly

looking out upon the river, Bob passed the rest of the day. He saw no

ray of hope. The room was bare; it contained nothing but his rug;

everything had been taken from him; he had not even a penknife with

which to while away the hours, as many a prisoner had done before him,

in scratching initials or diagrams upon the walls.

"I wish they'd hurry up," he said to himself restlessly.

But the long day passed, and he was not summoned to his doom. At night

he was given another meal. He was standing when it was brought him, and

he moved towards the open door, without any hope of escaping. Outside,

by the dim light of the lamp carried by the man inside, he saw another

soldier armed with a rifle. The way was effectually guarded. He spoke

to the man, asking when his execution was to take place. The man shook

his head, evidently understanding not a word. The door was shut,

bolted, and padlocked, and he was again left alone with his thoughts.

Next morning the soldier who brought him his food was accompanied by the

officer who had acted as interpreter at his summary trial two nights

before.

"Is my time up?" asked Bob almost eagerly.

"Not yet. The general will allow you another chance. Tell me what you

know of the Japanese spies in Yongampo and of the Japanese with whom you

landed, and the general will spare your life and keep you as a prisoner

of war until peace is signed in Tokio."

Bob looked at the officer in silence.

"Come, why be obstinate? It isn't much to ask of you, and if you're an

Englishman and a non-combatant the Japanese are nothing to you."

"You think I'll adopt that plea?" said Bob, with a touch of scorn. "No

thank you. You've treated me as a combatant; very well, I've told you

all I mean to tell you."

"You'll think better of it by and by. You've a day to think it over."

"I've thought it over."

"Well, think it over again. You'll come round, never fear."

The officer smiled as he went out. Bob spent the rest of the day in

tramping his cell, which was very cold, looking out of the window, and

wishing that they would not prolong his suspense. He expected to

receive another visit from the officer before night, but saw no more of

him until breakfast-time next morning.

"Well," said the Russian as he entered, "have you taken my advice?"

"No."

"Still obstinate! Your execution is fixed for to-morrow morning--the

general gives you a long rope first, you see."

"That's a pleasant jest."

"Well, it's a pity for a young fellow like you to be so absurdly

obstinate. You've only to mention a couple of names and give us a few

particulars about men who can't possibly be of any interest to you,

and--"

"Excuse me; I am in the Japanese service."

"Nonsense, you're an Englishman. What have you in common with the race

of venomous conceited dwarfs who have dared to measure themselves

against the might of an empire like ours?"

Bob stood with his hands in his pockets looking at his tempter.

"They may be all that you say, though, as far as the war has gone, it

scarcely becomes a Russian to say it; but you, sir, ought to know

perfectly well that, whatever they may be, it is impossible for me to

betray them. I can't say any more; and I'd really be obliged to you if

you'd drop the subject. Your general has decided that I'm a spy. I'm

not a spy, but I can say nothing more to convince him. He has made up

his mind, and so have I. You said to-morrow morning?"

The officer looked at Bob with mingled annoyance and admiration.

"What folly!" he exclaimed. "I can't but admire your constancy, but I'm

sorry for you. Yes, to-morrow morning, at dawn. You needn't imagine

you'll be let off, the general is determined."

"Very well."

"You can tell the man who brings you food if you change your mind."

"I will--if I do!"

The officer turned away. As he was going out at the door, Bob took a

step forward, and spoke, with a little hesitation, and in a different

tone.

"One moment. Could you do me a favour?"

"What is that?" asked the Russian quickly.

"Send me pencil and paper and an envelope. I have some friends at

home--my father and mother--I should like--"

"I understand. You shall have the writing materials."

"And you will see that the letter is sent off?"

"Yes, yes; but it will not be necessary. Think over it." And he

hurried away.

It was some time before Bob touched the food that had been brought to

him. He was tired of waiting for the end. He longed for life; yet if

he was to die, he wished it over and done with; the attempt to overcome

his determination, the appeal to his self-interest against his honour,

wearied and troubled him. For a time he tramped restlessly up and down,

thinking gravely; then, catching sight of the food, on the stone slab,

he reflected that he could meet his fate better fed than fasting, and he

set-to with a will upon the ample supply of beef and black bread and

tea, which he had asked for instead of vodka. After a while, however,

he again fell into a fit of abstraction; he ate mechanically, musing on

many things. Breaking one of the hard-crusted loaves, he saw a glitter

like that of a golden coin buried in the bread. For a moment his

curiosity overcame the gloom into which his long pondering had thrown

him. He picked the bread away from the strange intruder, and discovered

that what he had taken for a coin was the end of an empty

cartridge-case.

"How did it get there?" he wondered, holding the case before him. He

remembered how puzzled King George had been to account for the presence

of the apple in the dumpling, and laughed aloud.

"No doubt about the bakery this bread came from," he thought. "Well,

better a cartridge-case than a beetle."

He was seated on his rug by the wall opposite the window, where he was

farthest away from the cutting wind that had been blowing in all the

morning. Raising his arm, he shied the cartridge-case at the narrow

opening; it struck the wall at the side of the recess, fell on the sill,

and rolled down the slight inward slope on to the floor.

"Wretched bad shot!" remarked Bob to himself and the four walls. Then

with a sudden start he remembered what was to happen on the morrow. He

shuddered involuntarily, and dreaded the possibility of flinching when

he stood actually face to face with death. Yet why should he flinch?

He remembered the fearless manner with which the Japanese went open-eyed

into mortal peril. He thought of Kobo's serene, unperturbed manner. Was

it for him, an Englishman and a Christian, to show any more fear? The

question answered itself, and he fell into a quiet reverie.

Thus passed some hours; how many he could not tell, for his watch had

been removed. He was roused by the entrance of a man with writing

materials. Receiving them silently, he sat and pondered. What could he

say to the old folks at home? He wrote a full account of all that had

happened since his last letter, then tore it up. His letter might be

opened by the Russians; he must not give them any information. At last,

with a full heart, he penned a few words intended for his parents' eyes

alone. Then he sealed the letter, and placed it in his pocket to give to

the officer at the last moment.

He felt now cramped and chilled, and, rising, began to pace the floor,

walking from door to window and back from window to door. As he did so,

his eye lighted on the cartridge-case. At first he merely glanced at it

and passed on; then, spying it again, he looked a little longer; the

third time he began to feel some curiosity and interest; the fourth time

he stooped and picked it up, wondering again what strange chance had

brought it into so unlikely a resting-place. To whom had it belonged?

Whose rifle had fired it? How had it come into the bakery? What

careless fingers had worked it into the dough? What a strange irony of

fate, that a case once filled with an instrument of death, should now be

choked with bread, an instrument of life!

"A bad match!" he thought. "Out with you!"

He felt for his penknife to scrape out the bread from the case, then

remembered that his jailer had removed it. What was he to do? Feeling

by force of habit in his waistcoat pocket, he came upon a little hole in

the lining, and pushing his finger through, he touched a single lucifer

match that had found its way down. He enlarged the hole, took out the

match, and began to prise the caked flour bit by bit from the

cartridge-case. He was, glad of any little activity that would enable

him to kill time. Soon a little heap of crumbs lay on the sill of the

window-recess. Then, drawing the match once more from the case, he saw

that this time it had impaled, not a crumb, but a piece of some white

fluffy substance.

"What is this?" he thought, and with growing curiosity inserted the

match again. More fluff came out; it appeared to be cotton wool.

"Very odd!" he mused. He wetted the end of the match and inserted it

again. A little more of the wool adhered, but the next time the match

came out bare. He pushed it in again; but though he held it with the

extreme tips of his fingers, it touched nothing.

"Empty at last, I suppose. Yet it didn't touch the bottom of the case.

I wonder if it is empty."

He turned his back on the window and held the case up so that the light

fell into it. But it was too narrow for him to see anything, supposing

anything were there. He held it vertically, and shook it. Something

fell from it, and rolled across the floor of the room. It was like a

pea. Bob stooped and picked it up. It was a pea--no, it was a small

pellet of paper!

Quick as thought Bob slipped it into his pocket, glancing instinctively

towards the door and then to the opening in the wall. There was no one

to see him. He smiled and took the pellet from his pocket. Unrolling

it with infinite care, he found that it was a slip of very thin

rice-paper, and on it--yes, in small letters, faintly traced in Indian

ink, he saw the words:

"_Be at window above river at dusk to-night._"

That was all; there was no address, no signature. Yet, looking again at

the writing, Bob felt that he had seen it somewhere before. Where? He

could not remember, and as he stood trying to recall, he heard the heavy

tread of his jailer in the passage outside. Instantly he slipped the

paper into his pocket, flung the cartridge-case far out into the river,

and was walking up and down when the soldier threw open the door and

entered with his second meal.

That afternoon seemed to Bob interminable. He paced up and down like a

caged lion, waiting for the dark. He wondered who the writer of the

message was, what it implied, what possible plan of deliverance was in

contemplation--for surely it must mean that someone was planning on his

behalf. Many times he gazed out of the window, searching the whole

vista from the horizon to the river below, knowing all the time that

during the daylight nothing would be done, yet looking and looking

again. The hours passed slowly, lingeringly. As night began to shadow

the hills he ceased his restless walk and remained fixed at the recess

in the wall. The sky darkened, his outlook shortened; he lost sight of

the hills, at length he could not see the opposite bank. He leant

forward in the recess, till his head touched the sides of the outer

opening. The wind was fresh and cold, but he heeded nothing. His eyes

tried to penetrate the dark until he felt that they were almost

projecting from his head. Thus he waited, waited, and shivered,

looking, listening, seeing nothing, hearing only the slow gurgle of the

river as it rolled down between its frozen borders, and the creaking and

grinding of the ice as the floating masses met, and parted, and met

again.

So the hours passed, and Bob began to lose heart. Was the message a

Russian trap? Yet what could it gain? Was it genuine, but his unknown

correspondent had been prevented in some way from keeping the implied

appointment? A bugle-call struck his ear; and when its echoes had died

away the world relapsed into the same silence, save for the occasional

bark of a dog, the dull noises of the ice-laden stream, and the sighing

of the wind over the snowy wastes beyond. It became colder; the wind

blew more and more keen; and at length, his limbs cramped, his fingers

numbed, Bob had perforce to move, and lift his rug from the floor and

wrap it round him.

What was that? His hearing was now so acute that he fancied he could

have heard the world roll round. What was it? A rustle in the dark; a

faint rustle outside the window, like the scraping of a bird's wing

against the wall. He strained his eyes; stars were glimmering cold and

clear, but there was no moon, and he saw nothing. Again, the same

rustle. He tried to grope near enough to the opening to thrust forth

his head, and his shoulders stuck; it was impossible, unless--yes, by

turning on his side he could wriggle himself to the slit, and he put his

head out sideways. Something touched his face, with the cold, filmy

touch of a spider's web. He put out his hand; it was gone. Would it

return? He waited. Again the same insubstantial contact; and now he

seemed to see, against the starlit sky, a gossamer thread. He clutched

at it, but it eluded his fingers and disappeared. He waited again, how

long he knew not, but it seemed an hour; then the thin line scraped

along the outside of the wall until it reached him. He grasped at it,

almost fearing to touch it lest it broke and floated away. He held it,

and drew it towards him. It was a thin silken cord!

He wriggled back slowly through the recess into the room, holding the

cord with gentle firmness. As he pulled it, he felt that only the upper

part yielded; the lower part was fixed or held below. He drew the upper

string towards him, feeling as if he were playing a fish. For a few

moments it came unresisting, then there was a sharp tug, as though the

captured object, whatever it was, was making an effort to escape.

Suddenly the resistance ceased; even in the darkness the opening in the

wall was darkened, and with a somewhat disconcerting scrape against the

wall Bob hauled in a large triangle of paper stretched on a light bamboo

frame. It stuck in the opening. He had once more to crawl into the

recess, and with some difficulty he coaxed the pliant framework through

the narrow aperture. It was done. The bent rods sprang back to their

former shape, and Bob at last understood what had been puzzling him. It

was a kite!

All was now plain; the rustle, the elusive string, the reluctant

captive. He remembered how interested he had been at Tokio, in watching

the dexterous kite-flying of boys and men; in Japan, as in China, it is

more than a pastime: it is an art. The string was attached to a kite,

and the person flying it was below. He tugged gently at the cord as a

signal that the kite had reached him, and instantly he felt that the

line was loose. His pulse beat high. Cautiously he hauled in the

slack; foot after foot it came through his hands; would the end of it

never come? Yes, here it was; the silken cord was tied to a stretch of

twine, and this--how long it was!--to a thicker rope. With eager care

Bob drew this last up hand over hand; it was knotted at intervals, and

as he pulled he felt the weight increase. At length it resisted his

pull, yet gave slightly when he pulled again. Crawling again to the

aperture, never letting go his hold, he found that the entrance was

barred by a bundle, apparently of cotton waste. By turning this

longways he found he could draw it through. No precaution, he

perceived, had been neglected; the soft wrapping had deadened any sound.

Hastily untying the bundle, he found by the touch, for it was too dark

to see, a chisel, a crowbar, and a hammer faced with flannel. He needed

no prompting. It was impossible to loosen the stones in the time he had

at his disposal. He knew not, indeed, what the time was; but it must be

late, and if he did not escape before daybreak his doom was sealed. The

stones of the wall were large blocks firmly cemented, and though the

cement at its surface showed signs of crumbling, it was no doubt strong

inside. All that he could do was to chip away a few inches on each side

of the window, so as to enlarge the space sufficiently to admit of the

passage of his shoulders. At the edges the stone was greatly weathered,

at the farther end of the recess it was already peeling off. If he could

widen the opening by some five inches, he thought it would be possible

for him to squeeze through.

This had flashed through his mind in a moment. He started work

instantly. Beginning at the outer right edge of the aperture, he

applied the chisel to the stonework, and was delighted to find that by

the mere pressure of his arm it came away in flakes, which fell to the

ground eighty feet below. Working quickly, he had soon scratched away

an inch of rotted stone for a distance of two feet along each edge of

the opening. But as he went on, he found that the stone was becoming

harder; it was necessary to exert more force. It would take long to

chip the stone away as he had seen masons do. How could he shorten the

labour? Cautiously working with the chisel, he slowly bored a hole two

inches deep in the wall, at about the same distance from the outer edge.

Then inserting the crowbar, he pressed upon it in an outward direction

with all the strength he could exert in his cramped position. To his

joy the stonework gave way, and pieces fell with a sharp clatter upon

the ground. He waited anxiously, wondering whether any of his guards

would have heard the sound. All was silent. Feeling with his hand, he

found that the stone had broken irregularly, leaving a jagged surface,

and this he proceeded to trim with the chisel. He went through the same

double process on each side of the opening.

At last, after hours of work, when muscles of hand and arm ached

unendurably, and his whole body felt bruised from lying so long on the

hard stone, he thought that the opening must be large enough. Tying one

end of the rope to the crowbar, he paid the other out. A slight tug

below told him that it had been received: his unknown helper was still

in waiting. Then he tied his rug to the twine, and let it gently down.

This, too, being caught, he placed the crowbar horizontally across the

window on the inner wall, turned on his side, and began to wriggle out

of the opening feet foremost, always holding firmly to the rope. Had

his work been successful? The question forced itself upon him as he

moved painfully towards the outer air. Alas! half-way through he stuck;

his jacket and vest were riding up into a ridge; it would increase the

more he struggled; he must return to the room.

It was more difficult to get back than it had been to wriggle out. With

a great effort he worked his way along the recess, and had just reached

the floor of the room when his foot kicked the chisel, and it sped with

a clatter across the floor. Immediately afterwards he heard a step in

the passage. His jailer must have detected the noise, and would

certainly come to discover its cause. It would be impossible to strip

off jacket and waistcoat and wriggle out before the man entered,

discovered his flight, and gave the alarm or perhaps cut the rope. With

a sinking of the heart Bob listened. Was he to fail at the last moment?

Perhaps the man would not come in after all. But no; the steps halt at

the door; there is a light in the crack below. Bob hears the man

fumbling for his keys; a key is inserted in the padlock; the bolt is

drawn. By this time Bob, with lightning decision, is behind the door.

It opens heavily on its rusty hinges, and half the room is lit up by the

dim lantern carried by a Siberian infantryman, who peers into the room,

and seeing nothing to his left, advances a few paces to light up the

other half. At this moment Bob springs at him like a tiger. One

crushing blow beneath the jaw, and the Russian falls backward like a

log, his lantern clattering to the floor and being instantly

extinguished.

Two seconds passed, seconds crowded with the most rapid thinking

hard-pressed prisoner ever accomplished. The noise would draw the man's

comrades from below. They must be kept out at all costs. But even if

they were excluded, the soldier might be only stunned, or perhaps dazed,

and would recover in time to cut the rope. There was nothing at hand

with which to tie him up, no time to cut a piece off the rope and retie

it to the crowbar. He might kill the man, but the thought was banished

the same instant that it occurred to him. Two seconds; then, even as he

heard the shouts of men and the trampling of heavy footsteps far below,

Bob stooped, lifted the ponderous figure, and, with a strength of which

he would not have believed himself capable, hurled him out into the

corridor across the head of the staircase.

[Illustration: Bob surprises his Jailer]

Then back into the room. He slams the door, picks up the chisel, and

drives it with the hammer between the heavy oak and the floor. Off with

his jacket, off with his vest; he rolls them up and forces them through

the window. Everything must be dared now! Then feet foremost into the

window-recess; out, out, grasping the rope; his legs are through, his

body follows. Is the gap wide enough? He jerks himself on; it is a

tight fit; his shoulders are through; he is dangling in the air, his

arms almost forced from their sockets. Down he goes, hand over hand;

his feet find the rope; he hears the clamour of blows on the door above.

Down, down, faster and faster, the strain upon his muscles increasing

with every foot of distance; down into what seems an immeasurable gulf.

His feet touch the projecting sill of a window; he finds a momentary

relief; then down again into space; there can be no delay, even for a

moment. At last, panting for breath, his hands sore and bleeding, Bob

feels a pair of arms supporting him; he loosens his grip of the rope,

and falls half-insensible to the ground. But only for an instant. He

sees as in a mist the outlines of two men, who drag him to his feet.

The next moment, as though impelled by some higher will, he is racing

down the frozen bank between the two shorter figures, over the creaking

ice, towards the middle of the stream. Shouts pursue him, reflections

of lights dance before his dazzled eyes, a shot is fired, there is a

babel along the walls. Hauled up on the ice lies a small sampan. One of

his supporters half pushes, half hurls Bob into it, then both urge it

over the sagging ice into the stream. The edge gives way, the sampan

slides with a glug into deep water, the two men leap on board with the

agility of panthers, and the light craft bounds forward on its way to

the sea.

*CHAPTER XIII*

*Ah-Sam*

A Silent Journey--An Old Friend--Circumstances Alter Cases--Enter

Ah-Sam--A Manchurian Inn--Held Up--Chinese Receipts

Not a word was said as the sampan floated down the river. For some

minutes Bob was too much amazed to take in anything beyond the mere fact

that he had escaped from his prison; his brain was in a whirl; the

events of the last few hours seemed a dream. He crouched in the boat,

covered by the cloak thrown over him by one of his rescuers: his outer

garments had been left at the foot of the tower. But collecting himself

by degrees, he noticed that one of the men stood in the bow with a long

pole fending off the spars of ice that jutted out into the stream, while

the other lay almost horizontal in the boat. Both were Chinamen, as he

judged from their pigtails. There was floating ice on all sides, and

the progress of the sampan was a succession of bumps. Sometimes it came

to a stop, and the curved bow was pushed on to a large floe by the

pressure of ice behind. But the man with the pole knew his work. A

touch here, a push there, or a vigorous shove sent the light craft on

its way again; and all the time the second Chinaman lay motionless,

saying never a word.

Meanwhile the noise of alarm and pursuit from Antung struck Bob's ears,

and his thoughts were divided between wonder concerning the identity of

his preservers, the strangeness of their intervention, and anxiety lest

it should after all prove vain. He heard a deep bell booming, the blare

of bugles, the shouts of men: by and by from the right came the sound of

galloping horses. At this moment the man in the bow dropped silently

into the boat beside his comrade, and the vessel was left to take its

course. It was scarcely more than level with the surface of the water,

and must have been invisible in the dark night at the distance of a few

yards. Even if it were seen from the bank, the horsemen dared not

approach the waterway owing to the rotten state of the ice: all that

they could do was to fire at it, with no certainty of aim. Gradually

the sounds from the shore diminished, and at last died away; the

Chinaman resumed his work with the pole, and floating, jolting,

stopping, jerking forward again, the sampan went safely on its way.

Still not a word had been spoken. Bob wished that one of the two

figures would say something, no matter in what language. He had a

strange longing for the sound of a friendly voice. But even when, two

hours after their flight from Antung, the second Chinaman at last raised

himself from his prone position, he gave the first an order by signs,

not by words. With a combined push the two men drove the sampan with a

swish and creak upon the ice on the right bank, where it remained

stationary. They leapt overboard. At a sign from the second man Bob

followed them; both then pushed the boat back into the stream, watched

it for a moment as it circled irresolutely in the current, and then, as

it gained its head and bounded more buoyantly on its way, they set off

rapidly in a direction at right angles to the river, the second man now

leading, and Bob making the best of his way with his companion.

Every now and then the leader paused to get his bearings, and altered

his direction to right or left with little hesitation. At one point,

when they came to a beaten track, he motioned to the others to remain

where they were, and went ahead alone. In a few minutes he returned,

and the silent march was resumed. The course led from the river-bed

over country that became more and more hilly, and Bob was almost

dropping with fatigue when, after walking rapidly for some eight or nine

miles as he guessed, they came almost suddenly upon a high wall.

Skirting the wall, they reached a gate, giving access to a courtyard.

The gate was locked; the two Chinamen assisted Bob to climb it; a dog

barked, but was instantly silenced by a sharp exclamation from one of

the men mounting immediately behind Bob. Before them stood a low

farmhouse, with still lower structures adjoining, which Bob found later

were pig-styes and cow-byres not very different from similar

appurtenances of farms at home. One of the Chinamen tapped twice at a

window-frame latticed and filled with paper; there was no reply; he

rapped again, twice, but slightly louder. In a moment a glimmer

appeared within; a movement was heard; the frame was drawn aside, and

against the dim light of a small bowl-lamp the form of a Chinaman was

outlined. The moment he distinguished the features of the man who had

tapped, he closed his fists, pressed them together against his chest,

and bowed almost to the ground.

The three entered; the movable window-frame was replaced. Then one of

the Chinamen turned suddenly to Bob, held out his hand, and with a smile

and a bow said in careful clear-cut tones:

"I am glad to meet you again, Mr. Fawcett."

Bob stared at him in amazement. He recognized him now as the younger of

the two Chinamen who had rescued him from the drunken students in

Sasebo, who knew no English, and whom subsequently he had seen in the

streets of Seoul. But though this was what he saw, the voice, the

accent, the manner, reminded him of another person, not a Chinaman, but

the Samurai who had been his host in Nikko. Grasping the outstretched

hand, he said, with a gasp of amazement:

"Kobo!"

"Rokuro Kobo San," corrected the voice of Taru.

"Pardon me, sir; you will understand that I am--"

"A little taken aback, Mr. Fawcett? Yes, I understand. But you must be

very tired and very hungry. You will permit my friend here to give you

some food, and provide you with a jacket, then we can talk more at our

ease."

In a few moments Bob, clad in a new silk jacket, was resting his weary

limbs on a wadded quilt unrolled on the floor, eating with a good

appetite and without enquiry the dishes placed before him. Kobo shared

his meal, at the same time entering into explanations.

"You have no doubt guessed," he said, "that both myself and my servant

Taru are on secret service. Our Japanese system is very elaborate. It

has been most carefully organized since the Chinese war. No quarter of

Manchuria has not been surveyed by our agents; many of the inhabitants

are in sympathy with us, many of them are in our pay."

Bob glanced at their host.

"No," said Kobo, smiling, "he is not a Chinaman; he is a Japanese, like

myself."

"But he has a pigtail!"

"So have I! Mine, however, was assumed a few weeks ago, its hold is

precarious; our host's is natural, it was grown for the purpose. We

have seen this war coming for ten years; and two or three suffice for

the growth of a pigtail, if one sets about cultivating it in earnest.

Our friend, with hundreds more, was sent over to settle in this country;

some have cultivated the pigtail and become good Chinamen, others with

equal success have devoted themselves to the topknot and are passable

Koreans."

"Your motto is 'thorough'," said Bob admiringly.

"Yes, even to the loss of our heads. You see now why I was unable to

recognize you in Sasebo and Seoul, though I half believed that in Seoul

at any rate you recognized me. I could say nothing. There are Russian

spies also in all parts of the country, and a single incautious sign

might have compromised me and led to my discovery and suicide."

"Suicide!"

"Of course. Any Japanese would kill himself rather than do harm to his

country's cause."

"Evidently one might never know when one is meeting a Japanese. May I

ask--is Mr. Helping-to-decide a Japanese?"

"No, no," returned Kobo, laughing outright. "He is a real Korean; he

means to help, but he never can decide. Now I want you to tell me how

you met him; indeed, to give me a full account of what has happened to

you. I have a reason for asking."

Bob rapidly sketched an outline of his adventures since he left Japan.

"Yes," said Kobo, when his story was ended. "Of course I learnt from

Yamaguchi in Yongampo that you were with him. I heard of the fight on

the shore; I did not know you had so thoughtfully come to Yamaguchi's

assistance; in fact, I followed you as a Cossack despatch-rider until

you killed your first tiger--"

"You knew that!" exclaimed Bob in surprise. He had said nothing about

that incident.

"Yes, I came in at the death; that is to say, I was present when Mr.

Helping-to-decide came upon the scene, and having satisfied myself that

the man I had been following was not a Russian, I resumed my journey

northward. I was proceeding to Feng-huang-cheng when I heard that you

had fallen into the hands of Chang-Wo--an old enemy of mine, as you

know--and had been sentenced to death. I came back at once to Antung.

Fortunately the baker who contracts for the Russians' ammunition-bread

in Antung is a Japanese agent. He discovered the place of your

imprisonment, and bribed one of the Siberian guards--an easy matter, I

assure you--to see that a special loaf was delivered to you. The rest

you know; and let me say, you did your part much more rapidly than I had

supposed possible."

"It was really extremely good of you to--"

"Not at all, not at all," interrupted Kobo; "it was my duty--in the

circumstances."

"In what circumstances?"

"They had sentenced you to death. You will understand my position. If

I had been perfectly sure that, with the prospect of death before you,

you would have acted as you did--refused to give them any

information,--it would have been my duty to go straight to my

destination."

"I should have been shot?"

"Undoubtedly. Personal considerations are immaterial. Only reasons of

state can override reasons of state. Another time--let us hope it will

never occur--I need not trouble; I can go on my way--now that I know you

are to be trusted."

This gave Bob something to think about. It was a view that had not

struck him till then. He could not but recognize that it was strictly

logical. One life was of no account compared with the vast national

issues at stake. Kobo could allow nothing to delay him but the public

service. Logical as it was, however, Bob had somewhat of a shock when

it was brought so nearly home to him that Japan, if not the world at

large, was governed by logic; and though he had a passing pang at the

thought that Kobo, after a few days' knowledge of him, was not convinced

of his trustworthiness, his soreness was a good deal relieved when he

remembered that but for Kobo's caution he would now be lying in a

Russian grave.

"Now, Mr. Fawcett," said Kobo after a pause, "you no doubt feel the need

of a good sleep. But I will ask you to wait a little longer, while we

discuss your future movements. It will soon be daylight, and I must

then be gone; I must continue the journey you have twice unwittingly

interrupted. You cannot, of course, accompany me. I do not wish to

carry you into danger, nor can I endanger my mission by being encumbered

with you. On the other hand, you cannot remain here, for Chinese

houses, as you see, are not built for secrecy, and you would certainly

be discovered ere long by the Russians. It will be best for you to make

another attempt to reach our lines. You must go alone; I would

willingly lend you my servant Taru, but that I myself require him. But

our host here has a Chinese servant who is familiar with the country; he

will act as your guide."

"Does he speak English?" asked Bob.

"Yes, pidgin English; indeed, he considers himself an accomplished

linguist. As to your route, it will be dangerous to attempt to cross

the Yalu anywhere between Antung and the sea. The Russians will

naturally be on the alert, the more so because of the recent appearance

of destroyers off the coast. All the fords between Antung and Wiju will

be narrowly watched. When they discover the sampan they will probably

connect it with your escape, and suspect that you have taken the

shortest way to our lines. Your best course will be to go northward and

make a circuit as soon as it is safe to do so."

"But will there not be a danger of meeting Russians northward also? I

can't pass for a native, unluckily."

"Not as you now appear, but we can alter that. I think your guide had

better travel as a carter; you will go as his man. Our host will dye

your hair and stain your face and dress you as a Korean."

"But I shall never be able to manage the topknot."

"True, but that will not be necessary. Being unmarried, I presume--"

"Certainly."

"You will not require a topknot, which is the monopoly of the married

men. Your hair is sufficiently long for you to pass as a bachelor,

which, you will take care to remember, is an inferior and ignominious

condition. As a further precaution, you had better pretend to be dumb

whenever you encounter people. Your guide should, I think, set off with

his cart in the morning towards Tang-shan until he finds an opportunity

of crossing the main road. In order not to attract attention you follow

at night, and do not join the cart until it has crossed. If a strange

Korean were seen leaving this house it might arouse suspicion, and the

fact might be reported by spies to the Russians. Your further course

must be determined as circumstances dictate, and may safely be left to

your guide. I think all is arranged, then; it only remains to introduce

the Chinese boy to you."

Kobo said a few words to their host, who called in a loud tone. In a

few moments a stout little Chinaman appeared, salaaming as he entered

the room. His round hairless face was impassive, his slanting eyes

looked intelligent, and he kow-towed profoundly when Kobo briefly

introduced him.

"This, Mr. Fawcett, is Ah-Sam. Ah-Sam, Mr. Fawcett is an Englishman; he

does not speak Chinese; you will be able to turn your knowledge of his

language to account."

"My speakee Yinkelis first-chop so-fashion," said the Chinaman, giving

Bob some qualms as to the possibility of using this dialect of English

as a means of communication.

Kobo then proceeded to explain to Ah-Sam in his own language the scheme

of action he had arranged. The Chinese listened gravely, nodding his

head from time to time. When his instructions were concluded, he went

off silently to prepare for his journey. Kobo then gave Bob detailed

particulars of the road he was to follow on the next evening, and

finally bade him farewell.

"I hope I shall see you again," said Bob after warmly thanking him once

more for his rescue.

"I hope so. We cannot tell. Good-bye!"

Bob slept for many hours. When he awoke he had to undergo a long

process of disguising at the hands of his host, from which he emerged

completely transformed in complexion, appearance, and dress. His hair

from light-brown had become black, his cheeks sallow. He wore the

Korean national costume--huge cotton trousers padded with cotton wool,

tied round his waist with a long tasselled ribbon; a short bell-shaped

coat, also padded, with long sleeves; padded socks, in which the ends of

the trousers were tucked; and paper shoes, fastened to the feet like

sandals. These last were much more durable than they appeared. He wore

no hat, but as it was cold, and there was a prospect of snow, he was

provided with a large umbrella on a bamboo frame that fitted the head,

so that in case of need he might carry some means of protection.

At nightfall he left the house with his host, who offered to accompany

him until he overtook the cart. Both were mounted on small Korean

ponies. After three or four hours' riding over snow-covered hills they

struck the high-road, and leaving this at an angle in a north-easterly

direction, they ascended into another low chain of hills, and in about

two hours reached a small village. Here, as the Japanese host had

anticipated, they found Ah-Sam awaiting them in an inn. The Japanese

then took his leave, and Bob was left to his new guide.

The aspect of the inn was not very inviting. Bob's nose as he entered

was assailed by the strong smell of pork and vegetables stewing in two

huge cauldrons, one on each side of the door. The place consisted of

one room, about forty feet long, with a low platform called a k'ang

running the whole length of the wall, covered with dirty matting,

sheep-skin coats, pedlars' packs, and miscellaneous frippery, with a

score of rough labourers and carters lolling on them, eating, drinking,

and smoking a very pungent tobacco. The k'ang, Bob found, covered the

heating apparatus of the place, and was, in fact, a kind of flue. The

middle of the room was occupied by what appeared to be a rough altar,

but which turned out to be a kitchen-range--an oblong brick structure

about three feet high, hollow in the centre, with an arched covering

pierced with holes, above which various cooking pots were placed during

the evening.

As Bob entered, Ah-Sam came from his perch at the end of the k'ang

nearest the door, putting his finger to his lips. Bob suddenly

remembered that he was to feign dumbness. He therefore made no reply to

the remarks addressed to him, presumably in Korean, by the boy, but

submissively accepted a bowl of soup, the mere odour of which was

nauseating. He went through the forms of eating, but soon gave it up,

and making a virtue of necessity, settled himself to sleep at the

cleanest part of the k'ang, picked out for him by Ah-Sam.

At daybreak next morning they set off, and Bob had his first experience

of riding on a Manchurian cart. It was rather more unpleasant than

jolting in a four-wheeler over the cobbles of the Glasgow streets. The

framework of the cart, about fifteen feet long by four wide, rested on a

huge axle-tree between two wooden wheels whose iron tyres were more than

an inch thick. There were no springs. On each side ran a low wooden

rail, intended to support so much of the load as overlapped from the

body of the cart. There was a small pony in the shafts, and in front of

it six mules three abreast, attached by long hempen ropes to iron hooks

in the framework. The mules had neither bit nor bridle; they were

guided wholly by the driver's voice and whip, the latter twelve feet

long in the handle, with a thong of equal length, and so heavy that both

hands were required to wield it. Ah-Sam sat on the front of the cart,

and gave Bob a place behind, where he helped to balance the vehicle on

its two wheels. The cart was but lightly loaded; it contained a few

empty sacks, some fodder for the animals, a supply of food, and a couple

of spades. Beneath the framework, cunningly hidden between the wheels,

there were two rifles and a good stock of ammunition.

Bob had had no little difficulty in remembering that he was dumb. After

their meal in the inn that morning Ah-Sam had roughly ordered him to

make himself useful and help to harness the mules, pouring out upon him

a torrent of Chinese which Bob judged from its tone to be highly

abusive. He went submissively enough to work, but being new to the job

fumbled a good deal, and was several times on the point of asking how

this or that was to be done. But he always caught himself up in time,

turning what he intended to say into such inarticulate grunts as even a

dumb man can utter. When, however, the inn and the village were left

behind, and no human being was in sight, he thought it safe to throw off

his restraint, and ventured to address a question to Ah-Sam in the front

of the cart. He found the Chinaman's pidgin English at first rather

difficult to understand, but after half an hour's conversation had

gained sufficient familiarity with the idiom to get a fair idea of the

man's meaning. He learnt that the talk in the inn had been of two

matters: first, the great entrenchments which the Russians were making

around Antung and Kiu-lien-cheng; and secondly, the annihilation of a

Cossack detachment by a band of Chunchuses, the bandits of the country,

some distance away in the hills.

"Russians belongey allo muchee mad," said Ah-Sam. "He say catchee killum

allo piecee Chunchuses, galaw!"

Bob was about to ask for particulars of the Chunchuses, when, from round

a corner, appeared a native driving a laden ox. Ah-Sam instantly put

his finger to his lips, reminding Bob of his dumbness. When the native

appeared, Ah-Sam stopped for a talk. This occupied some time; then the

teamsters parted and went on their several ways. The route followed by

Ah-Sam was rather a foot-path than a cart-track; and but for the snow,

which filled the ruts and formed a fairly hard and even roadway, it

would have been impassable for wheeled traffic. As it was, the progress

of the cart was very slow and toilsome.

About mid-day they came to a dip in the hills where Ah-Sam decided to

halt, take a meal, and feed his team. This done he remounted to his

place, Bob sprang on to the tail of the cart, and the slow journey was

resumed. But they had barely begun the ascent of the upward slope when

from the left, across the snowy waste, a troop of horsemen were seen

galloping rapidly towards them. The riders soon defined themselves by

the bright yellow of their uniforms as a sotnia of Cossacks. Ah-Sam at

first affected not to notice them, stolidly driving on; but turning his

head at length in response to their loud shouts, he drew rein, muttered

a warning to Bob and an order to run to the head of the team, and sprang

from his perch in time to make half a dozen rapid kow-tows before the

Cossacks reached him. He continued his obeisances as the captain of the

troop roughly addressed him in Chinese, but suddenly stood erect and

began to expostulate in voluble yet obsequious tones when, in response

to an order, two of the Cossacks dismounted and approached the cart with

drawn swords, evidently with the intention of cutting the traces. Bob,

holding the head of one of the mules which was plunging excitedly, of

course understood not a word of the colloquy; if he had known Chinese he

would have heard the captain curtly inform Ah-Sam that the mules were

required for the Russian service, and Ah-Sam's protest that they were

already engaged in that service. He had just delivered, he said, a load

of millet and forage stuffs to the honourable contractor to the

honourable governor of Antung, and was on his way back to a farm at

Kuan-tien to fetch another load. If the honourable captain took his

mules, he would be unable to fulfil his commission. The roads, as the

honourable captain saw, were so bad that with his team, small enough as

it was, he was already behind time. He needed more mules, not less; he

had begged the honourable contractor to give him three more, but none

were to be found. His strong and capable assistant had been taken away

to work in the Russian trenches, and he had been forced to hire at the

last moment a big, loutish, dumb fool of a Korean, who could do nothing

but eat, and who at this moment, as the honourable captain saw, was an

absolutely useless, incapable, soft-muscled--

He was interrupted by a general hullabaloo among the mules, which,

unused to the handling of a European, were kicking and plunging and

threatening to involve the whole team in an inextricable tangle.

Stretching his arm, Ah-Sam flicked two or three of the mules with his

long whip, roundly abused Bob, and, apparently in ungovernable rage,

struck him also with the lash, which cut through the wadding of his

trousers and caused him to utter a smothered growl, at which the

Cossacks laughed with enjoyment.

The mules having been reduced to order, Ah-Sam returned to face the

captain, kow-towed again, and repeated his story. The Russian had

already countermanded the order to his men, and was clearly hesitating.

He was a good-tempered-looking fellow, thought Bob,--a young

clean-limbed captain, picturesque in his long silver-ornamented coat and

astrakhan cap. Interrupting Ah-Sam's shrill sing-song of protest, he

demanded to see the receipts which the muleteer doubtless possessed if

his story was true. The Chinaman instantly produced a number of papers

from a bag tied beneath his coat, and handed them to the captain, who

examined them carefully. They were unmistakably receipts, in proper

Chinese form, and recognizing that he might get into hot water with the

authorities if he delayed the procuring of the supplies so urgently

needed, he at length said that he would be satisfied with three of the

mules, and when these had been unyoked, gave the Chinaman permission to

proceed.

Before he rode off, however, he asked, as by an afterthought, a question

which appeared to be incomprehensible to Ah-Sam, who looked puzzled,

then asked a question in return. The captain smiled as he explained to

his lieutenant what the Chinaman had said; both laughed heartily; then

the word was given, and the troop rode off in the opposite direction to

that from which they had come.

Bob had been waiting for an opportunity to tackle Ah-Sam on the matter

of the whip. While it was well, no doubt, to keep up their character as

master and man, he had a suspicion that the Chinaman had laid on with

unnecessary vigour, perhaps to experiment on the quality of the

foreigner he was escorting. When, therefore, the Cossacks were safely

out of earshot, Bob went forward and sat beside Ah-Sam.

"What was the Russian laughing at?" he said.

"Ch'hoy! He say, hab my see one piecee Yinkelis man what lun wailo? My

say, what likee Yinkelis man my savvy tiger, bear, monkey, hairy Ainu;

Yinkelis man belongey likum he?"

"Oh! And I suppose you hit me with the whip to make it quite clear that

I was not an Englishman. You hit me like this, you know."

Bob suddenly rose, took the Chinaman's whip, and gave him a smart cut.

Ah-Sam yelled.

"He hurtee velly muchee," he said, rubbing the place.

"Yes, I know. If we meet any more Russians, perhaps you can prove I am

not the runaway Englishman without using your whip."

"My no hit massa no mo'e; my member plenty too muchee, no fear!"

*CHAPTER XIV*

*Mrs. Isidore G. Pottle*

Fair Captives--Pidgin--Among the Chunchuses--Seeking Cover--A Breathing

Space--A Picnic

The travellers pursued their journey without incident through the rest

of the day. Occasionally they met a native with whom Ah-Sam exchanged a

few words, and in these conversations he learnt that the Russians were

in great strength between them and the river, and had impressed hundreds

of Manchurians to work on the fortifications. This forced labour was by

no means to their taste, and many of the inhabitants were therefore in

hiding, so that the travellers need not be surprised at the

comparatively deserted condition of the country through which they

passed. From this information it was clear that to turn southwards

would be dangerous as yet. Ah-Sam accordingly drove on in an easterly

direction, making long detours to avoid climbing the hills, which became

higher and higher as they advanced. They spent the night in a solitary

inn, smaller than the first, and fortunately less crowded. Early on the

following morning they pushed on again. Ah-Sam told Bob that they were

now passing beyond the region which he knew intimately. He had only a

general knowledge of the country, and must trust to passing wayfarers to

keep him in the right way.

So that day passed. On the next, Ah-Sam thought that they had probably

by this time turned the Russian positions on the Yalu, and might safely

take a southerly course. The country was very wild; the hills were

higher and more precipitous than those in the district already

traversed. But there were signs of spring. The snow was thawing in the

valleys and the less exposed parts of the hills, and the ice of the

streams they crossed was rotten, the cart often crashing through. But

these being shallow hill rivulets, no harm was done; the only

inconveniences were the having sometimes to cut a way to the opposite

bank, and the strain on the mules in drawing the heavy cart over the

rocky beds and up the rugged slopes. It was easier to make progress at

early morning or late at night, for then the snow was still crisp and

the ice still solid.

About mid-day they were slowly following the valley of a stream somewhat

broader than those hitherto encountered, hoping that it would bring them

out some distance up the Yalu about the neighbourhood of Sukuchen. As

they proceeded, they came almost unawares upon a remarkable cleft in the

hills to their right--a wild and rocky gorge, strewn with irregular

masses of rock small and large, and narrowing as it led upwards to a

sparse clump of trees at the top. Even in broad daylight it formed a

dark forbidding gully, the hills rising sheer precipices on either side,

showing masses of granite too steep even to give lodgment to the snow.

From a point high up, a thin waterfall plunged over the crags and wormed

its way down among the boulders. The travellers stopped for a few

moments to observe the scene. Suddenly Ah-Sam pointed upwards: on a

ledge of rock almost at the summit, near a narrow fissure, he had

descried the form of a bear motionless on its haunches. Following the

Chinaman's outstretched finger, Bob at last made out the distant form.

For a moment the instinct of the British sportsman prompted him to

attempt to stalk the animal, but even as he looked it suddenly

disappeared, and he remembered then that as a menial Korean he would

have cut an absurd and outrageous figure in pursuit of a bear.

He was still regretting the impossibility of obtaining the skin, when he

was startled by the sound of a high-pitched voice coming from some spot

ahead of them. The valley here rounded a prominent bluff; no human form

was to be seen. Before he had quite collected himself he heard the

voice again; it was a woman's voice, speaking in accents of distress, or

at least excited remonstrance, and he fancied that it had a very British

ring. Springing from the cart, and bidding Ah-Sam follow him quickly,

he hurried on ahead, turned the bend, and saw before him, hastening up

the slope, five persons, two of them little more than a hundred yards

away, the other three at a somewhat greater distance. He was amazed to

see that two of the five were ladies, in European costume. The nearer

was a young lady, tall, in a costume of grey tweed; her right wrist was

in the grasp of a native. The farther was a lady of maturer years,

equally tall, very stout, wearing a heavy sealskin jacket, her bonnet

awry, her arms pinioned by two natives who were urging her along. The

captors were obviously Manchus; they wore the pigtails, the wide-brimmed

hats, cotton blouses and loose pantaloons common to the country.

It was from the elder lady that the cries had proceeded and were still

proceeding. They were not cries of fear or appeals for mercy, but

rather outpourings of wrath and indignation. Her head was being shaken

vigorously from side to side, threatening to dislodge her already

disordered head-gear. She was evidently not merely protesting, but

resisting with all her might, and as she dwarfed the men in both height

and breadth, she was giving them no little trouble. The younger lady

was causing no such commotion. She was walking quietly by her captor's

side, unresisting, saying nothing, accepting the situation resignedly.

Bob took in these details in a few seconds. Then, without counting the

odds, he rushed forward, fumbling in the slit of his wadded pantaloons

for the pistol he carried there. In the soft snow his footfall made no

sound that was not smothered by the unceasing denunciation of the stout

lady, and the Manchus were too much occupied with their captives to be

alive to the presence of strangers. Bob noticed that the man leading

the younger lady held in his right hand a musket or rifle. Making

rapidly up on him, Bob stooped just as the Manchu at last heard his

tread and was turning, snatched the weapon from his grasp, thrust it

between his legs and tripped him up. Then without waiting he dashed on,

came within a few feet of the Manchus by the time they had contrived to

face round, the lady still struggling between them, and pointing his

pistol full at the head of one of them, shouted in English:

"Hands up!"

[Illustration: A Korean Knight-errant]

The very sight of a Korean with a pistol in his hand was enough to throw

a Manchu bandit off his balance. The Koreans are a soft, inert,

unwarlike race; even their soldiers are never known to fight; and yet

here was a Korean, without a topknot and therefore of no social account,

actually pointing a pistol and uttering a menace which sounded all the

fiercer because it was in a language never heard in these parts from

Korean lips before. Bob did not give the bandits time to recover from

their amazement. Rushing up to them he sent one spinning over with a

right-hander, and wrested the weapon from the other. The large and

indignant lady being now released, struck this man smartly over the head

with her umbrella, and then, marched down the hill to meet the younger

lady, who was coming rapidly towards her with an air of mingled

astonishment and relief. Behind came Ah-Sam, who had left his team at

the foot of the slope, and was driving before him, in cowed amazement,

the Manchu who had held the girl. For a moment it seemed as if the

three Manchus, trusting in their numerical superiority, were inclined to

retaliate, but there was something in Bob's manner that warned them in

time, and they slunk away, muttering curses Manchurian but unmistakable.

As they did so, the elder lady stood watching them with menace in her

mien, her left hand clasping the hand of the girl now by her side, her

right retaining a determined grip of her umbrella. Bob meanwhile walked

slowly down the hill towards her. He was a little out of breath, and a

great deal astonished. His lips twitched with amusement at the sight of

the elder lady, so large, and so unconscious of her disarray, like a

ruffled hen in her attitude. The girl seemed partly to share his

feeling, for he detected a slight twinkle in her dark eyes as they met

his. When the Manchus were out of sight, the elder lady's features

relaxed, and becoming aware that the stranger to whose intervention she

owed her release was within arm's length, she turned to him and said

quickly:

"You speakee English?"

"Yes, madam."

Before Bob could explain himself further, the lady, with a capacious

sigh of relief, said:

"That's a comfort, Ethel. Now I guess we shall find a track out of this

horrid country." Then, in the pidgin English of literature, she added,

addressing Bob: "You plenty muchee goodee Chinee boy. Me givee you

heapee thankee--plenty muchee cashee. You belongee this country?"

"No, madam----"

Again his explanation was forestalled.

"Me wantee go Seoulee. You savvy Seoulee?"

"Yes, madam. I--"

"You takee us rightee there--can do?"

During this interrupted monologue the younger lady had shown signs of

increasing embarrassment. With flushed checks she half interposed

between her companion and Bob, touched the lady's arm, and said quickly:

"Auntie, don't you see?--you are making a mistake; this gentleman is not

a--"

"Is not what?" said the lady, putting up her eye-glass, and adding with

some asperity: "Then what is he?"

"Let me introduce myself," said Bob, bowing. "My name is Fawcett--an

Englishman, at your service."

The lady put up her eyeglass and stared with unfeigned amazement,

exclaiming under her breath:

"A Britisher! Well, of all the extraordinary--You will excuse my

surprise, Mr.--Fawcett, I think you said? The circumstances are so

remarkable. I fear I owe you an apology, but really--" she turned to

her companion and began to tie her bonnet-strings--"it just beats

anything."

Here Ah-Sam, who had been hovering restlessly in the background, came up

and said:

"No tim' belongey this-side, massa. Plenty Chunchu man come this-side

chop-chop, makee big bobbely, supposey catchee, he killum allo piecee

massa, two-piecee girley, Ah-Sam all-same."

"What does the man say?" asked the lady, staring at the Chinaman as at

some strange animal.

"He says that we must not remain here. The men, Chunchuses apparently,

threatened to return, and if they do--well, we shall all be in a very

awkward fix. Perhaps if you would let me know who these people are--"

"Why certainly. My niece and I are doing Asia. We got as far as

Mukden, and there the Russians tried to stop us--said it would not be

safe, war was expected. I told them it was all nonsense. They insisted;

I persisted. They set a guard over us--free citizens of the United

States. Intolerable! We slipped away; naturally;--bribery, of course;

very disgusting, but the only way. We struck east for Gensan; got among

the hills. Our Chinese guide lost his way, or pretended to, and we were

snapped up by a party of brigands, who figured that we spelt dollars,

and have kept us with them ever since."

"Then you are Mrs.--Mrs. Isidore--?"

Bob hesitated, endeavouring to recall a name that for the moment eluded

him.

"I guess you're on the right track," replied the lady with a look of

surprise. "Pottle--Mrs. Isidore G. Pottle; though it beats me how you

happened on my name."

Bob then explained that he had learnt of Mrs. Pottle's disappearance

from the columns of a San Francisco paper at Tokio. But he cut

explanations short, looking anxiously in the direction in which the

brigands had disappeared, and parried the questions which he saw Mrs.

Pottle was eager to put, by asking for information as to the strength

and position of the band. The three men he had seen belonged to a gang

of some sixty or seventy, whose last camp was about a mile distant from

that spot. Mrs. Pottle was uncertain of the exact number, for it

differed from day to day, and that morning the whole band had ridden

away with the exception of the three in whose hands Bob had found the

ladies, and a few left to guard the camp. Such absences were common.

They lasted sometimes only a few hours, sometimes for several days. The

brigands were all mounted, and when the camp was changed the ladies were

always sent on foot in advance, since nothing on earth would induce Mrs.

Pottle to ride pillion on a wild horse behind a wild man. The brigands

had done them no harm; they were well fed with atrocious food. Mrs.

Pottle said she thought there could be nothing worse than a Russian

hotel till she met the Chunchuses. Their Chinese guide had decamped

with everything they possessed, including Mrs. Pottle's purse, though

she still had her cheque-book, note-book, and umbrella.

"I am not alarmed for myself," said Mrs. Pottle in conclusion; "I am an

old traveller, tough, seasoned. But dear Ethel--this is her first tour,

and though the poor child bears up well, I am terribly afraid these

hardships will ruin her constitution, and then I shall not be able to

look her poppa in the face."

"Auntie, I am quite well," said the younger lady, who indeed looked, as

Bob thought, the picture of health, with her fresh cheeks and bright

eyes. "I am only afraid that your nerves will break down."

"Nerves! I never had any. But Mr.--Fawcett, I think?--what are we to

do?--Well, of all the--a Britisher, and in Korean dress!..."

Bob asked the ladies to walk down the hill while he took a look round.

He really wanted a few minutes to think over the situation alone. He

was beset by perplexities. Difficult as his own position was, it was

doubly difficult now that he had someone else to think of. It was most

embarrassing--to have to act as squire of dames in such a clumsy,

ridiculous costume. Mrs. Pottle's state of mind, he could see, was

unmixed amazement; but her niece evidently had a sense of humour. "If

she wasn't so confoundedly pretty!--", and then Bob caught himself up,

and bent his mind to the problem before him. If the brigands returned

in force, he could hardly hope to escape them. If he did, it might be

only to fall among another gang: brigandage is an organized profession

in Manchuria. Supposing he escaped all danger on that side, he might

encounter Russians, and though he himself might pass unmolested as a

dumb Korean in company with a Chinese carter, the presence of two ladies

in European dress would awake suspicion and provoke the most dangerous

enquiries.

Yet he could not leave the ladies: that was out of the question. He

secretly suspected that the portly and strong-minded Mrs. Isidore G.

Pottle was capable of brow-beating and scaring any number of Manchus or

Russians, but her niece!--He looked again at the trim figure.

"That white tam o' shanter makes her--h'm! ... What in the world are we

to do, Ah-Sam?" he asked of the Chinaman, who had remained at his side.

"My no can tinkee. One piecee velly largo woman; he makee plenty

bobbely; one piecee littee girley, he too muchee fliten, evelyting makee

cly-cly, galaw! Supposey you hab larn fightee pidgin, you no can

cham-tow allo velly bad tief-man, all-same."

This speech fell on deaf ears, for in the middle of it Bob caught sight

of several horsemen in single file far up the hillside in front.

Noticing that his eyes were fixed on some distant object, Ah-Sam turned

in that direction also, looked hard for a moment, and then exclaimed:

"Chunchuses! Bimeby allo come this-side. What can do? Catchee killum

one-tim'."

Now that danger was actually upon him, Bob prepared instantly to meet

it. In a flash he remembered the gully he had passed recently with

Ah-Sam, and recognized that it was the nearest, indeed the only,

defensible position within reach. It was so narrow that, near its

summit, it might be held, he thought, by a few against a host. He at

once ordered Ah-Sam to turn the cart and drive it as quickly as possible

back to the spot where the waterfall emptied itself into the stream, and

then up the steep, rocky gorge. In a few minutes the team was plunging

through the broken ice at a great pace. Nothing but a Manchurian cart

could have stood the strain. It was flung about at all angles; it

cannoned against rocks, now one wheel, now the other disappearing in mud

or snow; but it survived every shock, and drawn by its four sturdy

beasts with Ah-Sam at their head, it groaned and creaked on its upward

course until it reached an abrupt twist in the gorge about three hundred

yards from its lower extremity.

Meanwhile Bob had led the two ladies diagonally across the hillside by a

shorter route than that taken by the cart. Mrs. Pottle bravely panted

along, making tremendous exertions under her thick sealskin jacket to

keep pace with Bob, who assisted her with his arm. Her niece stepped

along as lightly as a doe, her cheeks flushed with excitement, and her

wavy black hair escaping in disorder below her white tam o' shanter.

Gaining a point above the bend at which the cart had just arrived, Bob

saw that the stream flowed around a huge granite boulder which had

slipped, apparently at no very distant date, from the almost

perpendicular cliffs above, blocking up the greater part of the already

narrow defile. Here Bob shouted to Ah-Sam to stop and wedge the cart

between the boulder and the opposite wall of the ravine. Looking round,

he saw, some fifty feet above, to the left of the stream, the cleft near

which the bear had been seated. It was visible now as a fault in the

rock, a few yards across. The fissure narrowed towards its base, and

from it a shelf of rock ran horizontally outwards, meeting the stream at

an acute angle about a hundred yards from where Bob stood. Beyond this

junction the gorge rapidly narrowed, and became extremely steep.

Leaving the ladies to rest, Bob climbed up the rocky bed to explore, and

found that after a time further progress was blocked by a perpendicular

wall that rose sheer two hundred feet.

Returning, he reassured the ladies with a word, and then took Ah-Sam

with him down the gully. The mouth, some thirty yards wide, was jagged

and strewn with rocks, and formed so eminently defensible a position

that Bob hesitated whether to attempt to hold it or to retire at once to

the still more difficult post behind the cart. It would be a hazardous

matter to turn his position; before this could be effected he could

inflict severe loss on his assailants. But in a few moments he gave up

the idea of holding the lower ground. To begin with, he had no desire

to come to blows if a fight could be avoided, for, apart from the risk

of being overpowered by the Chunchuses, there was the likelihood that

the sound of shots would bring the Russians on the scene. They must be

in great force no more than twenty or thirty miles away, engaged on the

Yalu entrenchments, and firing in the hills would almost certainly be

heard by scouting parties. If the Russians came up, the Chunchuses

could disperse with their accustomed celerity, but Bob would be unable

to save himself unless he were prepared to abandon the ladies who had so

strangely fallen under his care. They would no doubt be well treated if

entrusted to an officer of rank; but if the Russians happened to be an

ordinary troop of Cossacks, Bob doubted whether he might not as well

leave the ladies to the Chunchuses as to them. First of all, at any

rate, he had the Chunchuses to deal with. He hoped that when they saw

how strongly he was posted behind the cart and the boulder they would

draw off. In any case, Ah-Sam's forethought had stocked the cart with

enough provisions to last through a siege of some days, and in view of

that contingency it was wise to do what he could to strengthen his

position still further.

The distant specks on the mountain-side had disappeared. Slowly scanning

every portion of the horizon, neither Bob nor Ah-Sam saw any sign of

life. They retraced their steps towards the boulder, halting now and

then to roll down the steep slope such loose rocks as might give cover

to an attacking force. The ladies met them as they reached the cart.

"Well, Mr. Fawcett," said Mrs. Pottle, "did you see anything way down

there?"

"Nothing. But if those were your friends the brigands, we shall have

them upon us in half an hour."

"Oh! what shall we do, then? You had some plan in bringing us here?"

"Yes. Ah-Sam and I are going to fortify ourselves; it is our only

chance."

"Good gracious! They have guns, and I've only my umbrella!"

"We have our pistols and a couple of rifles."

"Against a hundred, perhaps. Still, two determined men, behind

rocks--could you spare a pistol for me?"

"If necessary, but I hope we sha'n't have to fight. They will probably

tire of besieging us here."

"A siege! But, my dear boy, we can't stand a siege without food, and I

confess, Mr. Fawcett, I am hungry. Really, I must eat, and I will say

this for the brigands: they did give us food, of a sort."

"Ah-Sam has plenty of food--of a sort," said Bob, smiling. "And

perhaps, Mrs. Pottle, while we are doing what we can to strengthen the

position, you won't mind preparing a meal."

"Of course not. If only I could get a cup of tea!"

"Ah-Sam has tea, and rice, and millet, and a few other things."

"The dear man! But a kettle?"

"He has a pot, and an oil-lamp, anu plenty of matches."

"A treasure! Let us have the things, and I will turn up my sleeves and

set to work. There is water in the stream. Ethel, my love, we shall

have a cup of tea for the first time in six weeks. Come and help me."

Bob admired Mrs. Pottle's spirit. Leaving the ladies to themselves, he

assisted Ah-Sam to unyoke the team and drag them higher up the ravine,

where they tethered the animals to the trunks of some overhanging trees,

and supplied them with fodder from the cart. Then, with some

difficulty, they pushed and rolled some of the smaller boulders in front

of the vehicle, arranging them in such a way that loopholes were left

between them covering every part of the approach. The position was now

such that the little party was effectually concealed from the road

below; but Bob knew that their presence could not remain undiscovered,

for the cart and the animals had left very distinct traces in the snow

and mud.

Everything possible having now been done, Bob went once more to the

mouth of the gully to reconnoitre. There was as yet no sign of the

brigands. He was still looking out across the hills when Ah-Sam came

up, carrying a pot of rice.

"Chow-chow allo leady, massa," he said. "My fetchee chow-chow

this-side; ch'hoy! women boilum tings, spoilum tea; China boy no can

dlink it; too muchee stlong for China side; no allo plopa; Yinkelis man

hab got numpa one tummy; can dlink anyting."

"I'm afraid we do make it too strong. But I'll explain to the ladies;

you shall have some made specially weak for you. Stay here and keep

watch while I get something to eat, and come back at once if you see any

sign of the Chunchuses."

"Allo lightee, massa. My hab catchee plenty chow-chow. No fear!"

Bob returned to the ladies.

"Come, Mr. Fawcett," cried Mrs. Pottle. "I've just finished my fourth

cup. Capital tea, even without cream and sugar. But I don't understand

your man. I thought Chinamen liked tea, and I gave Ah-Sam a

particularly strong cup. He was positively rude--used most sinful

language, and actually threw it away. You must be thirsty; now do drink

this, and here is some rice--chow, your man called it; I thought that

was the Chinese for dog?"

"Yes," said Bob with a twinkle, "or any other form of food."

"Disgusting!" exclaimed Ethel. "Surely it is not true?"

"I'm afraid it is. Fido is quite a standing dish in China."

Mrs. Pottle looked horrified.

"I wonder," she said reflectively, "what that stew was they gave us

yesterday?..."

Her speculations were broken in upon by the sight of Ah-Sam running up

the gully.

"Massa," he cried, "my look-see plenty piecee Chunchu come this-side

chop-chop, galaw!"

*CHAPTER XV*

*Fortifying the Gully*

Stopping a Rush--The Trappers Trapped--Allies--A Manchu Marksman--A

Sighting Shot--Building a Barrier--Velly Good Fighty Man--Ah-Sam at the

Front

Mrs. Pottle grasped her umbrella as Bob sprang up, leapt over the

boulders, and hurried to the mouth of the ravine. In the distance, to

the right, he saw a band of mounted men, about sixty in number, easily

recognizable by their nondescript dress and long lances as the

redoubtable bandits of Manchuria. They disappeared in the bend of the

valley. Again they emerged into view, now only a quarter of a mile

away, heading straight for the gully over the trail of the cart. Bob

hurried back to his place behind the boulders, and took the rifle handed

him by Ah-Sam, who retained the other.

"You won't kill them if you can help it, will you?" said Ethel, whose

cheeks had become a little pale.

"Nonsense, Ethel," interrupted Mrs. Pottle; "don't be sentimental. I

don't wish them any harm, but--"

She did not finish the sentence, for at this moment the horsemen arrived

at the mouth of the gully, and halted, evidently in some hesitation, as

though fearing a trap. Their leaders spoke together for a few moments;

then the whole band dismounted, and, leaving their horses in charge of

some of their number, began to climb up the gorge. Bob felt that it was

high time to check them.

"Call, Ah-Sam," he said, "and tell them that if they move another step

forward I fire."

"Hai yah!" shouted the Chinaman. The little man had a shrill piercing

voice, and his exclamation brought the bandits to a sudden halt two

hundred yards beneath. He then gave them in Chinese Bob's message, and

as he spoke, they strained their eyes upward as if to pierce the

barricade. There was a short consultation among them, and then one of

them advanced a step and shouted a reply.

"What does he say?" asked Bob.

"One piecee Chunchu say-lo, 'Come this-side, ha-loy! he no killum

China-boy, two piecee girley; massa fightee man, he catchee

ling-ch'ih'."

"What's that?" asked Bob.

Ah-Sam looked puzzled; his vocabulary was evidently for the moment at a

loss. Then he said:

"Ling-ch'ih he killum velly velly slow; he cuttee slicee allo littee

piecee: velly long-tim' die-lo galaw!--velly annoying!"

Mrs. Pottle gathered the gist of what Ah-Sam said, and burst forth in

great indignation.

"The fiends! I will not allow it. They are arrant cowards. Drive them

off. They were frightened of my umbrella. You shall not fall into

their power through us. Drive them off!"

Bob considered for a moment. If by delivering himself up he could have

ensured a safe-conduct for the two ladies he might have taken the risk;

but he was not at all sure that his surrender would satisfy the bandits,

incensed at the loss of the prisoners, for whom they expected a good

ransom, and at the rough treatment dealt out to the three men. On the

other hand, by putting a bold face on it he might scare them off,

especially in view of the presence of Russians in the neighbourhood.

"Tell them," he said, "that we refuse to surrender. If they move

forward, I fire."

Ah-Sam translated the message. There was another short consultation;

then with a shout the bandits rushed up the steep gully straight at the

barricade. Mrs. Pottle still grasped her umbrella and walked to and fro

in high indignation; Ethel sat with clasped hands, her lips firmly

pressed together, her eyes fixed upon Bob.

"Don't fire!" said Bob to Ah-Sam. Resting his own rifle between two

boulders, he took careful aim at the foremost of the attacking party,

who presented an easy mark as he came directly towards the barricade.

He did not wish to kill the man, being anxious not to drive the brigands

to extremities; yet it was necessary to teach them a lesson. Seizing a

moment when the man's pace was checked by an awkward rock, Bob fired.

It was a well-aimed shot, at about a hundred yards' range, and took

effect where he intended, in the lower part of the man's leg. A howl of

pain announced that the shot had told. Mrs. Pottle exclaimed "There!"

with a note of satisfaction; her niece gave a little gasp; neither could

see that the man had fallen like a log.

"One piecee hab catchee hot!" muttered Ah-Sam.

The wounded man howled and howled again, and as the others halted in

hesitation, Bob thrust the barrel of his rifle conspicuously through the

loophole. Next moment the whole band turned tail, and bolted down the

slope, leaving their injured comrade behind them, and not pausing until

they were out of sight round the corner of the gully.

"Allo lun wailo chop-chop," said Ah-Sam.

"But the poor wounded man!" exclaimed Ethel, starting up. "He must be

in terrible pain."

"Nonsense!" said Mrs. Pottle. "He is not killed if he can howl like

that."

Ethel got up and looked through an interstice between the boulders,

while Mrs. Pottle proceeded to give Bob her views on the situation.

Minute after minute passed; there was no sign of a renewed attack by the

Chunchuses. Mrs. Pottle brewed more tea and talked on; Ethel moved

restlessly about, starting up whenever a groan was heard from the

wounded man, and looking more and more concerned as she saw him more

than once make a futile attempt to reach his friends. They did not come

to his assistance. He tried to crawl down the rocky slope, but each

time fell back with a groan, and at last lay perfectly still. Bob had

watched Ethel's movements, and saw, though she said nothing, that she

was becoming uneasy about the wounded Manchu. He would undoubtedly

bleed to death if something were not done for him; his friends were

unwilling to face the marksman up the slope. Bob wondered whether he

ought to run the risk of going down. Between his boulder and the man

there were many rocks which would afford cover for the greater part of

the way. If he reached the man, the Chunchuses would probably hesitate

to fire lest they hit their comrade; and it had become apparent to Bob

that one reason, probably the strongest, why they had not developed

their attack was that they feared to bring their enemies, the Russians,

upon the scene. At last, unable any longer to resist Ethel's mute plea,

he rose, bade Ah-Sam cover him with his rifle, and, crossing the

barricade, made his way as quickly as possible down the gully, dodging

from rock to rock.