IN THE MIKADO'S CAPITAL.
On the evening after the event narrated in the last chapter a group of
foreigners sat on the pleasant verandah of one of the largest hotels in
Tokio. They were easily distinguishable from the natives that thronged
the street and square, not only by the Occidental costumes--of the
latest and most fashionable styles--which adorned the ladies, but by the
bright and animated faces with which they looked out on the strange
scene before them, and discussed the astounding news which had just been
displayed, "in real tea-chest letters," Edith said, on the newspaper
bulletins.
Edith and Ethelwyn Black had been invited by their father's old friends
Colonel and Mrs. Selborne to join them in a trip around the world. The
two young girls were delighted with the prospect, and with some
reluctance Major Black consented to the plan. His wife had died five
years before, and a widowed sister kept house for him; so, although the
separation bore hardly upon the jolly major--from whom Wynnie must have
inherited her unfailing flow of spirits--there really was no good excuse
for letting the girls miss such an opportunity to enlarge their horizon,
mental and physical. The party left New York in December, spent
Christmas in San Francisco, and late in January landed in Yokohama.
After a brief tour inland they went to Tokio, arriving just before the
assault of the Japanese on the ships in the harbour of Port Arthur.
On this special evening Tokio was a blaze of light. Not only were
lanterns strung over every shop door and the porches of private houses,
but in groups of twos and threes the golden and crimson globes veered
wildly through the streets, borne by children as well as by their
jubilant elders. Newspaper boys ran to and fro with extras, their little
bells jingling and their shrill cries sounding above the roar of the
crowds. The naval cadets of Japan in their neat uniforms massed in a
solid column, and their cheer rang out, loud and clear: "_Banzai! Dai
Nippon banzai! Banzai, banzai, banzai!_"
Edith clasped her hands as she listened. "It's like a Harvard cheer,"
she exclaimed; "only it's more real!"
"Yes," said the Colonel, blowing out a whiff of smoke. "It's life and
death, instead of a mere football victory. I wish I could get the latest
news----"
Just then a slight, alert figure came up the steps of the hotel. The
young man glanced quickly right and left as he reached the verandah.
"Ah, Miss Black and Miss Ethelwyn," he said, coming forward with
outstretched hand, "I'm not sure that you remember me, but that evening
on the _Osprey_----"
"Mr. Larkin!" exclaimed both girls, rising and cordially shaking his
hand. "How delightful to find you here! Colonel Selborne, Mr. Larkin, a
friend of Lieutenant-Commander Rexdale's."
"Is Mr. Larkin in the navy?" inquired Colonel Selborne, meeting the
young man's friendly greeting in his hearty way.
"Well, no, not exactly," said Larkin with a laugh, "although I am on
board the war-vessels pretty often, as war correspondent for the Boston
_Bulletin_. There are half a dozen of us here already, trying to get our
passes to go to the front, wherever that may be. Just now it's on the
fleet and at Chemulpo, where the Japs have landed a regiment."
"O Mr. Larkin!" exclaimed Edith. "You'll surely be shot, or something,
if you go right where the soldiers and battles are!"
"It will be 'something,' then, I guess," said the reporter with another
of his jolly laughs. "We fellows aren't often shot. The greatest trouble
we have, in a foreign war, is getting within reach of bullets at all.
These blessed Japs bow and smile and promise, from dawn to sunset, but
somehow there's always some hitch when it comes to actual permission to
start. If I don't get my pass soon," he added, lowering his voice, "I
shall get a move on, permission or no permission."
As he spoke, both girls nodded to a man who bowed low as he passed them
and entered the open door of the hotel. Larkin, following the direction
of their glances, stopped short. A puzzled expression came into his
face.
"Pardon me," he said quickly, "may I ask you the name of the gentleman
who bowed to you?"
"That? Oh, that's Señor Bellardo," replied Wynnie carelessly. "He's a
Spaniard, I believe, travelling for his health, but he speaks English
very nicely. Have you met him?"
"There's something familiar about his face," mused Fred, "but I can't
remember--a Spaniard, did you say, Miss Ethelwyn?"
"I think--yes, I know he is, for he alluded to his estates near
Barcelona. That's in Spain, isn't it?"
"It certainly is," assented the war correspondent, "but that
fellow--excuse me; that gentleman-looked more like a--well, I think the
air of Tokio, or the pleasure of finding old friends here, must have
gone to my head. So we'll let the Señor drop. You'll be surprised when I
tell you of another friend of yours who arrived here this very day!"
"Oh, who is it? Tell us!" exclaimed the girls.
"Perhaps you've forgotten him," said Fred, with a sly glance at Wynnie.
"I declare there he is, now! Hulloa, there! Ship ahoy!" he cried,
beckoning to a trim-looking lad who was passing on the other side of the
street.
"Why, it's Mr. Starr!" said Wynnie, with a gladness in her voice that
proved she had not forgotten her companion of the _Osprey_ banquet.
"Come up here, young man!" called out Larkin, rising from his seat. "I
would have brought you here to-morrow, anyway, but my good intentions
are frustrated by your untimely appearance."
By this time the midshipman, recognising the faces of the two girls, had
reached the verandah with a bound. He was presented to Colonel Selborne,
and then came such a rapid fire of questions and answers as might have
been expected.
Bob explained that he had been temporarily detached from the _Osprey_ to
carry important documents and messages from the commanding officer of
the battle-ship squadron (of which the gunboats formed one division) of
the Asiatic fleet to the United States naval _attaché_ at Tokio. He had
arrived that morning on the U. S. Ship _Zafiro_, which had immediately
steamed away again under orders to return for him at some future day to
be appointed. He had run across Fred Larkin on the wharf, that
enterprising gentleman being on the lookout for news from the fleet and
any scraps of information the _Zafiro_ might have picked up as to the
midnight assault on Port Arthur. Starr's official duties had occupied
his attention most of the day, and he was on his way to see the crowds
at the park when he was hailed from the hotel verandah.
"Well, this is homelike!" he exclaimed with great satisfaction, as he
settled back in his chair next Wynnie's.
"What is the latest war news?" inquired the Colonel.
"Oh, the Russians have got it in the--have sustained a severe defeat,"
said Bob, cutting short his Academy slang. "The Japs have blown up,
sunk, or disabled half a dozen of the finest ships in their fleet. This
afternoon Admiral Uriu finished off the _Variag_ and _Korietz_ just
outside Chemulpo. The naval _attaché_ got it direct from the commander
of the _Vicksburg_. I tell you, the old academy made itself felt when
those Russian ships steamed out of the harbour!"
"Made itself felt? Why, what academy, Mr. Starr?" asked Colonel
Selborne, who was himself a West Point man.
"Didn't you know, sir, that the Japanese Admiral Uriu was a graduate of
the Naval Academy at Annapolis?" cried Starr.
"Is it possible?"
"It's true, and what's more, he married a Vassar girl."
"To graduate from the Naval Academy and marry a Vassar girl--what more
could man desire?" laughed Edith.
"Echo answers 'What,'" agreed the midshipman enthusiastically. "That is,
unless--Miss Ethelwyn,--" But if he had intended to ask whether _she_
were a Vassar student, his courage failed him and he lamely inquired if
she "felt the draught."
Wynnie dimpled and then laughed outright, putting the young man to still
more confusion. Larkin struck in with one of his irrepressible puns
about a "Vassarlating maid," and the laughter became general.
"I married a farmer's daughter from Connecticut," said Colonel Selborne,
"and, as a result, see what a charming pair of adopted nieces I have!"
In the midst of the merriment that followed this sally, Señor Bellardo
passed out of the hotel door, raising his hat to the group and saying
"Good evening, ladies!" on his way to the street, in the shadows of
which he soon after disappeared.
Larkin started again and frowned. "Where have I heard that voice?" he
demanded. No one could enlighten him, and the gay badinage and laughter
of the young people was resumed, while the far-off clamours of the
crowds were renewed as fresh details of the victory appeared on the
illuminated bulletins. The "piazza party" at the Grand Hotel was
prolonged to a late hour, when Fred and the midshipman took their leave,
promising to call early the next forenoon in order to show the young
ladies some of the sights of Tokio.
When the correspondent reached his lodgings he cudgelled his brain to
recall the time and place in which he had met that stranger whose voice
affected him so unpleasantly. He gave it up at last, but his last waking
thought was a resolve to follow up the mystery and establish that
black-bearded Spaniard's identity before he left Tokio.
The next morning the two young men appeared promptly at the appointed
hour, together with three _jinrikishas_ (or "rickshaws," as foreigners
call them) of the most gorgeous description. It being Saturday the
Mikado's private pleasure-grounds, the Fukiagé Gardens, were thrown open
to the public, and here the American party wandered for an hour,
observing and discussing the broad, smoothly cropped lawns, the cascade,
the masses of dark evergreen trees--unfortunately the plum was not yet
in blossom--and, most interesting of all, the careless, bare-headed,
quaintly dressed, good-natured people who thronged the grounds. Of the
six thousand policemen in Tokio not one was visible in the Garden, yet
everybody was well-behaved and courteous.
In the afternoon Larkin took his daily tramp to the War Office. The
sentry outside allowed him to pass with what Fred could not help
interpreting as a sardonic gleam in his dark eye. The man had admitted
many newspaper men, during January and February, and had seen them
depart, bearing gloomy and disappointed faces and using strong language
which fortunately he could not understand. Any boy or man who has ever
drilled will remember the wearying performance called "marking time,"
when the soldier goes through all the motions of marching, tramp, tramp,
tramp, but never gets ahead one inch. A noted American war correspondent
contributed to his journal at this period a series of papers called
"Marking Time in Tokio." No term could be more expressive.
Larkin found half a dozen of his brothers-of-the-craft in the War
Office. There were besides, in the large, bare room, two uniformed
orderlies and two or three grave, elderly, courteous generals, each
apparently doing nothing by himself, and although politely interested in
the welfare of the foreign visitors, unable to spare time to discuss the
war with them.
"Perhaps," said one of these officials to Fred, "a column will leave
soon for Korea. It would give me exalted pleasure to allow you to
accompany them. No, I cannot tell when or where. Must you go? Good-day!"
The days passed quickly. Larkin did his best to pick up scraps of
information and cable, or write them out, for the _Bulletin_. His
leisure moments he spent with the Blacks and Bob Starr, who was their
unfailing escort in all excursions. Once they came upon Bellardo in full
daylight, and Fred studied his face, but had to confess himself baffled.
A rather dark complexion, full black beard, and an odd mispronunciation
of English--these peculiarities he noted; in the two-minute interview
with the young ladies he could make out nothing more, nor did he even
secure an introduction, Bellardo excusing himself, on the plea of an
engagement, and moving away just as Fred joined the group.
The correspondents of the great American, English, French, and German
dailies became more and more impatient. Some of them gave up, or were
recalled, and went home. The certainty that Japanese troops were being
taken across in transports made the situation the more aggravating. News
of various sea-fights, and skirmishes on land, was posted by the
newspapers. It was evident that the war was proceeding, just as if there
were no war correspondents waiting to report it--at least, on the
Japanese side. The city reporters in New York were better informed as to
the movements of the two great armies than these scouts so near the
firing line, yet so far away. Before long there appeared ship-loads of
wounded men, sent back from the front to the hospitals in Nagasaki and
Tokio.
Information was given out that the Russians were concentrating in the
lower Yalu valley, and that here the first great battle might take
place. It was necessary for Japan to strike across the Korean peninsula
and isolate Port Arthur, cutting the railroad above it if possible.
"Larkin," said Starr, meeting the reporter in the street one day early
in March, "I've received word that the _Zafiro_ will be at this port
to-morrow, and I am ordered back to the _Osprey_. I hate to say good-bye
to you, old fellow!"
"And I hate to have you," said Fred. "Perhaps you won't have to," he
added meaningly.
"Oh, yes, of course I must obey orders. I'm on my way now to make my
farewell call at the hotel. This evening I'll run in to see you at your
lodgings on my way home."
But when Bob called, Larkin was not in his lodgings, nor, strange to
say, was there any trace left of his ever having occupied the room. No
one knew where he had gone. He had paid his bill in full and left the
house early in the evening, taking the small bag which constituted all
his luggage.
With a heavy heart--for various reasons--Bob went on board the _Zafiro_
the next morning, and the little despatch-boat put out to sea.