The North Pacific

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!"

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.