Last Days in Port Arthur
One morning I was taking my early breakfast at the Saratoff, when
a carriage pulled up. Almost immediately afterwards Mac, Reuter’s
representative whom I had met in Port Arthur before the war, entered
the restaurant and, thirsting as I was for trustworthy news of what
had happened outside the fortress, I lost no time in inviting him to
be seated at my table. Mac was equally eager to know what had happened
in the town whilst he had been absent. We fenced phrases a short time,
and I was so intent upon drawing Mac that I had not noticed an officer
who had followed him into the restaurant, then seated himself at a
near-by table and engaged in conversation one of the civilians of the
Port who was breakfasting there. In a few minutes Mac drew my attention
to him, and told me that he was the officer of Gendarmes who had him
under arrest. That he had come into the fortress with an escort and
was furnished with special permission to get what belonged to him, and
leave the fortress again within forty-eight hours. When he told this
I felt that it was the beginning of the end of my stay at Port Arthur.
I learned from Mac that up to the present the military activity of the
Japanese was confined to operations in Korea. The way out north was
still open, and likely to remain so.
Later that morning, I met Mac again. He had shaken off the police
escort and was in the company of an Anglo-Russian resident
correspondent, and some civilian foreigners. We took tiffin together
at the Saratoff, all of us intent upon getting news of the outer
world from the new arrival. Again, as luck had it, Tsintsius, the
plain-clothes detective of Port Arthur, came in, shook hands with Mac,
and took stock of the company. Me, of course, he did not know, and
inquired. Mac obligingly introduced me--he could not do otherwise--and
told me consolingly that Tsintsius was the man who had arrested him
originally, and he wished him anywhere but there.
The detective was watching Mac and noting those with whom he had any
conversation, and of course would want to know all about me, and
probably would obtain some information before the day was out. I had
seen him many times about the town, for he was a conspicuous figure. He
wore a moustache--unusual amongst civilians--a light coloured slouch
hat, a very gaudy scarlet neck cloth, sailor shirt, and a light grey
sack suit. Tsintsius would recognize me again anywhere as easily as
I could recognize him, for that was his profession. I foresaw much
trouble looming up for me, and, as the Americans say, got up against
myself to find a way of escape. Sooner or later, I should have to
own up, and, just as a person who is about to be discharged from his
employment scores by getting his resignation accepted first, I deemed
it best to go to some one in authority who would listen to me, then
cross my legs and tell my right name and real business, or I would be
taken and treated as a spy.
Clearly, there was no one in authority more likely to listen to me than
was Major-General Floog, then unknown to world fame, but who had a
responsible position on the staff of the Viceroy, and was assumed to be
occupying himself with the claims of newspaper correspondents. I drove
over to the New Town at once, and called upon the General. Of course,
he would not see me--it was a case of “come again--to-morrow morning at
nine o’clock”--but I got my name registered there, without any mention
of the business on which I wished to interview the General. Then I went
out towards White Wolf Hill, and back by the upper road into town.
On the Serpionaya there was a curious joint, frequented more or less by
every one who was anybody in Port Arthur, a house Mac was most unlikely
to visit. I went there for an hour or two, and just as I was leaving,
I opened the door to Tsintsius!
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Round to the Saratoff for supper.”
“I’m going there too. I have a carriage here; jump in. I’ll drive you
round.” Then he called to the driver, “Straight on!”
At the first corner, I shouted, “To the right!”
“Straight on, straight on!” called Tsintsius. Then he explained, “We’ll
go over the hill, it is not much farther, and it saves many turns.”
“All right.”
“The Anglo-Russian correspondent”--he mentioned his name--“told me
where I might find you!”
I should not have thought it of him; the boy had guessed right the very
first time, and really he never had enough sense to creep in under
cover out of the rain. The newspaper pose never suited him, and he is
doing better work now as secretary to an Archimandrite of the Orthodox
Church.
“Do you know many people in Port Arthur?” asked the detective.
“Very few,” I answered promptly.
“For instance?”
That was too easy. “For instance? Those correspondents and their
companions with whom you saw me taking lunch to-day?”
“Ah, you are going to have supper with them? But whom else do you
know?” He fidgeted uneasily by my side.
“Some business men in the town,” I answered, without interest.
“Do you happen to know the chief of police?”
“I am not personally acquainted with him.”
“He is a very fine man.”
“Everyone praises him.”
The horses were toiling slowly up the ascent, splashing through the
ice, snow, and mud; the night was dark as the inside of a money-safe.
“You ought to know him. He lives close by.”
I knew very well where he lived--at the top of the hill--which we were
nearing, for the horses were trotting again. I ignored his remark.
“That’s right. I shall be glad to get some supper. I am very hungry.”
“I should like to introduce you to him now.”
The conversation did not please me at all. “Some other time,” I
protested. “I want supper.”
“It will not delay us a minute. Stop, driver!”
“Well, where are we now?” I asked.
“At the Chief’s. Come, just a minute! You will find him an excellent
friend.”
He got out of the carriage.
“Don’t be long. I’ll wait for you,” I remarked casually.
“No, no! Come in! You must! I insist! He is a charming man. We need not
stay a minute and perhaps I’ll not have the opportunity again.”
“To-morrow morning, then. Now is not the time to make a social call.”
“The hour does not matter; I’m one of the staff. Come along!”
He spoke pleadingly. I guessed what was in store for me, but deemed it
wisest to agree, so followed him into the house.
“Tell your master I wish to see him.”
We entered a small reception room on the right. It was comfortably
furnished for a Port Arthur house, and had a large writing table and a
telephone.
We had been seated only a few minutes when the Chief of Police entered
the room. He is a tall, handsome, Baltic Russian, with a courtly
manner, and a charmingly frank countenance. The Tsar has no more
honourable or devoted servant than the clever Chief of the Port Arthur
police.
He acknowledged my bow with a slight inclination, and strode across to
the telephone, and rang up.
“This is an Englishman I have just arrested on the Serpionaya,”
explained the detective.
“Take him to the lock-up,” commanded his chief.
That was all. As the telephone was ringing in answer, we left the
room--and the house.
When we were again seated in the carriage it was the detective’s turn
to have the conversation take an unpleasant turn.
“What about our supper at the Saratoff?” I began.
He was silent.
It would have been better had I remained silent too, but that was
impossible. I upbraided him with his deceit, his treachery, his
unfriendliness, called him _störer_, _schürke_, and _lump_, _schuft_,
_verrather_, and _hundsfott_; the German language had not bad names
enough for him, and I relapsed on mujik’s Russian. When he protested I
called him _lugner_, and he took it with composure. It did not occur to
me then that he had done his business in a masterly manner.
The horses plunged into mudholes in the darkness; the carriage swayed
and groaned; we were crossing unmade ground, going round to the back of
the jail by a way with which I was not familiar. At last the carriage
stopped near the edge of a rough declivity. We groped our way round the
gable of a building and by-and-by reached the porch.
Inside was one large room with some smaller offices opening from it,
and a corridor leading in the direction of the jail. There was the
usual stove, some policemen idling about, and a clerk busy with printed
forms at a table in the corner.
Tsintsius spoke a few words with some officer in one of the inner
rooms, then left the building. I asked if it were permissible to smoke,
and having leave to do so, walked back and forth in that room--it
seemed for hours. Luckily I had my identification and other papers on
me, for I had then no invention to concoct any sort of plausible story.
People came and went, policemen marched through the room; officials
arrived, hung their great-coats on the wall, disappeared in the inner
rooms, re-appeared, put on their coats and went out into the darkness.
The clerk filled in the printed forms, and smoked cigarettes with equal
assiduity. It was the sort of thing that might continue without change
as long as the Russian empire endures.
At last there was a diversion. Tsintsius arrived with the Anglo-Russian
correspondent and Mac--the energetic man had arrested both of them.
The Anglo-Russian correspondent recognizing me, and cognizant that he
had been the cause of my arrest, opened with an apology, and I, full
of resentment towards him, started on a wordy attack. Mac looked on
silently, pityingly, wonderingly, and full to the eyelids of his own
woes.
“If you _were_ asked where I might be found, it would have been easy to
say that you did not know--and, if you were born and raised in Russia
and have not learned to say, ‘I don’t know,’ to any and every question
asked you, I should just like to meet the people with whom you have
associated?”
He is a good-hearted, generous fellow, always acknowledging his fault,
blaming himself, and apologizing profusely--the sort of man who gets on
my nerves at once.
“Yes, yes, I know I ought to have said, ‘I don’t know,’ but I didn’t
know, and----”
“Oh, don’t talk to me! And don’t get new--for I can’t stand that.”
We were interrupted by a new arrival--none other than the officer
of Gendarmes who had Mac in his charge. He strode to Tsintsius, and
began a clamorous altercation, which almost immediately developed into
a fight. The enraged officer clutched the detective by the throat,
twisted him over backwards and commenced belabouring him unmercifully.
Tsintsius would then and there have suffered the half-death he merited,
had not the officials separated the combatants. Truly, Russian
officials have great affection for each other.
The trouble had arisen from the officiousness of Tsintsius in arresting
Mac; the officer declared he had him in charge all the time; the
detective declared that he had not. Their difference ended with the
arrival of the Chief of Police, and soon Mac was through, the officer
undertaking to get him out of Port Arthur by the next train. Then my
turn came.
Fortunately my papers were found to be in order. My passport had been
duly registered, but the police had not been notified of changes of
address. I informed the chief that I had produced my passport when I
engaged rooms, but had been informed by the proprietors that as it had
already been endorsed no further formalities were necessary. If they
were, the proprietors, who were Russians, were in a position to know of
what had been ordered better than myself, a stranger.
As to my business, my visit to Major-General Floog earlier in the
day decided that. The chief made me promise that I would call on the
Major-General the next morning, and follow his directions. Meanwhile I
was at liberty to go wherever I pleased in either the Old Town or the
New.
It was past midnight before I took supper at the Saratoff. Tsintsius
was not present, but I noticed a change in the attitude of the
company towards myself. The police interlude had enveloped me with an
atmosphere of uncertainty; people doubted whether they might converse
with me, without bringing suspicion upon themselves.
Mac left during the night. Early the next morning I once more took up
my abode at Efimoff’s, now crowded with Russian officers of inferior
rank, horribly mismanaged and many times more filthy than when the
proprietor was directing in person.
Then I went again to visit Major-General Floog.
On this occasion I did not see that irresponsible officer at all.
First he wished to know the nature of my business with him. My papers
explained it to him, or to his secretary. I awaited the reply with
some misgiving. On one occasion when I interviewed an officer with
reference to facilities for newspaper correspondents, I was answered by
an inferior possessing the proportions of the conventional alderman,
who came close to me, bowed slowly until our foreheads almost met; then
straightened himself up suddenly, and as I took a step backward he
repeated the manœuvre, and continued the ceremonial, until, against my
intention, I was outside the room. And all he said was that the high
authorities intended to make it so difficult for correspondents that
few would care to remain with the army--if, even, they got so far as
to be permitted to reach the Russian forces. By that time I was on the
mat outside, experiencing a numb sensation of absolute soullessness
pervading my whole being.
The Russian officials told off for this special duty have such an
excellent address, and are so adroit, yet gracious in their manner,
that an undesired visitor is bowed out in less time than it takes him
to say good-day. Another correspondent of the _Times_ had occasion to
call on the Russian Administrator of Newchwang. It was his first visit,
and before he had time to mention the purpose of his interview he was
gladly received--and dismissed--finding himself on the mat, and the
sentry holding open the hall door for his exit, before he realized that
he was in the presence. Having experienced similar treatment, this time
I was prepared for the excessively polite attack which ensures speedy
and complete defeat. And first I walked across the room and took a seat
near the wall farthest from the door.
Lieut.-Col. Maximovich was the official to whom my application was
entrusted. He came in expecting to find me in the place usually taken
by casual callers. In one hand he held out my documents, in the other
I noticed a printed paper, the like of which I seemed to have seen
before. He informed me, courteously enough, that all applications by
correspondents must be made through the correspondent’s own Minister
of State for Foreign Affairs recommending him to His Excellency
the Russian Minister for Foreign Affairs, who would transmit the
recommendation to His Excellency the Viceroy, who might consider
favourably such an application for permission to be accredited to one
of the Russian armies in the Far East.
There was a great deal of circumlocution attached to this course,
in which so many Excellencies had to be interested. I begged the
Colonel to be kind enough to put that information in writing for
me. He complied, using an abbreviated form and omitting various
_Vuisokoprevoskhodityelstvo’s_, and other titles. He reached me at
once, on concluding, with the order: “You must now leave Port Arthur
forthwith.”
“Yes,” said I; “where may I go?”
He suggested Chifu.
I had no more business with Chifu than Russia could have. I suggested
Mukden.
“No, not Mukden.”
“Dalny?”
“Not Dalny.”
“Harbin?”
He shook his head.
“Newchwang?”
As to that he could not say. Newchwang might be possible.
There and then I determined that it should be Newchwang.
“_Au revoir_, Colonel,” I said cheerily.
“Good-bye,” he answered icily.
As I left he handed the printed form to an orderly, giving instructions
that it should be forwarded immediately.
Next I called upon the Anglo-Russian correspondent, but his flat
was forsaken--he had gone into hiding for a few days. The remainder
of my stay in Port Arthur was apportioned to getting rid of my
responsibilities as to other persons’ property, learning something
respecting the present state of the warships in the harbour, the
personnel of the new appointments to the Viceroy’s staff, the probable
date of their departure north, and arrange for the transmission of
further news to me at Newchwang. The programme was carried through in
its entirety; I spent the early hours of the evening with some officers
in the New Town, and it was long after dark before I directed my steps
homeward. I had still one call to make. That was interrupted by the
brusque entrance of Tsintsius, with a summons for me to attend at the
police-station at once. His manner was different from that he had shown
previously. He was abrupt and churlish. There was a third person in his
carriage when I stepped into it, and we drove along in silence.
At the police-station I took the initiative; went into the inner room,
and requested the clerk to ring up the Chief of Police. I explained
the position in a few words, expressed my intention of leaving by the
next train, and told the police-master he would find me at Efimoff’s
whenever he needed me. I was ordered to be allowed to go, and the
clerk accordingly endorsed the order--the one I had noticed in the
hand of Colonel Maximovich that morning. The action of the authorities
was explicable. Having discovered the presence of a newspaper
correspondent in the fortress, they were anxious for his immediate
departure. He could not leave quickly enough to satisfy them.
The next morning my baggage and myself were at the railway terminus
in good time. That day the train was late; at the moment no one could
say whether or not there would be a train leaving. It was a matter of
indifference to me--longing for a fresh attack by the Japanese fleet,
or any event which would prolong my stay. But at last the train came,
and I had an unexpected diversion.
I was entering the booking office when a captain of the railway guards
tapped me on the shoulder.
“Are you the war correspondent who is ordered to leave?”
“I am,” I answered.
“Have you a permit?”
“No,” I said, astonished. “I am ordered to go.”
“Ah, but you must have a permit.”
The ever officious Tsintsius was at hand to explain. His explanation
did not satisfy the captain.
“Get one for him, then,” said Tsintsius.
The captain consented. He wrote an order, gave it to one of his men and
told him to conduct me to his quarters.
When we arrived there, the clerk in charge made a lengthy business
of his work. He drew up a petition to General Stoessel, stating who
and what I was, where I wanted to go, specified that I had with me a
Gladstone bag, riding whip, etc., etc., and required a permit to leave
Port Arthur. The captain himself came and assisted in drafting the
document. Then I was dispatched with the guard to the commandant of the
fortress.
General Stoessel was not at all pleased to see me, or gratified at
the nature of the communication. He stamped, and fumed, and abused
the captain and his men; the guard meanwhile standing strictly to
attention. No permit was necessary to leave Port Arthur--only to enter
the town.
“Still,” I said, “they won’t let me leave without a pass.”
“Stay! I will give you something which will satisfy that imbecile.”
He scribbled a few words on paper and handed it to me.
When we were in our carriage, the guard asked me to loan him the paper,
and he studied it carefully.
“You see our captain was right. It is a permit.” That was well, but
when we reached the station the train had gone--there was no other
until early the next morning, so I had another day in Port Arthur.
In the afternoon I met the Chief of Police on the Bund.
“Why have you not gone?” he asked.
I explained what had happened.
He looked very serious. “You will go to-morrow. Good. Now go to your
room; eat, drink, smoke, sleep, do not come out until the train is
ready. I speak for your own good. Do that.”
The police-master had not mentioned the purpose for which I was staying
in Port Arthur. I knew that he meant the Anti-British feeling was so
intense that my nationality alone might suffice to get me into trouble
with some of the more rowdy officers in the fortress. I took the risk
and that day again visited every accessible place of importance. I did
not visit the police-station, but as evening drew near it occurred to
me that Tsintsius would again be busy. I thought I might avoid him for
one night. At that time there were in Port Arthur two foreigners having
the same surname, say Smith. Harry was an American; Will was British.
Harry had invited me to spend the week end with his mess in the New
Town, and although I could not do that now, it would serve me to spend
the night there. Accordingly I looked him up. He was sorry, but one of
his messmates, a Russian, thought that if they in any way were known to
be associates of mine, they might have trouble with the authorities,
and certainly would be suspected. He thought his namesake would be
pleased to give me a bed, and he knew he had a spare room.
Will was not at home. Close by there lived an American who kept open
house, and Harry suggested we should go there for a time. So we paid an
afternoon call, took tea, and made the acquaintance of other visitors,
including a naval officer whose turn it was to take duty on Golden Hill
fort in charge of the naval gunners then stationed there. He was due in
the battery at dusk, but seemed in no hurry to get away. We returned to
Will’s house, where Harry left me.
After dinner Will proposed that we should go to the American’s again
and take a hand at cards. When we arrived I was told that shortly after
I had left the police called, searching for me. They were informed
that I had left with Harry Smith, and to his house they hurried. He
had not reached home. They visited his office, called upon all of his
associates they could find, but none had seen me recently. The police
then searched the Old Town thoroughly from the Bund to the market, from
the _Hotel de France_ to the hop-joints of far away China Town.
When I left that house at midnight the naval officer was still there,
determined to remain until morning. Half a dozen other officers had
joined the party; the piano was going; corks were popping; fresh
packs of cards and chalk, glasses and crisp rouble notes crowded the
green-cloth tables. That was Port Arthur.
Outside was utter darkness: the oppressive silence of suspense--broken
at long intervals by the reverberation of cannon presaging a more
anxious morrow.
As I walked down from the New Town to the railway before dawn, only
a few Chinamen were astir, tripping ghoul-like hither and thither
silently. Sentries paced to and fro, their great-coats and bashliks
tight around them; rugged Cossacks patrolled the gloomy snow-flecked
road; the half-finished buildings seemed ghastly ruins in the murky
obscurity of awful night and awoke memories of horrid dreams--dreams of
baffled efforts, dashed hopes, and numb despair.
Before catching sight of the ever vigilant Tsintsius I noticed that
the train of dining-saloon and sleeping cars, which had long been in
a siding, had now an engine attached, and that engine under steam.
Crossing the rails I saw huddled on the platform a party of about 200
Japanese refugees. Most were women, and crouching and huddled into
groups for warmth. The few men were being unmercifully cuffed, beaten
and kicked by the armed soldier guard in charge of them. All were
bundled into covered waggons attached to the train, but I did not see
what became of them. Probably they were sent by way of Dalny and Chifu
to their own country.
Even that morning the authorities were not anxious to convey me; at
least, did not wish me to travel in the only car in which there was
room. I told them they might put me off the train if they wished. I was
indifferent and did not argue. I left that to Tsintsius. He maintained
the discussion successfully until the train left the station and he
passed from my horizon.
My troubles were not quite at an end. We stayed at Nangalin junction.
In the restaurant there were many officers and a few civilians. I
was telling the latter some of the gossip of Port Arthur; how the
circus had been broken up, the ponies drafted into Cossack stables,
and how they danced in the streets when the band began to play, and
so threw off their riders. I proceeded with other small talk, when I
was interrupted by a bearded, be-spectacled officer behind me, asking
suddenly in my own tongue, “You--are--English?”
“Yes, thank God!” I answered.
“Where are you going?”
“Up north.”
“Ah! Have you a permission?”
“No. I have a ticket.”
“Ah--no permission.”
He retired to a corner, conferred with a number of officers, then
returned to the attack.
He would know why I left Port Arthur, why I was going to Newchwang, and
a hundred other matters of no concern, all of which I answered with
great candour. In the end, he and his council agreed that I might be
allowed to proceed.
On the platform outside, a large station guard had been drawn up. In
addition there was a draft of the 13th Siberian Rifles, and a number of
civilians carrying old Mauser rifles, belts, bayonets and ammunition
pouches. They rallied round a triangular white standard on which the
cryptic letters M.D. were embroidered in red.
The officer who had questioned me was walking the platform leisurely.
It was my turn to inquire. I had given him such information as he asked
of me, and I determined that he should not escape my attentions. At
once his English became very meagre, but I plied him so vigorously
as to these troops and those, the number, intention, and destination
of the armed militia; the how, why and where of their enrolment and
condition of service, and other matters that he really deserved to be
excused, after supplying so much information, when he declined to state
anything respecting the special train which was following mine north.
Luck favoured me a little, for later I had to change trains at
Tashichiao, and whilst waiting there the special arrived, with the
Viceroy and his staff. My attempt to board the train was frustrated
by the cordon of sentries, but from my own car I saw the company
foregather, dine, make merry, and converse. I recognized first one
officer, then another, knew that a tour of inspection was being made
and that the generals of the different divisions were receiving
instructions or suggesting alterations. Then the train pulled out of
sight and I journeyed to Newchwang without further incident but in
possession of some news, and the story of events in Port Arthur to that
date, which was cabled immediately.