AMONG JAPANESE FRIENDS
For the moment it looked as if Gilbert would receive the worst of the
struggle. It was true that the Russian stevedores were more than half
intoxicated, but they were five to one, and now they had Gilbert flat
on his back, and were both kicking and cuffing him as hard as they
could.
But at this critical moment an interruption came which was as welcome
to the young American as it was unexpected. From a cellar door a short
distance away there issued half a dozen Japanese and two Chinese,
all armed with stout sticks. Looking up and down the street, to make
certain that the coast was otherwise clear, they advanced noiselessly
and attacked the Russians from the rear.
A howl of pain went up as one of the Russians received a blow on the
head that staggered him. Then a second was hit on the ear, a third
nearly had his shoulder dislocated, and the others fared almost as
badly.
“The Japanese!” shrieked one of the stevedores. “The Japanese!”
“Stop, do not kill us!” moaned a second.
Gilbert listened to the words in amazement. Then he looked up, to
behold Jiru Siko standing there, stick in hand.
“Siko!” he cried. “This is fortunate!”
“Come, Master Pennington,” was the low answer. “Make quick walk, no
make quick walk more Russians come—make much hurry!” And he bent down
and caught Gilbert by the arm.
The ex-lieutenant needed no second bidding, and as quickly as he could
he arose to his feet. The Japanese took him by the arm and hurried
him toward the cellar stairs. In the meantime the others continued to
fight, and the Russian stevedores received a sound thrashing. But now
one blew a whistle, a signal for the others of the gang to which he
belonged.
Gilbert went down the cellar steps and Jiru Siko and his friends came
after him. Then the cellar door was shut down and hooked fast. All was
so dark Gilbert could not for the moment see anything.
“Come, Jiru Siko show the way,” said the Japanese, and hurried the
young American forward through the gloom. They passed across the
cellar and into a passageway that was utterly black. All the party
followed a moment later, and Gilbert heard a stout wooden door close
and heard the bolts as they were shot into place.
When the young American finally emerged from the passageway he found
himself covered with dust and cobwebs. He was in a small stone room,
almost entirely underground. Overhead was a storehouse, and beyond this
the water front.
The room was filled with Japanese and Chinese, and back of it was
another room containing a number of women and children, including Jiru
Siko’s family. It was a foul-smelling place, damp and unwholesome, but
to these conditions Gilbert did not pay attention.
“I must thank you for coming to my assistance,” said Gilbert, as he
caught his Japanese friend by the hand. “You came in the nick of time.”
“No forget what Master Pennington do for Jiru Siko,” was the answer.
“Very good man, Russians very bad mans—like to fight Russians all
time!” And then the Japanese wanted to know if Gilbert was seriously
hurt.
“No hurts of any consequence,” said the young American, after an
inspection. “I got two or three cracks I didn’t like, but that was all.
But if you hadn’t come up as you did, I don’t know how I should have
fared. How did you happen to see me?”
“Go out for something to eat,” was the reply. The Japanese did not add
that he and his followers had intended to confiscate some goods in one
of the storehouses near there, yet such was a fact. All of the party
needed food, and, as the war had now begun, they considered that a
perfectly legitimate way of getting what was wanted.
It was thought by some that the Russians would try to get into the
cellar and follow up those who had attacked them. But when more of the
stevedores arrived those who had first set upon Gilbert were too dazed
to point out the way by which the young American and his friends had
escaped.
One of the Japanese had been left on guard, and at length he came back
with word that the Russians had gone off to a neighboring drinking
resort.
“But they say they will hunt out the American,” said he. “And also hunt
out us who aided him. One of the Russians said the American must be a
leader among us and ought to be hung.”
This last bit of information was dismaying to Gilbert. Like a flash he
realized that his troubles were growing deeper and deeper.
“First, it was Captain Barusky and that fellow who had me put out of
the hotel, then it was that officer who caught me on the tower, and
now it is the crowd who think I am a leader of these Japs,” was what he
told himself. “If they catch me, I reckon they’ll do all they can to
make me a Russian prisoner of war.”
The Japanese and Chinese knew how Gilbert had stood up for Jiru Siko
and his family, and they told him they would do all in their power for
the young American.
“I am afraid I’ll have to keep out of sight of the Russian authorities
for the present,” said the ex-lieutenant. And he did what he could to
explain the situation. They listened with keen interest to his story,
and at the conclusion said, if he would remain with them, they would do
their utmost to protect him.
“Got better room for American,” said one, and after a consultation
with Jiru Siko led the way along another passageway and up a narrow
and dirty flight of stairs to a small apartment in the rear of a
Chinese furniture shop. The shop had been closed ever since the first
bombardment in the harbor, and many of the goods had been carried away.
The apartment was small but clean and had one narrow window,
overlooking some sheds which lined the upper harbor entrance. Gilbert
was told he could remain there as long ass he pleased, and the
Japanese and Chinese would see to it that he did not suffer for the
want of food.
The fighting in the harbor had now come to an end, and only the
occasional distant booming of a cannon could be heard. Satisfied with
sinking or disabling the flower of the Russian navy located at Port
Arthur, Admiral Togo left the vicinity, fearful that sooner or later
the fire from the forts might reach him. This fire had been incessant,
but the aim of the Russian gunners had been poor and but little damage
had been done.
Sitting down on a stool near the window, which was tightly closed to
keep out the cold air, Gilbert gave himself up to his reflections. His
mind was in a tumult, and for some time he could scarcely straighten
out his thoughts.
The sudden breaking out of this war between Russia and Japan had upset
all his calculations. He realized that it would be utterly useless for
the present to attempt to find Ivan Snokoff, or bring that rascal and
Captain Barusky to justice. He also knew it would be useless to attempt
to send any message to Nagasaki or any other Japanese port, or try to
get a message from the _Columbia_ and those on board.
“The best thing I can do is to get out of Manchuria just as quickly
as possible,” was the conclusion he reached. “These Russians feel sure
I am friendly to the Japanese, and that being so they’ll handle me
without gloves, if I let them catch me. They are forcing me to become
an enemy in self-defense.”
From the window Gilbert could see a distant body of Russian soldiers
marching through the streets, on their way from the railroad station to
their barracks.
“They must be expecting the Japanese to attack them,” he thought.
“Certainly they can’t be thinking of sending an army to Japan.” His
surmise proved correct; and the attack came not long after, as history
has proved.
Towards the middle of the afternoon Jiru Siko appeared, along with
one of the Chinamen who owned an interest in the furniture shop. They
brought with them something hot to eat and to drink, for which Gilbert
was thankful, for, as we know, he had had nothing whatever since early
morning.
“Whole town fill up with Russian soldiers,” announced Jiru Siko.
“Soldiers in streets, soldiers in houses, soldiers all over. No
Japanese show him face—make much trouble.”
“I reckon you’ll have to get out, Siko,” answered the young American.
“But how you are going to do it, I don’t know.”
“What Master Pennington going to do?”
“I’m going to get out, too—if I can. But I don’t want to show myself to
the Russians.”
“Want to sail on ship?”
“I don’t know of any other way to get out. The Russians hold the
railroad from end to end.”
“No ship sail from Port Arthur—mean no Japanese ship—big guns from fort
smash bang!”
“I know that as well as you do.”
“Master Pennington want to go with Jiru Siko?”
“Where to?”
“Nagasaki.”
“How are you going to get to Nagasaki?”
“Got big sailboat—sail in two, three days—when weather is fine.”
“Not from here?”
“No! no! sailboat some miles from here. Go away from Port Arthur in
dark—walk or ride in dark—come where boat is, wait for good time go
away. Master Pennington come, we do best we can for him.”
“Jiru Siko, you are a true friend if ever there was one!” ejaculated
Gilbert, catching the brown hand of the little Japanese. “How soon do
you expect to start from here?”
“To-morrow night.”
“I’d like to get my traveling bag, if not my trunk.”
The Japanese looked puzzled for a moment.
“Bad work get bag, Russians look for Master Pennington at hotel—keep
spy, get bag, catch quick, maybe.”
“You mean they may have a spy watching for my return?”
Jiru Siko nodded. “All city full of spies now,” he added.
“I believe you. Nevertheless, I’ll see if I can’t get the bag and a few
other things. Herr Schaumberg will do what he can for me, I know.”
The matter was talked over for a short while longer, and then it was
decided that Gilbert should try to reach the German hotel as soon as
it got dark. He was to get back to the Chinese furniture shop by the
following evening, and then set out with Jiru Siko and some others for
the ship.