Under the Mikado's flag

The Japanese was right, two of the party in another cart had been discovered just at the moment they were leaving the turnout. In alarm the Russian driver ordered them to stop, and then called to another cart-driver for assistance.

The cry uttered by the Japanese was given in order to warn their friends. Now they came rushing across the field, closely followed by others of the party. On the road the Russians continued to give the alarm, and an instant later several shots were fired, one striking a Japanese in the arm. The fellow wanted to open fire in return, but Jiru Siko told him he had better not, as that would only add to the excitement and call forward more of the Russians.

With his heavy bag Gilbert had all he could do to keep up with the Japanese, although several of them carried loads fully as heavy as, if not heavier than, his own. The little brown men seemed to be all bone and muscle, and sprinted over the snow-covered ground in a manner that was wonderful.

Lights were now flashing forth from several directions, and soon came a shot from a distant sentry, answered by a similar shot from another sentry. The location of these shots was carefully noted by both Jiru Siko and Gilbert.

“This is the road between,” said the ex-lieutenant, and the Japanese nodded, to show that he agreed. The way led past the house Jiru Siko had in mind to visit, and there they were joined by all of the others who had left Port Arthur but a short while before.

Not far from the house was a patch of dwarfed timber and into this the Japanese and Gilbert dashed. One of the number appeared to be familiar with the ground and he led the way, the others following in single file. They went over a small hill and across a pond covered with ice and snow, where two slipped and went flat on their backs. Then they mounted some rocks, swept clear of the snow by the wind, and came out on a road which followed the seacoast.

By this time the whole party had been running an hour, and it must be confessed that Gilbert was beginning to lose his wind. But the Japanese kept on without slacking their pace, and there was nothing for him to do but to keep up or be left behind.

“Those fellows are wonderful runners,” he thought, and then he remembered how the Japanese soldiers had pressed forward when the cry was, “On to Pekin!” He felt certain that if the Japanese army ever landed in Manchuria, they would give the Russians some hard marching and fighting. How true this surmise proved we shall see later.

It was nearly four in the morning when the party reached a spot where there was a sandy beach with a small inlet. Here was a rude boathouse, which was apparently deserted.

As they came up to the boathouse Jiru Siko drew from his clothing two small rockets. Sticking one in the snow he set it off and then gazed anxiously out to sea, his companions doing likewise.

A few minutes passed, and then, through the swirling snow, they saw the flare of an answering rocket. At once all ran along the beach and leaped into two rowboats lying there.

It was a hazardous thing to do, for the seacoast was lined with floating cakes of ice. But the Japanese did not hesitate, nor did Gilbert, for all felt that the alarm on the road would speedily lead to an investigation, and the trail through the snow was a fairly plain one. The young American seized an oar with the rest and pulled as sturdily as anybody.

At last the two rowboats were well away from the shore, and then those on board began to search once more for the ship whence the answering rocket had been seen. They saw a light behind them and knew that the Russians were already on the trail.

A half-hour passed, and in the whirling snow it looked as if they had missed the ship entirely and would be at the mercy of the elements. Gilbert was fearfully cold, and so worn out with running and rowing that he could scarcely sit up.

Seeing that there was no help for it, Jiru Siko lit his second rocket. Hardly had it gone up into the air when a gun boomed out, and a solid shot went whistling over their heads.

“If we are struck we’ll go to the bottom sure,” thought Gilbert, and gave a shiver, for the thought of such an icy grave was not a pleasant one.

The first shot was followed by a second, and then a third. But these flew still further away, and then all aboard the small boats breathed easier.

At last came a shout, which was quickly answered by the Japanese. They saw the light of several lanterns, and waved a small light in return. Then there loomed up in the darkness the form of a fair-sized Japanese sailing craft, with several sails set. These were speedily lowered and in a moment more the two rowboats drew alongside.

There was some danger of the rowboats being swamped, for the sea was running strongly. But with the aid of the sailors on the larger craft all in the rowboats were transferred to the deck of the big vessel. Then one of the rowboats was also taken aboard, and the other cast adrift, and the sailing ship proceeded on her course to the southeast.

The Japanese ship was named the O-Taka, which means The Hawk. She was a fairly comfortable vessel, broad of beam, and with sailing qualities better than ordinary. Her captain, a keen-eyed Japanese named Toyano, had served in the war between Japan and China years before, and had an abnormal hatred of the Russians. He knew that he was in dangerous waters, but laughed to scorn the anxiety of the sailors under him.

“We can show them a clear stern,” said he, in his native tongue. “And if a steamship comes close we can give them a taste of a sailor’s muscle and shooting qualities.”

On board of the O-Taka were Jiru Siko’s family and also the families of several other Japanese refugees. The women and smaller children were crowded into the cabin of the ship, while their belongings were either thrown into the hold or lashed fast in a heap on the deck. Everybody on board was Japanese but Gilbert, and many gazed curiously at the young American. He was introduced to the captain, who told him to make himself at home as best he could.

“You will have to rough it with us,” said he. “I can offer you no stateroom, since those are given to the women and children. And should we fall afoul of a Russian warship all of us will have to take what comes.”

“I’ve roughed it many times before,” answered Gilbert, with a quiet smile. “As a soldier I served in Cuba, Luzon, and in China.”

“Good! Then you are no stranger to war. I am glad to meet you,” and Captain Toyano shook hands once more. “Jiru Siko tells me they took you for a spy in Port Arthur.”

“They did, and I am running away now to escape being put into a Russian prison just for nothing at all!”

“In that case you must sympathize with us Japanese?” And the captain bent a penetrating glance upon the ex-lieutenant.

“I certainly do not sympathize with the Russians,” returned Gilbert bluntly. “They have caused me a good lot of trouble, and now it looks as if I, or rather the company I represent, was going to lose a lot of money through them.” And here Gilbert told as much of his tale as he thought the ship’s commander would care to hear.

As soon as those who were in the rowboats were taken on board every light on the deck was extinguished and a little later all of the sails were hoisted. Running in such absolute darkness was dangerous, but no more so than to show a light and thus invite a shot from one of the forts or from a Russian man-o’-war. Two men were kept at the bow, each doing his best to see what was ahead, and thus give warning of danger, should any appear.

By daybreak the snowstorm was over, and at ten o’clock in the morning the sun came out brightly, making it much warmer than it had been. The O-Taka was now out of sight of land, and steering a straight course for the southern extremity of Korea and for Nagasaki, about two hundred miles beyond. The wind was favorable, and with every sail set the vessel plowed through the waters of the Yellow Sea with surprising swiftness.

Roughly estimated, the sailing distance from Port Arthur to Nagasaki is almost seven hundred miles, the route being past the Shan-tung Promontory and Quelpart Island. Of course, much depends upon the winds, which are highly variable in these quarters, but the captain of the O-Taka expected to make the trip inside of a week, unless the weather proved unusually foul.

The one anxiety on board was concerning provisions. It had been impossible to procure anything in the shape of meat or vegetables, and the quantity of rice, flour, and salt fish was limited, as was also the quantity of drinking water. Everybody was put on short rations from the start. At this the Japanese refugees did not grumble, being satisfied to get away from their enemy at any cost, and Gilbert had sense enough likewise to remain silent.

With all their hardships the Japanese were a cheerful lot, and frequently beguiled the time by singing, and by playing on several stringed instruments which had been brought along. One comic song of the day, called “The Man Who Sailed on a Whale,” was a great favorite, especially with the children. The national songs were also sung, the sailors joining in the refrains with a will.

Three days passed, and only some distant sails were sighted, none of which attempted to draw near them. Once the lookout detected a great smoke to the northeast, and this smoke was thought to come from the funnels of Russian warships. At once the course was changed due south, and soon the smoke was left behind.

So far since the snowstorm the weather had been fine, but on the night of the third day the atmosphere grew heavy, and by midnight the snow was coming down once more in heavy flakes, which all but obliterated the view on all sides of the ship. The lookouts were doubled, and as the wind increased, the sails were slightly trimmed.

“This is not so pleasant,” said Gilbert to Jiru Siko, as both turned out in the morning.

“One must take the copper with the silver,” responded the Japanese. “Lucky to get away from Russians—sink ship, what we do den, you say?”

“I don’t know that I can say anything,” laughed the young American. “More than likely we’d go to Davy Jones’s locker.”

“What locker dat? I don’t know him,” and the little brown man looked puzzled.

“I mean the bottom of the sea. American sailors call it Davy Jones’s locker.”

“Ah! Dat so, him Davy Jones got mighty big locker—all same full whales and many fish,” and Jiru Siko laughed at his little joke, and Gilbert laughed with him.

Breakfast had been served, and Gilbert was strolling toward the bow of the ship when one of the lookouts gave a sudden cry:

“A ship! A ship!”

He was right, and a second later a big warship loomed up directly in front of the sailboat. The warship was coming forward at a good rate of speed, sending the spray flying in all directions.

“We’ll be run down!” cried Gilbert, and this cry was taken up on all sides. Then came a cry from the big ship, and they heard the churning of the water as the engines were reversed. But the forward movement of the warship was scarcely slackened, and it looked as if in a moment more there would be a collision, and the sailboat would be sunk.