Kitabı oku: «The North Pacific», sayfa 13

January 1, 1905, dawned peacefully. The besiegers prepared themselves for a final rush, before the contemplated horrors of which the civilised world stood aghast. But it was not to be.

Early in the forenoon a man bearing a white flag was seen mounting the parapets and approaching the Japanese lines. He was courteously received and conducted to headquarters. An hour later cheers rent the air, through all the trenches around Port Arthur. The city had capitulated. General Stoessel had surrendered, to save his remaining half-starved, emaciated, faltering but gallant troops from sure destruction. What it cost that brave heart to speak the word, no one can tell. In the person of her general, Russia knelt before the despised islanders and sued for peace. It was a terrible humiliation to him, to the army, and to the haughty Empire whose boast had been: "Russia never withdraws."

So ended the greatest siege, characterised by the highest art of warfare and the uttermost personal bravery of line, rank and file on both sides, that the world has ever known.

CHAPTER XXII.
ON BOARD THE "KUSHIRO."

After the fall of Port Arthur came a lull in the operations of both sides, at sea and on land. The Russians were still busy entrenching themselves in and south of Mukden, the ancient Manchurian capital. Here Kouropatkin had made his stand after the disastrous defeat at Liaoyang. Immensely strong works were thrown up, the defensive front made apparently impregnable, and St. Petersburg breathed more freely, although various indications of internal disorders gave the court concern.

Oyama's men, meanwhile, prepared themselves as best they might for a winter campaign. They burrowed in the hillsides and lived in dug-outs and shanties almost within pistol shot of the Russian outposts. Supplies of food and heavy clothing reached the army by the Yalu River and from Newchwang over the railway to Liaoyang, whence they were forwarded in waggons to the front. Oshima shared a small mud hut with two other line officers. His men cheerily cooked their rations of rice over little fires in front of their dug-outs. The scene would have resembled Valley Forge, but that the troops were well clothed and under absolute discipline.

On October 2nd, Kouropatkin had issued a proclamation declaring that the period of retreats was over. "The army is now strong enough to advance and compel the Japanese to do our will." This was the last effort to relieve Port Arthur – a "forlorn hope" indeed. A battle ensued, the carnage and desperate valour of which even exceeded those of Liaoyang. The Russian losses alone were nearly seventy thousand, killed and wounded. After ten days of terrific fighting they were forced back to the Hun River, where they held their own and settled down for the winter, with the Japanese facing them.

The Baltic fleet, under Vice-Admiral Rojestvensky, after the Dogger Bank affair, resumed its voyage southward. It rounded the Cape of Good Hope safely and proceeded to Nossi Bé, a port at the northern end of Madagascar, where it was welcomed by the French with as much cordiality as they dared to show their natural allies, without open breach of neutrality. Here the vice-admiral spent many weeks, cleaning, provisioning, and coaling his ships and drilling his crews.

A second squadron of ships, meanwhile, started from the Baltic for the East, by way of the Mediterranean and the Suez Canal, followed by still a third division. No one, outside the inner circle of the Russian Admiralty and War Office, knew where these three squadrons were to unite. Their port of destination, after the capture of Port Arthur, could, of course, be no other than Vladivostock, where two powerful cruisers, disabled by Togo in August, had been repaired, and, with a few smaller craft, still formed the nucleus of a fleet.

Commander Oto Owari had hastened at once to Tokio, on his unexpected return from the North Sea, where his strategic attack upon the Baltic ships had so signally failed. He was acquitted of blame, by a court of enquiry, and was at once given the command of the torpedo-boat destroyer Kushiro, then fitting for service in the Sasebo docks.

At this time O-Hana-San was a nurse in the military hospital at Hiroshima. She knew of Oto's appointment and, if the truth be told, dreaded the time when the Kushiro should be put in commission. One day early in March she wrote to her old playmate that she and another nurse were to have a few days' leave of absence, and that one of the hospital surgeons, with his wife, was to take them on an excursion to Sasebo to see the navy yard – a privilege not often accorded, save to those in the service. Oto was delighted with the prospect of seeing Miss Blossom, and replied at once, inviting the whole party to inspect the Kushiro and lunch with him on board; an invitation which was immediately accepted.

It was a bright, cool day when the little nurses, wearing the scarlet cross on their arms, traversed a great paved square in the navy yard under escort of the good surgeon and his wife (also a nurse), and enquired where the Kushiro was lying. The marine who had been questioned pointed out the three black funnels of the destroyer, and the commander himself met the visitors at the gang-plank. The greetings between himself and Hana were full of courtesy and entirely free from any display of sentiment. When the two pairs of dark eyes met for an instant, however, Miss Blossom dropped hers immediately and her cheeks showed a warmer brown than usual. Oto led the way to his cabin and at once offered refreshments to his guests. It was a cosy little place, with its bunk, wardrobe, writing-table and book-case, and a tiny connecting bathroom about four feet square.

The party now went on deck and to their amazement found that the boat was moving swiftly through the harbour toward the sea.

"It is a little surprise I planned for you," explained the gallant commander. "We were to make a short trial cruise of eighteen or twenty miles at about this time, and as the water is smooth to-day I thought you would enjoy the excursion."

It is needless to say that after the first sensation of fear the guests were delighted, and even the timid nurses soon stood on the quarter-deck, surveying the scene and drinking in the cool sea-breeze with quiet happiness.

On a platform just in front of them was a six-pounder rifle, fairly dazzling their eyes, so beautifully was it polished. Behind them was a screen, sheltering the "after steering position."

Farther forward were the great "nostrils" of the boat, the torpedo-tubes, and alongside them was a hatch which led to the chief petty-officers' mess-room – a very small apartment, clean and shining with constant scrubbing. No one can appreciate neatness better than a hospital nurse, and Hana and her friends were loud in their praises of the condition of these hidden niches in the vessel.

Going farther forward and looking down another hatch they saw the ship's cook in his galley, hard at work preparing dinner. Here also was a dynamo for supplying electricity for the search-light, which was placed between the engine-room hatches on deck.

"How many men are there on board, Captain?" asked the surgeon.

"Our complement is fifty-two," replied Oto.

"How can they ever find room to sleep!" exclaimed Hana.

"Well, there's not much room to spare," laughed the commander, who seemed very happy. "Some sling their hammocks and others sleep on the lockers. We shall seldom take a long cruise, like those of the larger ships. Here is a collapsible boat," he added. "We have two, you see, one each side. They are hoisted out by that derrick on the mast, and if we had to abandon ship they would take seventeen men each, as well as provisions and water."

"What is this deck covered with, sir?"

"A kind of linoleum. It is found to answer our purpose much better than wood, and is used also in regular torpedo boats. Here, by the way, are our two six-pounder guns: these and the twelve-pounder up there constitute our bow fire, to be used when we are in chase of an enemy."

O-Hana-San shuddered, but said nothing.

"How large is this ship?" enquired the medical man, who was bent on acquiring statistics.

"About two hundred feet long, and twenty feet beam. She draws about six. Here is our conning-tower, with half-inch steel armour on it. We can steer from here, and in bad weather we have to, as one would be washed off the bridge."

The diminutive Japanese ladies peered inside. There was just room for two people to stand up, in the tower, and it was fitted with a compass, steering-wheel, telegraph to the engine-room, and voice-pipes to the torpedo tubes and various other parts of the ship.

"Only half an inch thick?" queried the surgeon, examining the armour plates. "How thick, then, is the ship's side?"

"Oh," said Oto, with a smile, "about an eighth of an inch. It's just as good as a foot, unless a shell strikes it. Will you step down here?" he added, leading the way to a lower deck.

The surgeon and the ladies tiptoed daintily down the short ladder, and found themselves in a long, low-ceiled room, with a table running along the centre, fore-and-aft, and two rows of lockers along the sides.

"This is the mess-deck of the sailors – the 'Jackies,' Americans call them," explained the commander, who of course, like every one else on board, spoke only in Japanese. "We are now under the turtle-backed forecastle-deck, you see."

A few men were down here, one stitching canvas, another mending his clothes, one writing a letter, and one stretched out, fast asleep.

"About twenty men live down here," added Oto. "These are their hammocks, and that is the capstan engine." He pointed above his head as he spoke. "There are storerooms under our feet," he continued, "where we keep the explosive war-heads for the torpedoes. We have two eighteen-inch torpedoes carried, without the heads, in the tubes themselves. Now, shall we go up to the fore-bridge?"

The surgeon, who had gazed with something of dismay at the deck which concealed such terrible munitions, mounted the ladder with alacrity, followed by his wife and her friends.

All five now stood beside the great twelve-pounder. The Kushiro was well out of the harbour and standing directly toward the Chinese coast. To the north-east the mountains of Korea could be dimly discerned, like blue shadows on the horizon. The ship was moving so smoothly through the water that it seemed impossible that she was slipping along at the rate of nearly twenty-four knots an hour, as the quartermaster stated, in reply to a question from Oto. The only indication of her speed was the fountain of spray rising at the sharp, straight stern, and sparkling with rainbow hues in the flashing sunshine.

At this moment a petty officer approached the commander, touched his cap, and said something which the others did not hear. Oto caught up a pair of binoculars and peered intently through them at a low line of smoke ahead and a little to the north of the Kushiro's course. After a moment he put down the glasses.

"Port half a point" he said quietly.

"Port half a point, sir," repeated the quartermaster.

After a minute, "Steady!"

"Steady, sir."

"I think it is an American war-ship," remarked Oto pleasantly, turning to his guests. "We shall run down near her, that you may see how the foreigner looks. I – I am quite familiar with the American ships myself."

The commander and O-Hana-San exchanged a swift glance of understanding, but no further allusion was made to Oto Owari's former experience, of which the little Red-Cross nurse was well aware.

"Ah," exclaimed the surgeon, drawing a long breath of delight as he looked out over the sparkling waters of the Yellow Sea, "I could almost wish to change places with you, Captain! This is delicious, after the atmosphere of the hospital, the sound of groans, the odour of antiseptics and anæsthetics! I do not wonder that you chose the navy for your calling."

"Well, well," said Oto, with his gentle laugh, "it does seem pleasant now, especially [here he bowed gracefully] in such exalted society. But come out on a cold, wet night in January, when a heavy sea is running, and you have to hang on to the rails of the twelve-pounder, here, to prevent yourself being carried off your feet; when the waves come pouring over the turtle-back and flood the upper deck; when you're soaked to the skin, and shivering, and thinking of – of [he glanced at Blossom] thousands on shore, snug and warm and fast asleep; when the blinding spray and sleet are lashing your face like whipcord, so you can hardly open your eyes to see the lights of the vessel you are watching ahead; and when everything down below in the wardroom is sliding about on the deck – well, I think a comfortable, dry room in the hospital would seem rather more attractive than the bridge of the Kushiro!"

The girls smiled at his eloquence, but O-Hana-San looked troubled, and her slim brown hand shook a little as she turned to accept her old friend's invitation to inspect the engine-room.

"I'm sorry," said Oto, "that we're going only two hundred and eighty revolutions now. You should see them at three hundred and fifty, with forced draft!"

The engine-room was hot and oily, and not even the fascinating sight of the bright steel rods flashing up and down and the cranks whirring at the rate of four revolutions a second – a mere mist of metal – could long detain the party. They were rather glad, it must be confessed, when a hail from the deck sent the commander flying up the ladder and the rest could follow, holding their garments carefully aloof from the glistening metal work.

On their reaching the deck a glorious sight met their gaze. About half a mile away was a war-ship, white as snow, coming toward them. The beautiful stars and stripes blew out over her taffrail, and a string of flags fluttered from her yard-arm. The signalman was just sending up an answer on the Kushiro.

"It is the United States gunboat Osprey," said Commander Oto, with unusual excitement in his voice, and a glow on his olive cheeks. "We have invited her commander to come on board, and he has graciously consented to do so, although his ship is of a larger class than mine, knowing that a Japanese officer is forbidden to leave his ship at sea, on any pretence, in war time. See, they are lowering a boat!"

The Kushiro had already stopped her engines, and the Osprey, which had slowed down several minutes before, now followed her example. The two vessels slowly approached each other until they were but a few hundred yards apart.

A boat was now seen leaving the American, and the destroyer's side was manned by jackies to receive the visitor with naval honours. In five minutes the boat was alongside, and Dave Rexdale sprang up the steps to the deck of the Kushiro. Oto was awaiting him, and with a smile that showed the flash of his dark eyes and white teeth, held out his hand to the American officer.

"Welcome, sir," he said, in good English. "I am glad to see you again, and on the deck of my own ship."

Dave stared a moment, then darted forward and wrung the hand of the elegantly uniformed commander, in whom he recognised his former steward.

"Oto!" he exclaimed.

"Commander Oto Owari, of His Imperial Majesty's Navy," said the Japanese, returning the other's cordial grasp. "Permit me to present you to these ladies, who do not speak English, but for whom and yourself I shall be glad to act as interpreter."

Well, Commander Rexdale made his most gallant speeches to the blushing little nurses, who in turn murmured their earnest desire to break their bones and knock their heads abjectly in his august presence. Introduction to the surgeon and the officers of the ship followed.

"I had my suspicions, when you pointed that gun," laughed Dave, turning again to Oto. "And when the torpedo-boat carried you off so neatly – "

But here Oto interrupted with a significant glance toward his subordinates, showing that he did not care to have all the events of that voyage made public.

With true Japanese hospitality he begged Rexdale to remain and join the party at luncheon; but Dave could not leave his own ship so long, and after a few minutes' conversation was obliged to leave. He explained that the Osprey had been docked at Cavite during the winter; then detailed to her old station as guardship at Chemulpo, whence she was now on her way to Shanghai.

"I suppose you heard this morning's news?" he said carelessly, as he stepped to the gangway.

"What news?" asked Oto, with a keen look.

"Rojestvensky's ships have been sighted, about half-way between Chagos and Singapore, steaming east at full speed," said Dave, in a lower tone. "It looks as if he were going to try the Strait of Malacca. Forty-two vessels reported, including transports and colliers. Good-bye!"

The blue-jackets of the Kushiro, at the instigation of her executive, gave the departing visitors three cheers as the men let fall their oars. Sam Bolles and Dick Scupp, who happened to be in the boat's crew, stared, with open mouths, at the Japanese commander, who nodded to them in a friendly way. A few minutes later the foam gathered under the Osprey's bows as she bore off toward China, and the Kushiro, making a graceful turn, headed toward Nagasaki, both vessels dipping their colours in salute.

The news which he had heard affected Oto deeply, but he let no sign of his emotions appear to diminish his courteous hospitality to his guests. They dined in the officers' mess-room, the captain's cabin being too small for the purpose. Everything passed off happily and gaily.

"Going into the harbour, sir," reported a boatswain to the commander, as the repast was finished.

In a few minutes the Kushiro approached her dock and made a near landing. Oto bade the visitors farewell. O-Hana-San, drawn by something in his dark eyes, lingered just a moment, as he took her hand in his own.

"When you hear from me again," he whispered, "I shall have been in action. The Russian fleet is close at hand, and we may be ordered south before morning. Farewell, O-Hana-San!"

"Oto! Oto! Sayonara!"

CHAPTER XXIII.
TRAPPED IN MANCHURIA

A less energetic and determined individual than Mr. Frederic Larkin might well have felt discouraged when, successively fired upon by the Japanese and rejected by the Russians, he was thrust out of Port Arthur and landed in Chefoo. His pass from the War Office at Tokio had been taken from him when he first entered Port Arthur, and had not been returned. To present himself again at General Stoessel's headquarters was out of the question, even if the means were possible.

"The balloon route seems to be indefinitely suspended," mused Fred, as he rested on the hotel verandah in the Chinese city, "and without much doubt I should be definitely suspended – by the neck – if the Russians caught me a third time inside the fortress. No, there's no use in wasting time (and a good, serviceable neck) in trying to carry out home orders. I'll cable the Bulletin and ask for instructions."

This he did at once, and the answer arrived before night, from the editor of that enterprising sheet: "Get new pass. Join Japanese army at front. Remain till ordered home. No more balloon!"

Fred laughed as he crumpled the dispatch and thrust it into his pocket. With characteristic energy he obtained passage on a vessel chartered for Nagasaki, and within a week was on his way back to Manchuria with brand-new credentials from Tokio. Landing at Antung, at the head of the Korean bay, he engaged a man and a couple of ponies to take him and his baggage to the Japanese advanced lines, north of Liaoyang. This was in late February, 1905, when the ground was frozen hard and snow lay deep in the valleys and over the ice-bound streams of Manchuria.

It will shortly be seen that for once the reporter's energy proved his undoing, so far as active service at the front was concerned.

It was a bright, cold morning when he mounted his pony, after many provoking delays and setbacks from the local military authorities, and rejoiced to feel that he was really on his way northward. Kanuka, the guide and porter, strode along the path in advance, leading the pack pony, while Fred followed on the other little beast, whose bad temper was out of all proportion to his size.

Kanuka appeared to be a Chinaman who spoke, besides his own language – a Manchurian dialect – a very broken sort of English and Japanese. Larkin had not liked his looks, but time was precious and he hoped to get rid of the man after three or four days at the utmost. Kanuka was under-sized, and had a droop of the head which gave his eyes a sort of malevolent expression as he peered upward, under his shaggy brows. He stooped slightly, was sallow-faced, and, oddly enough, had grizzled, curly hair and a full black beard, like a Russian. He was in reality, as Fred afterward learned, a native of Eastern Siberia, though he dressed like a Chinaman and spoke like a Manchurian.

For a while the little train proceeded in silence, broken only by the snorting, kicking ponies and the harsh, guttural expletives of the guide, who belaboured them with his cudgel until Fred checked him.

"These ponies must last four days, my friend," he sung out. "If you keep up your style of correction there won't be more than two hoofs and an ear left by the time we reach Liaoyang."

Kanuka muttered something Larkin could not understand, and pointed to a low line of clouds in the west.

"What does that mean – storm?"

The man nodded.

"H'm. What's the nearest large town?"

"Feng-Weng-Chang."

"That's too far. There must be something nearer than that!"

Kanuka nodded again and made a gesture toward the north. "Good place to stop, near Yalu."

"Near the Yalu? But that's off our route, old chap. I guess we'll push on toward Feng-Weng-Chang. There must be some villages along the road."

The guide stolidly turned and plodded on without another word save a native oath or two addressed to the pony, which responded with a squeal and a sidewise kick with one hind-foot.

The clouds rose rapidly, and the cold grew more intense. The sky was now entirely covered, and a biting wind swept down through the valley of the Yalu. At noon Fred called a halt in the shelter of a clump of trees, and a hasty meal was prepared over a small fire, while the horses were given food and drink. The guide remained sullen and taciturn, but performed his duties well. Fred had a belt around his waist filled with gold pieces, as well as a pocket full of change.

"Look here, Kanuka," he said, as the cavalcade resumed their march, "you bring me to a house where we can be decently comfortable for to-night, and I'll hand you ten yen, in addition to your regular pay. See?"

The man shrugged his shoulders under his shaggy sheepskin cloak and pointed up to the sky.

"Snow soon," he said gruffly. "House that way"; and again he indicated the north.

"Well, we may have to come to it, but I don't want to go a foot off the main trail if I can help it. There are too many loose characters floating about these regions to make the country healthy for foreigners, away from the military roads – eh, Kanuka?"

A gleam came into the guide's dark eye, but passed like a flash. He only shrugged his shoulders again, and resumed the weary tramp along the frozen path.

Now a snow-flake floated downward and alighted on Fred's coat-sleeve. He surveyed it with interest.

"Kanuka," he observed, "you're a genius. You'd be a valuable aid to General Greely, over in my country, forecasting weather. The snow has arrived – a 'local area' of it, anyway. How long do you suppose it will last?"

"Two days."

"Whew! It's a poor lookout for equestrian excursions to the rural districts! Here it comes, in dead earnest!"

A gust of wind rushed down from the mountains, and in a minute the air was full of fine drift which stung the faces of men and horses like needles. The ponies whirled round and it was only by the utmost efforts of the rider and his attendant that they were forced to go on.

The landscape was now almost entirely lost to view. All Fred took note of was the snowy mane of his pony and the bowed back of the guide, urging the pack-horse up the path, which had of late grown much rougher and steeper. Hour after hour passed. Fred, buffeted by the blast and half-frozen as he crouched on the saddle, suddenly realised that it was growing darker. Night was falling. The new snow was now over the horses' fetlocks, and in places the drifts were nearly to the stirrups.

"Where are we, Kanuka?"

"Not far from Yalu. See – good house ahead!"

Fred wiped the frozen snow from his eyelashes and peered over the horse's head. Sure enough, there was the welcome sight of a light, gleaming hospitably through the gathering darkness.

"Good!" he ejaculated with stiff lips, under his icy moustache. "I thought we should find somebody living on this old Feng-Weng turnpike."

"This Yalu road," said the guide.

"What, have we left the main trail?"

"Two hours ago. No good to keep same road. All go sleep there – no wake up." The man had to shout to make himself heard above the roar of the storm.

Fred did not like this independent change of route, but going back was out of the question, and he was too cold to argue, with fire, shelter, and food close at hand.

"All right," he said briefly. "Keep on. We'll talk it over afterward."

Ten minutes later Kanuka halted before the door of a rude hut, which communicated with two or three small wings or out-houses. It was built of mud and rough stones and thatched with straw. There were several houses similar in character farther down the road. The little settlement was in a sheltered nook between two high hills, which, as the valley ran east and west, protected the huts, or hovels as they might well be called, from the full force of the gale.

Kanuka knocked at the door with his club, but it was some time before it was opened, although the light burning within, shining through the small window, showed that the occupants were awake. The guide was redoubling his blows and shouting in his own language, when the door swung inward, and an old woman appeared in the opening. A low colloquy ensued, and then Kanuka turned to his employer.

"She says we may spend the night here," he said, in better English than he had yet used. "Go you in and get warm, sir. I will care for horses."

With some difficulty Fred dismounted and stumbled in at the open doorway. He found himself in a small low-browed room, so filled with smoke that his eyes tingled, and so dirty that, hardened traveller as he was, he hesitated for a moment before removing his heavy coat.

The aged crone paid no further attention to her visitor, but resumed her preparations for the evening meal, which had been interrupted by Fred's appearance on the scene. There was a broad, irregular fireplace on one side of the room, and here a fire was blazing, with a black pot, from which rose a not unsavoury steam, suspended over the flames. Mumbling to herself, the mistress of the hut – for such she seemed to be – occupied herself in stirring the contents of the pot, and in dragging a small wooden table to the centre of the floor, which, like the table, the chairs, the walls, and the old woman herself, was grimy and redolent of filth.

Accustomed to adapt himself to all sorts of strange surroundings the reporter now removed his outer garments, and approached the fire with a propitiatory word to the woman; but she responded merely by pointing impatiently to a bench, and turning her back upon him. Nothing daunted Fred drew the bench nearer the fireplace and proceeded to thaw out his benumbed fingers with every outward appearance of content and satisfaction. To please himself rather than his hostess, who he knew could not understand a word he spoke, he continued to soliloquise aloud.

"You are not very sociable, ma'am," he said cheerfully, spreading out his hands to the blaze, "but actions speak louder than words, and the prospect of that 'boiled dinner' in the kettle fully compensates me for the lack of conventional attentions. Permit me!"

He saw that she was about to lift the pot from the fire, and stepping in front of her he proceeded to relieve her of the task, to which, in truth, with her bent and aged form, she hardly seemed equal.

A minute later the contents of the pot were heaped in a large wooden platter on the table. At this interesting point Kanuka entered from a rear door, stamping off the snow, and took his place on the bench beside Fred.

"Don't apologise, brother," said the latter, with perfect good-humour. "In great emergencies all men are free and equal – as they were born. See Constitution of the United States of America, line 3. Suppose we draw this seat up to the board, which groans with the delicacies of the season?"

Kanuka assented with a grunt, and, their hostess having supplied each with a large wooden spoon, they proceeded to eat from the dish; the "delicacies" being found to consist of rice, with some other unknown vegetables and bits of boiled beef.

There was but little said during the meal. The two natives ate in silence, and Fred was too much occupied in avoiding doubtful ingredients, in his own share of the common mess of reeking food, to put any unusual strain upon his conversational powers. The withered crone now produced a flask of vodka, which Fred at first refused, but of which the others partook freely. The effect of the liquor was to loosen their tongues somewhat, and they conversed with each other in low gutturals. Presently the woman took the vodka flask and left the room, returning shortly with a mug full of liquor, which she again proffered her guest.

"She has mixed it with snow," interpreted Kanuka, as she urged it upon him. "It is weak and will not hurt you."

Not to seem discourteous Fred drank a little, but soon drew back from the table.

"I'm not thirsty, Kanuka," said he, "but I am tired and sleepy. Are the animals provided for?"

Kanuka nodded. "Warm, and supplied with food."