AMONG THE CLOUDS.
At the very moment when the adventurous correspondent of the Boston
_Daily Bulletin_ was making his escape from Liaoyang, a motley crowd of
Koreans, Chinese coolies, Japanese, and Europeans were gathered upon the
platform of the railway station in Chemulpo, waiting for the Seoul train
to start. Tidings of the great battle had reached the port and the
announcement of the decisive victory of Japan, and the evacuation of the
city by the Russians, had set the people in a frenzy of delight, real or
assumed.
Distinguished by their erect bearing and bright naval uniforms two young
men pushed their way through the throng and took their places in a
first-class carriage on the train.
"Whew!" said Bob Starr, pulling off his cap and wiping his forehead,
"this is about as hot as Key West and St. Louis rolled into one. How
soon does the train start, Liddon?"
"In about five minutes," replied the dignified young officer of the
_Osprey_, cool and calm as ever. "Don't complain of the heat, brother,
until you've tramped through the interior of Luzon in July."
The two messmates had applied for and obtained leave to run up to Seoul
and do a little sight-seeing as well as some shopping. It was believed
that the ship would be ordered home soon, and every officer on board
wanted some little knick-knacks from the heart of Korea. Bob and "Doc."
Liddon, therefore, had half a dozen commissions to execute at the
capital, as well as their own purchases to make.
"Now," said the midshipman, leaning back in his seat by the open window
as the train began to move, "let's have a few statistics on Korea, old
man."
"What do you want to know about it, youngster?" smiled Liddon, who was
well used to this sort of appeal.
"Oh, I don't know enough about the place to ask questions," rejoined his
companion languidly. "What is there interesting about it, anyway?"
"Well, perhaps the most interesting feature of the history of this
country has been, up to a very recent date, its exclusiveness," said
Liddon. "You know Korea has always been called 'The Hermit Kingdom.'"
"How big is Korea, anyway?" interrupted Bob, gazing out at the tawny
waters of the river Hang-kang.
"Almost exactly the size of Minnesota--or, say, the size of New
England, New Jersey, and Maryland. With the sea on three sides, and an
uninhabited wilderness on the fourth, this independent little affair has
been able to keep out foreigners, up to a very recent day."
"Independent? I thought China----"
"Oh, China holds a sort of suzerainty or protectorate over Korea, but
practically it has governed itself. The King, or Sultan, or whatever he
calls himself, has always been held sacred--to touch him with an iron
weapon was sure death. Of late years foreign merchants have gained a
foothold in the country, and travellers have visited it. You know Wiju,
at the mouth of the Yalu, was declared an open port only last February."
"What's the religion hereabouts?"
"Mostly Confucianism. Catholic missionaries have made a tremendous
struggle to introduce Christianity, and their history has been a long
series of martyrdoms. Why, in 1866, there was a great massacre of native
Christians, and nearly ten thousand perished."
"That finished the matter, I suppose?"
"Not much. There are supposed to be at least forty-five thousand Roman
Catholic Christians in Korea to-day. Just what will become of them if
the country goes to Japan, or is divided up among the big Powers,
nobody knows. The Koreans, by the way, have a standing army of seventeen
thousand men, trained and drilled by European officers."
With talk of this sort, and various other statistics relating to the
Hermit Kingdom, time passed rapidly, and the learned young ensign was
still lecturing when the train rolled into the station at Seoul.
The two officers strolled up the shady side of the main street, and soon
espied some curios from which they determined to select mementos of this
strange city.
"We ought to have some change," said Bob. "I've nothing but English
gold. Suppose I get this shopkeeper to give me Korean money for half a
dozen sovereigns?"
"All right," agreed Liddon, with a twinkle in his eye which the other
did not see. "He'll be glad to have the gold, no doubt, and will cheat
you a little, but that won't matter."
"How can I make him understand what I want?" queried the midshipman,
standing before the Korean helplessly, with the money in his hand.
"I guess I can arrange it," said Doc. Liddon gravely. "I happen to know
the word for small change in this country. Hulloa, you! _Sapeke!_" The
ensign held out the gold as he spoke, and let it clink.
The man nodded twenty times, repeating "_Sapeke! Sapeke!_" and calling
three or four coolies, gave them an order, despatching them in different
directions. Then he gently drew out the American's watch, and pointing
to the open face, held out five fingers.
"That means he'll have the change ready in five minutes, I suppose,"
said Liddon.
"Of course, just as they'd do at home. Sent round to the bank for it,
probably. Let's walk on a bit, and come back here when the time's up."
They indicated on the watch what their plans were, and with many smiles
and nods and amiable gestures on both sides the officers proceeded on
their way.
There was not much to see in Seoul, after all. The buildings were for
the most part miserable little one-story affairs, built of wood, clay,
and rice-straw. Some of the meanest dwellings were thatched, but in
general this primitive protection had given place to tiles placed in
rows along the joints of the boards forming the roof.
"Let's go back and get our pocketful of change," remarked Starr. "Then
we'll call on the minister, hurry up our shopping, and get back to the
ship. It's too hot to linger in this proud capital all day. I never was
cut out for a hermit, anyway."
On the way back the queer expression returned to Liddon's face, but he
said nothing until they reached the shop. Then he gave one look at Bob's
countenance and burst into a roar of laughter.
Bob was speechless. There on the floor lay his change, surrounded by
perspiring coolies. It consisted of about ten bushels of copper coins,
each punched in the middle and strung on a wire. The four labourers must
have worked hard to get it there within the allotted time.
"Well, this beats me!" exclaimed the midshipman at length. "Is this all
mine?"
"Every _sapeke_ of it," said Liddon gleefully. "Put it in your pocket
and jog along, son!"
Fortunately an interpreter, attracted by the naval uniforms, happened to
be near, and with much difficulty the shopkeeper was made to understand
that but a small portion of the mountain of "cash" would be needed.
Purchases were made, at exorbitant prices; a pound or two of the coins
preserved for keepsakes, and the visitors departed.
"For fifteen minutes I've felt like Rockefeller," said Bob sadly. "I
never shall have so much money again. It's a dream!"
"When a fellow tells his very best girl, in Seoul, that she's worth her
weight in specie, it isn't much of a compliment, eh, Bob?" laughed
Liddon.
"Equivalent to valuing her at about thirty cents, I suppose," sighed the
disconsolate midshipman. "What a copper mine this place is! It beats
Helena, Montana, all out!"[4]
They paid their visit of respect to the American minister, who insisted
on their lunching with him, and laughed heartily over Bob's financial
experience. Late in the afternoon the officers returned to Seoul by
train, and were glad enough to reach the deck of the _Osprey_, fanned by
the cool breezes of the Yellow Sea.
As they distributed the gifts they had brought, and recounted their
adventures in the Korean capital, while Dave, Staples, and Dobson
shouted at the midshipman's woful face when the "temporary Rockefeller"
was described, they little guessed what was befalling their old friend
the war correspondent, whom we left in company with the renegade
Stevens, running away with one of General Kouropatkin's war balloons.
Larkin's first movement, as they rose above the roofs of Liaoyang, was
to throw out a whole bagful of ballast, with plenty of which the
air-ship was fortunately stocked. The two men crouched low in the
basket to avoid stray bullets from the victorious Japanese army, and in
ten minutes they were out of all danger from that source. Fred had made
more than one ascension, in a professional capacity, from Boston Common,
and felt quite at ease as the swelling bag above his head bore him
farther and farther from the scene of the late battle. Not so Stevens.
He continued to crouch in the bottom of the wicker car, and his teeth
fairly chattered with fright.
"Come, come, old chap," said Larkin cheerfully, "we're all right now.
It's only a question of making a safe landing somewhere in the rear of
the Jap army. I'm sorry to leave my friends the Muscovites, but needs
must when the wind drives. I wish the inventors would hurry up with
their dirigible balloons! Sit up, man, and take in this view. You may
never have such a chance again."
The panorama spread out beneath them was indeed a wonderful one. The
wind, following the direction of the mountain range, was now sweeping
them rather to the south than to the east, and at a height of about a
mile the balloon passed swiftly over lower Manchuria with its fair
streams, valleys and cornfields. Here and there a blur of smoke
indicated a military encampment, and long trains of waggons could be
made out, conveying stores to the front or wounded men toward the sea.
The earth presented the odd appearance of a shallow cup, rather than of
a convex surface. Now and then the landscape was blotted out by a
low-lying cloud which, travelling in a different current, was quickly
left behind. Once or twice, from a cottony puff of smoke, Larkin guessed
that his big aërial craft was a target for Japanese riflemen; but no
bullet came near to corroborate his surmise.
Stevens, meanwhile, recovered nerve enough to sit upright and peer once
or twice over the edge of the car; but each time he sank back with a
shudder.
"I always was giddy in high places," he muttered, resuming his former
abject attitude.
Larkin glanced at the pallid face, and felt a touch of pity for the
miserable fellow.
"No wonder the navy didn't suit you," he said. "You look half sick,
Stevens. Anything special the matter with you? Hungry?"
"No," said the other, his teeth chattering again. "I don't want anything
to eat. I haven't been well lately. Those men who were after me--" He
stopped abruptly and turned so white that Fred thought he was going to
faint. Recovering himself with an effort, Stevens continued: "This
balloon business is getting on to my nerves, I guess. Isn't it about
time to think of landing?"
"Landing!" exclaimed the other. "Not by any means. We must put a little
more real estate between us and Oyama's front before we get down to
terra firma. But we're going like an express train now, unless I am
mistaken. It's hard to judge our speed, because we're just drifting with
the current. I can't say I like so much southing, either. As near as I
can tell, we're just about following the line of the railway. See--there
it is--that long straight line!"
But Stevens did not care to look.
"Why were those fellows chasing you, if I may ask?" demanded the
reporter, settling himself to a comfortable position in the car.
"They--I don't know--well," said Stevens desperately, "if you must know,
they were Boxers."
Larkin started. "What, the society that started the trouble with the
missionaries two or three years ago, and pretty nearly did up the
foreign embassies in Pekin?"
The renegade nodded. "I had time on my hands," he muttered, "and--and
interested myself in their private matters. I meant to have made a good
thing of it in Pekin."
"I see," said Fred, looking at his companion with unmitigated disgust.
"At your old tricks, of course. I'm not sure that I wouldn't have
started without you, if I had known."
"Then it's fortunate for me that you didn't," said the spy, with a
sardonic grin. "Don't let's quarrel, Larkin. You've saved my life, and
I won't forget it. It was a shabby trick I played you, in Port Arthur,
but I really didn't mean you any harm. All I wanted was time to get out
of the city."
"All right," said Fred lightly. "I'm not a man to hold a grudge; but I
wouldn't try any more tricks of the sort, my lad. They get tiresome,
after a while. Look here, I'm hungry, and we haven't investigated the
commissary department of the balloon corps. Here goes!"
Dipping into a pile of packages at the bottom of the car, he brought up
several cans of condensed beef and some hard biscuit, which had
evidently been abandoned in the hurried flight from Liaoyang. There were
also a couple of bottles of _vodka_, or Russian whiskey, upon which
Stevens seized eagerly. Larkin, however, wrested them from his grasp and
threw them overboard.
"I hope they won't do any damage when they strike," he said, "but they
certainly won't do any in this ship, while I'm captain. No _vodka_ for
you, my friend. What's this--_Limonade gazenze_--ah, that fills the
bill! Bottled lemonade, straight from Paris--two pints for each of us.
Have some?" And he opened a can of beef and passed over a bottle of
lemonade.
Stevens scowled, but accepted the situation, and the two made a hearty
breakfast.
They had just flung over the empty can and bottles when they heard the
report of a musket.
"I don't like it!" shouted Fred, springing up so quickly that the basket
rocked, and the spy turned pale again. "While we were eating we've been
dropping, I'm sure I don't know why, unless there's a rip somewhere
aloft. We aren't more than a thousand yards up, and they're taking pot
shots at us from a Jap encampment. Out goes some more ballast!"
He suited the word by emptying a bag of sand, and the balloon rose at
once, as he ascertained by throwing out a few scraps of paper, which
seemed to drop like lead.
One or two more shots were fired, but the balloon quickly swept out of
range, as before. The aeronauts had not gone far, however, when it
became evident that they were again slowly sinking.
"I don't like it," said Fred, shaking his head as he threw out another
sand-bag. "Some of these bullets have punctured the old bag aloft, as
sure as you live."
"I thought you said you meant to land somewhere in the rear of the main
Japanese lines!" exclaimed Stevens apprehensively. "What's the use of
keeping up so high?"
"What I really want now is steam enough to take us right across the gulf
to Chefoo," answered the other. "We're heading straight for it," he
added, consulting a small compass that dangled from his watch-guard. "If
we can fetch that port there'll be no more trouble. But I don't like
this sinking. It looks as if we had sprung a leak somewhere, and, don't
you see, man? there's only one bag of ballast left!"
In the course of an hour they had descended to within a few hundred feet
of the ground, and Fred reluctantly parted with the last pound of sand.
The sea could now be plainly discerned, to the southward.
"Look--there are two of Togo's ships!" exclaimed Larkin. "Oh, what a
sight! Don't I wish I had a good kodak!"
Again the balloon dropped, and Fred flung out every movable object in
the car. They shot up a thousand feet, but the relief was of short
duration.
"O for a couple of hundred-weight of ballast!" groaned Fred. "Or a gale
of wind to take us over the water!"
Once more the balloon gently descended. The breeze seemed to be dying
out. They were now directly over the outworks of the Japanese forces
besieging Port Arthur.
Bang! bang! rang out the guns, far below. The great gas-bag quivered and
began to drop faster.
"They've hit us again!" said Fred. "We're in for it now. The question
is, whether we shall get as far as the town. Somehow I don't fancy
dropping down on our brown friends there, they're so handy with their
rifles. Let's see what effect our ensign will have on them!"
[Illustration: THE END OF THE TRAITOR.]
He unrolled the Japanese flag he had caught up in running through the
streets of Liaoyang, and displayed it as prominently as possible; but
this only seemed to exasperate their assailants, who now were keeping up
a regular fusilade.
Suddenly Stevens gave a scream. "I'm hit! I'm hit!" he shrieked,
clasping his hand to his breast. Springing to his feet, he tottered, and
before Fred could seize his unfortunate companion the spy lost his
balance and fell backward over the side of the car.
Lightened of his weight the balloon made one more leap toward the
clouds, crossed the outer trenches and forts of Port Arthur, and with a
graceful sweep descended in the heart of the city. A hundred hands
seized the wicker car and the rope, and Fred Larkin, still shocked and
benumbed by the terrible fate that had overtaken his comrade,
mechanically climbed out and stood, half-dazed, on the pavements of the
very square where he had met Stevens three months before.
A babel of voices greeted him, but before he could explain his
involuntary descent the Japanese flag caught the eye of an officer who
had joined the crowd, and the reporter was roughly seized, blindfolded,
and hurried away to a prison cell.
Early in the evening he was visited by two or three officials of rank,
who had him searched and even stripped, for evidence of guilt.
"Amerikansky," said Fred, over and over, seemingly without effect.
The next morning, however, he was told that he was to be taken before
General Stoessel, who would judge his case. The tones of the officer
making this announcement were much more bland than on the preceding
evening, and the prisoner was given a good breakfast before taking up
the march, blindfolded, across the city.
The walk itself seemed interminable. Down one hill and up another, along
street after street, stumbling over rough pavements, with the roar of
cannon constantly in his ears, and an unpleasant consciousness that a
shell might fall in his immediate vicinity at any time, Fred was
conducted into the great man's presence.
General Stoessel recognised him at once, and asked a good many
questions, all of which Larkin answered promptly and fully, except those
pertaining to the Japanese forces and defences.
"Look here, General," he said, "I've been called a spy more than once
since I landed in your town. Now if I tell you all I know about the
Japanese, you will have good reason to believe that I shall carry
information to them, on leaving Port Arthur, concerning the Russians.
This would fairly rank me as the mean thing I have been called--a spy.
Not a word do you get from me, sir, regarding the Japs."
"But what if you never leave Port Arthur? Why shall I not order you hung
at once?"
"Because, General Stoessel," said Fred Larkin, calmly, "I am an American
citizen, innocent of any offence against your country; a journalist,
pursuing his profession, and representing a friendly nation."
The bluff soldier gnawed his moustache. "You shall not stay here," he
said with decision. "I do not want any newspaper men in Port Arthur."
"I'm ready to go," said Fred, "the moment you open the door. My arrival
was unintentional, and----"
"Restore his papers, and send him to Chefoo," said the General, rising.
"How shall I go, General?" asked Fred.
"In a junk. You must take your chances of safe arrival. And mind, sir,
you must not come here again. Twice is enough!"
"I certainly will not," said Fred, "if I can help it."
General Stoessel asked a few more questions concerning the reporter's
escape from Liaoyang.
"It was like a crazy American," he said, more good-humouredly. Then he
shook hands with Fred. "I hope you will have a safe voyage to Chefoo.
Farewell!"
With the same precautions against the correspondent's discovering
anything of value to report outside the walls, he was led back across
the city and the next morning he left Port Arthur in a _droschka_, or
light road-waggon, and--still blindfolded--was driven to a plain near
Loisa Bay. At this point the bandage was removed from his eyes and he
scrambled down a hilly path to the shore, where he was locked up in a
small stone hut until late in the afternoon, when--blindfolded again--he
was led over the beach to a sampan and taken off to a junk, one of three
which were getting under way--a huge, dirty craft, like that in which he
had sailed on his outward trip.
A Russian naval officer and boat crew accompanied him to the outer
roads, where they said good-bye, entered their own boat and returned to
the city. Fred noticed, the bandage having now been finally removed,
that the _Czarevitch_, _Retvizan_, and some other damaged ships had been
patched up and were changing anchorage under their own steam.
The next morning the daring reporter once more set foot on the dock at
Chefoo.
FOOTNOTE:
[4] Since this paragraph was written a despatch in the daily press of
the United States has announced that a short time ago a syndicate of
American capitalists was formed to buy up the "cash" used by the natives
of China, and sell it for the pure copper used in the coins. In this way
enormous profits have been made, it is said, by the promoters of the
scheme, and the larger cities of the Empire have been almost stripped of
small change.