GILBERT LEAVES PORT ARTHUR
Once in the courtyard of the German hotel, Gilbert did not stop to
consider the situation. He knew that the Russian soldiers were in front
of the place, and his only chance of safety lay in flight to the rear.
Running as rapidly as he could with the satchel, which was tightly
packed and heavy, he passed to one side of the stables, and entered
a small alleyway leading to a back street. The alleyway was littered
with rubbish, and he went down twice, tearing his clothing in several
places, and scratching his left hand.
“This is certainly no picnic,” he muttered, as he picked himself up for
the second time. “But they shan’t catch me—not if I know it!”
He had the “lay of the land” fairly well in his head, and tried to
take as straight a course as possible for the Chinese furniture shop.
But this was not easy, for many streets in Port Arthur are crooked and
end in unexpected places. More than this, he had to be on a constant
lookout for more of the Russian soldiery.
Presently he reached a street that was apparently deserted, all of the
residents having gone to bed. Being now almost out of wind, he dropped
into a walk.
“I reckon I’ve thrown them off the track,” he told himself, and then,
coming to the dark entrance to a shop, set his bag down to rest for a
few minutes.
All was quiet in the city. Thanks to the delay occasioned by Herr
Schaumberg, the Russians who had visited the German hotel had failed to
get on the young American’s track.
Having gotten back his wind, Gilbert picked up his bag once again. As
he did this, a burly form loomed up out of the semi-darkness around a
corner.
“Ho there! Stop!” came in the voice of a Russian policeman. And he
strode toward Gilbert, club in hand.
Gilbert felt that it would be useless to run, for the policeman would
surely shoot at him. At once he resolved to play a trick on the officer
of the law.
“Thank goodness you have arrived,” he gasped. “Can you catch them?”
“Catch them?” queried the policeman. “Who?”
“The men who were following me. See, there they go, the rascals! I
might have lost my bag and my money.”
“Were they Chinese?”
“They must have been—it was almost too dark to see. There’s another of
them!”
Gilbert pointed to a distant corner with his hand and sank down as if
exhausted. The policeman stared at him for an instant.
“I’ll see what I can do,” said the officer of the law, as he drew his
pistol. “Stay here till I return,” and off he went on a run.
The moment the officer had turned the corner the ex-lieutenant started
on a dead run in the opposite direction. Having rested, he was able to
make fairly good time, and soon put four squares between himself and
the policeman. Then he dropped once again into a walk, but now kept a
sharp lookout on all sides for the possible appearance of another enemy.
Before he reached the Chinese quarter of the town he heard a tramping
at a distance. More soldiers had arrived, including some Cossack
cavalry, who went clattering loudly over the pavements.
“So you get back, no trouble,” said Jiru Siko, when he appeared. “Much
glad to see dat,” and the face of the little brown man showed his
sincerity.
“But I had a whole lot of trouble,” answered Gilbert, and told his
story. “Port Arthur is altogether too hot to hold me much longer.”
“Very bad—bad for American—bad for poor son of Nippon,” was the reply.
“Glad to go soon.”
“Yes, I’ll be glad to get out myself. But we’ll have to be very
careful, Siko.”
“Yes, yes; go like mice—the Russian cat can’t catch him!” And the
Japanese smiled knowingly.
“Are you going to take your wife and children along?”
“Wife and chillen go already—Russians no stop women. They meet Jiru
Siko on boat—other women, too—men go, you and me, altogether.”
“I’m glad we won’t have the women and children along. It’s going to be
no easy matter to get out of the city.”
“I show Master Pennington trick—you watch. Now go sleep—no sleep next
night—go on boat, maybe fight.”
“Well, I’m tired enough to go to sleep,” answered Gilbert, and in less
than half an hour he was in the land of dreams, despite the dangers
which surrounded him.
When Gilbert awoke it was broad daylight. Looking out of the window he
saw that a light snow was falling, which a keen, penetrating wind was
blowing in several directions.
“This won’t make traveling very pleasant,” he thought. “But it may make
it easier for us to escape.”
By looking at his watch he found it was after ten o’clock, showing
that he had slept much longer than usual. Getting up, he found himself
as fresh as ever and tremendously hungry. He was glad to see one of
the Chinamen come in with some fresh bread, coffee, and a couple of
deliciously cooked chops.
“See here, John, I want to pay you for these,” said he, and insisted
upon giving the Celestial a _ruble_, for which the fellow was extremely
grateful. The Chinese in Port Arthur had never fared well under Russian
rule, and now their situation was worse than ever, for the followers of
the Czar knew they would do all in their power to help the Japanese.
From the Chinaman Gilbert learned that Jiru Siko had gone off to make
arrangements for leaving Port Arthur, and would not be back much before
nightfall. There was nothing to do but to wait, and the young American
made himself as comfortable as possible in the meantime.
It was after six o’clock when the Japanese returned, and at once he
and his companions held a long conference. Then he came to Gilbert.
“Go now,” said he. “You got pistol?”
“Yes,” was the answer, and the ex-lieutenant produced the weapon,
loaded and ready for use. It had been his companion during the campaign
in China, and he knew he could depend upon it.
“No shoot quick,” went on Jiru Siko. “Shoot only when can’t help.”
“I understand, and I don’t want to shoot anybody if it can be avoided,”
returned Gilbert.
The snow was coming down thickly, and the wind was blowing strongly
when Gilbert and eight others of the party left the furniture shop.
At the same time another party of seven left the quarters under the
storehouse, but they went off in another direction.
The course was through a dirty, narrow street of the Chinese quarter,
and then to a row of stables, where stood a number of carts piled high
with boxes and intrenching tools.
“Hide in the carts,” explained Jiru Siko. “Carts go out of city
to-night, sure. Be careful, no noise.”
He went with the young American, and in a few minutes both were
secreted in one of the carts, between two packing cases loaded with
ammunition. On top of them were a number of shovels and picks and over
the whole a rough tarpaulin, to keep off the snow.
Once hidden in the carts, none of the party dared to speak excepting in
the faintest of whispers. All waited patiently for about half an hour,
when several Russian cart-drivers and hostlers appeared, bringing with
them a number of horses. The men were talking in a boisterous manner,
and were evidently dissatisfied with the task before them.
“We could wait until daylight just as well,” grumbled one. “To drive
out in such a snowstorm and on such a road is not pleasant.”
“True, Pasof but orders are orders,” came from a second. “And the
sooner we arrive at Chic-yang the better for us. So hurry along.”
The horses were soon hooked fast to the carts, and then, mounting the
seats, the drivers started up their teams with loud cracks of their
whips and curses long and deep.
At the first jounce over the rough pavements Gilbert felt that the ride
was to be anything but pleasant. But that shaking up was as nothing to
what followed, and he had to brace himself between the boxes with all
his strength to prevent some bones from being crushed. Up and down
went the cart, in and out of holes and ruts, the snow sifting in at
times and down the young American’s neck, in spite of the fact that he
had buttoned his coat tightly around him. It was intensely cold, and
soon his feet seemed to be more than half-frozen.
“How much of this have we got to stand?” he whispered to his companion.
“Not much—soon we leave city we leave cart,” was Jiru Siko’s answer. He
was suffering as much as Gilbert, but uttered no complaint.
A moment later the cart went into a hole with a jounce that threatened
to break an axle. Part of the load began to slip back, and in alarm the
driver leaped down to readjust it.
The movement brought the man close to Gilbert’s hiding-place, and as
the end of the tarpaulin was raised the ex-lieutenant felt almost
certain that he would be discovered.
But the discovery did not come, and having shoved two of the cases back
into place, and readjusted several ropes which bound them, the driver
moved on once more.
That jounce proved the last, and soon after this the cart struck a hard
and fairly smooth dirt road, where riding for those in hiding was much
easier.
“We out of Port Arthur now,” whispered Jiru Siko. “Leave cart soon.”
“What about the others?”
“They leave, too—all go to old house on road to water.”
After this nothing was said for fully ten minutes. The cart was now
moving along at a fair rate of speed, and the driver was puffing
away contentedly at a short pipe between his teeth, and paying scant
attention to the load behind.
“Now we go,” whispered Jiru Siko, and worked his way noiselessly to
the rear of the cart. Gilbert went with him, and in a moment more both
dropped into the road. Then, hand in hand, they ran out of sight in the
darkness, and the cart rumbled on, the driver never once suspecting
that he had been carrying passengers.
The house the Japanese had in mind was a good half mile away. The road
lay over a barren field, now covered with several inches of snow.
“It is certainly cold to-night,” said Gilbert, when he felt at liberty
to speak. “We’ll have no fun of it when we reach the water front.”
“Cold make Russians stay in by fire,” answered his companion. “No see
us—so better for boat.”
“That is true, but—— What does that mean?”
Gilbert broke off short as a pistol shot rang out at a distance. Then
came a yell in Russian, followed by a cry of alarm in Japanese.
“Somebody found out!” cried Jiru Siko. “Come, we must run now, or get
caught sure!”