AN ESCAPE AND A FIGHT
From the tone of the speaker Gilbert realized that he had a rough
individual with whom to deal. But it was too late to back out or hide
and he faced the man boldly. He proved to be a corporal, and behind him
were several Russian privates, all in heavy winter uniforms, for the
day was stinging cold.
“What are you doing up here?” demanded the corporal.
“I was looking at the battle,” answered Gilbert.
“Who gave you permission to come in this building?”
“Nobody, but as I found it wide open I thought there would be no harm
in coming in.”
The corporal muttered several words Gilbert did not catch. Then he
turned to the privates behind him.
“See that this man does not get away,” he said.
“Do you mean to say that you are going to detain me?” cried the young
American. He did not like the appearance of the Russians, or the black
looks they gave him.
“And why not? For all we know you may be a spy,” and the corporal
leered suspiciously at Gilbert.
“I am no spy.”
“Have you been making signals from this tower?”
“No.”
“Then why was that shot fired at you?”
“I don’t know anything about that. If I was signaling to the Japanese,
do you think they’d fire at me?”
“The shot may have come from one of our forts. Come down at once.”
Evidently the Russian corporal was afraid another shot might imperil
his own safety, and he hustled Gilbert down to the lower floor of the
building without ceremony. As soon as the American appeared there was a
cry of astonishment from all of the soldiers.
“What is he doing here?”
“Is he the American who aided those Japanese?”
“Let us make an example of him! We want no traitors in Port Arthur!”
So the talk ran on, and for the moment it looked as if Gilbert would
suffer bodily violence. But then a rather pleasant-looking Russian
captain stalked up, and pushed his men back.
“Not so fast, men,” he said, quietly but firmly. “This American may
mean no harm after all.”
“But it is known that he has helped the Japanese,” said one.
“He was put out of his hotel for so doing,” added another.
“I have heard he is a spy,” came from a third.
“I give you my word of honor, captain, that I am not a spy,” said
Gilbert, when he could get the chance to speak.
“Who are you?”
“I am simply an American citizen, the selling agent for the Richmond
Importing Company. We have been doing business here for several years.”
“I see.” The Russian captain mused for a moment. “But it is true that
you aided some Japanese, yes?”
“I helped one man whom I knew personally. He was being put out of his
house after paying his rent. I made the rent gatherer give the rent
money back. The man was poor, and he had a sick wife and several small
children depending upon him.”
“Ha! I see. Well, we have no further use for the Japanese in this city,
or in the whole of Manchuria, for the matter of that. They must leave
and at once. I will investigate your case more fully later. In the
meantime you must remain here.”
Gilbert’s heart sank and for the time being he knew not how to reply.
If he was made a prisoner there was no telling when he would be able
to clear himself and get away. The Russian authorities might keep him
locked up for weeks and even months. In the meanwhile, what would
become of the _Columbia_ with her valuable cargo, and what would become
of his friends on board?
“They are not going to keep me a prisoner if I can help it,” he told
himself grimly. “I’ve been in a tight fix before and got out of it, and
I’ll get out of this one too!”
The opportunity to escape came sooner than expected. Scarcely a quarter
of an hour went by when there was a commotion on the street, and word
was brought in that all the Chinese and Japanese in Port Arthur were
rising, to massacre the Russian citizens. The report was a false one,
but it produced a terrible sensation for a couple of hours, and the
Russian soldiers were called out to quell the disturbance.
In the excitement Gilbert watched his chance, and when he was not
observed, he slipped from among the soldiers who surrounded him and
through an open doorway into another portion of the building. From this
apartment he ran into a near-by shed, and then along a lane lined on
either side by storehouses.
“Stop! stop!” he heard a Russian soldier yell, and then several shots
were fired after him, none of which, however, took effect. He continued
to run, and coming to a wide open storehouse, ran inside, mounted a
ladder, and then laid down to hide behind a number of sacks of salt.
The ex-lieutenant thought the Russian soldiers would follow him, and
such would undoubtedly have been the case had it not been for the alarm
just mentioned. The alarm was close to the center of the city, and the
vicinity of the storehouse in which he had hidden was all but deserted.
It must be admitted that the young American was now in a most unsettled
state of mind. What to do next he did not know. He felt that he had
gotten himself into “hot water” in more ways than one. Captain Barusky
was against him, so were the owner of the house in which Jiru Siko had
resided, and the officer from whom he had just made his escape.
“They’ll prove me a spy, or worse, if they possibly can,” he thought,
and drew a deep sigh. “To my way of thinking Port Arthur is getting too
warm to hold me. I reckon I had best clear out and come back when this
excitement is over. With this fighting going on, I’ll never be able to
bring Ivan Snokoff and Captain Barusky to justice.”
It was an easy matter to decide upon leaving Port Arthur, but how the
thing was to be done was another matter. He knew that the railroad to
the north was closely guarded, and so was the entire harbor front.
“If I had a good horse I might leave in the dark and ride to Dalny, or
Yang-tau-wo, or some other place, and ship from there,” he reasoned.
“Wonder if I can buy a horse without attracting attention?”
Gilbert remained in the storehouse the best part of two hours before
he thought it safe to leave it. Some soldiers had gone past and they
did not return. With caution he looked out of the doorway and out of
several windows to make certain that the coast was clear.
The storehouse was in a portion of the city which was new to him, and
as he stepped out into the lane once more he scarcely knew how to turn.
But he remembered the way he had come, and started in a direction
directly opposite.
A few minutes of rapid walking brought him to a small square, on one
side of which were more storehouses, and on the other a number of
drinking places, and cheap lodging houses. Here were a number of idle
Russians, many the worse for liquor. To avoid them Gilbert walked past
as rapidly as he could.
He had just reached the corner of a side street when three half-drunken
Russian stevedores hailed him, and as he did not stop, two caught him
by the arm.
“Come and be cheerful!” cried one, in a thick voice. “Don’t be afraid
to spend your money.”
“Thank you, but I have no money to spare,” answered Gilbert briefly,
and attempted to pass on.
“Ho! ho! just to hear the Englishman!” cried the fellow. “For a truth
I’m sure your pockets are lined with _rubles_.”
“Or if not with _rubles_ at least with _kopecks_,” hiccoughed the
second Russian. “Come, stranger, let us drink to the success of Russia.”
“Aye!” put in a third. “The success of Russia, and may every dog of a
Nippon lose his life in this war!”
The trio gathered closely around Gilbert, and one, the dirtiest of the
lot, almost embraced the ex-lieutenant.
“I tell you, I have nothing for you!” cried Gilbert sharply. “Now let
me pass.”
“What, will you not drink to the success of Russia and to the health
of our Czar?” growled one of the trio.
“I told you I had no money to spare. Now let me pass,” and Gilbert
tried to break away and pass down the side street, for he saw that
several other Russians were approaching.
The breaking out of the war, and the battle in the harbor, had made the
Russian stevedores reckless, and they thought they saw a chance to get
some money without working for it. At a sign from their leader they set
upon Gilbert and tripped him up, so that he fell flat upon his back.
“Here, stop that!” he cried. “Stop it, I say!” And when they did not
stop, but instead made movements as if to get at his watch and purse,
he began to struggle violently.
As my old readers will remember, Gilbert was healthy and muscular, and
it did not take him long to struggle to his feet, and send one of his
assailants sprawling. Then he struck out once more, hitting a second
Russian on the nose.
“Knock him down!” spluttered that individual, staggering back “Knock
him down! Hit him with a club.”
By this time two others of the stevedore gang were at hand. One had
a club and he made a wicked pass for the young American’s head.
Fortunately Gilbert saw the move, and dodged just in time, so that the
end of the stick merely grazed his shoulder.
The fight was now growing hot, and Gilbert backed up against a wall,
hoping by this means to keep his assailants in front of him. But now
all five of the Russians came at him, and he felt that sooner or later
he must become then victim.
“Help! help!” he cried. “Thieves! help!”
“Be quiet!” growled one of the Russians. “Be quiet!”
“Hit him, Michael! Hit him, before he alarms the whole neighborhood!”
put in another.
The fellow called Michael advanced to do as bidden. Gilbert warded
off the blow once more, and then sought to wrench the stick from the
stevedore’s grasp. In another instant the other Russians leaped in, and
down went the young American once more, with all his enemies on top of
him.