Under the Mikado's flag

By daybreak the worst of the blow was over, and shortly before noon the snow ceased to fall, and the sun began to struggle through the clouds. Still it was bitterly cold and those on deck had to keep muffled up. As it was, one of the sailors had had a hand frozen during the night and several were suffering from nipped noses and ears. The blood in Gilbert’s left foot refused to circulate properly and that member felt as if half dead.

The storm had opened the seams of the vessel worse than ever, and the sailors had all they could do to keep the craft from becoming water-logged. The pump was in constant use, one gang of pumpers relieved another, and in addition some water was drawn from the hold by means of big pails and ropes. All realized that their very lives depended upon keeping the water below the safety-line, and all worked like Trojans in consequence.

“Let me work too,” said Gilbert, and the others were glad enough to let him take hold and do his share. The work warmed him up, and presently the foot that was numb began to feel better.

The day proved a long and uncertain one for all on board of the O-Taka. Whether they would float or go down was a problem which any moment might answer to their undoing. In the afternoon the water in the hold began to gain rapidly.

“We are lost!” cried one of the sailors. “We shall go down in another hour!”

Two of the men on board, one a carpenter and the other a cabinet maker, went below and made an examination of the leaks for the third time. They reported two new leaks, but said both might be stopped up. Canvas was brought out for that purpose, and several planks torn from the cabin, and the pair set to work. In the end the worst leaks were mended and then the water came in no more rapidly than it had early in the morning.

Yet the prospect was a gloomy one, and as night came on the fears of those on board increased. The wind had driven the ship for miles out of her course, and even the captain could not tell how close they were to land.

“We may be thirty, and we may be sixty miles,” said he, in reply to a question from Gilbert.

“Then there is no danger of our striking on the rocks?”

“I will not say that. There are a great number of rocks and sunken reefs in this vicinity.”

Utterly worn out with watching, a few on board of the O-Taka fell asleep. Gilbert could scarcely keep his eyes open, yet he felt in no mental condition to retire. Some of the children cried bitterly, especially because of the scantiness of the rations provided. Everything to eat and to drink was dealt out sparingly, for nobody could tell how long the stores would have to last.

It was a night that appeared to have no end, and when at last day broke it found the watchers all but exhausted. Now some of the sailors slept, only awaking when their strength was needed at the pump or the water buckets.

All day long an anxious lookout was kept for a sail, but none came within hailing distance. Once a bark passed to the southward, and they saw the smoke of a steamer to the westward, but that was all.

With the mainmast gone the O-Taka merely crawled along at a speed of less than five knots an hour. To rig a jury mast was out of the question, since most of the canvas belonging to the ship had either been lost overboard or used to stop up the worst of the leaks.

“We’ll not sink, unless another storm strikes us,” said the captain. “The worst enemy we have to fear at present is hunger.”

“How much longer will the stores last?” asked Gilbert.

“I shall make them last three days, although we could use everything up to-day.”

“And after that?”

“I’ll try to make land somehow.”

“On the coast of Korea?”

“To be sure—that is the only land that is near.”

Again night came on, and two sailors, who had been permitted to sleep the greater part of the day, were placed on the lookout. Gilbert tried to rest, and almost before he knew it he was in a heavy slumber.

His awakening was a rude one. There came a sudden shock that bowled him over and over and almost sent him into the sea. Then, as he grasped a stanchion for support, the O-Taka struck again and almost went over. Yells of alarm arose on the air, and men, women, and children came pouring from the cabin.

“What have we struck?”

“The gods defend us! Is it another warship?”

“Are we all to be drowned at last?”

So the cries ran on. In the meantime the vessel righted herself once more, and then it could be seen that she had slipped over a reef. Another reef was ahead, and again she pounded and scraped, and more cries arose, until it was as if Bedlam had been let loose. In terror a few leaped overboard, and sad to relate, these people were never seen again.

But the immediate danger was now over, and directly ahead was a long, low stretch of marsh land, with several little bays and inlets. Straight for one of the inlets went the ship, and soon reached a spot only a few feet from solid ground. Then an anchor was thrown out, what little sail was up was lowered; and the perilous voyage came to an end.

At first those who were on the ship could not realize the truth of what had occurred—that the vessel had come to a tolerably safe landing, and that the dangers of shipwreck or starvation were past. They stared at one another and at the captain.

“We have struck somewhere on the southwest coast of Korea,” said Captain Toyano. “The vessel will be as safe here as if she was tied up in Nagasaki harbor so far as our passengers are concerned. But I am afraid that the gallant O-Taka has seen the last of her sea trips,” and he turned away sadly, for the vessel was his sole property and all he had to depend upon for a living. Let it be added here that, later on, the ship was drawn from the inlet and overhauled, and proved almost as seaworthy as ever, much to the old salt’s satisfaction.

There was nothing to do but to wait until daylight, and, once the vessel was properly secured, by the anchor and by ropes tied to stakes driven into the marsh land, all on board but a few sailors went to sleep. Gilbert was glad to rest once again, and now made up for the greater part of the sleep lost during the voyage.

In the morning half a dozen Korean fishermen appeared, well bundled up, and with their queer-looking hats pulled well down over their ears. They were much surprised to find a ship at hand, but promised to do what they could for those on board. None of them had heard of the war between Russia and Japan, but when they did they at once took sides with their Japanese neighbors. They promised to bring dried fish, and some rice, as well as fresh water, and out of his own pocket Gilbert paid for some flour, some dried fruits, and some beans.

“I don’t mind your rice and dried fish,” he said to Jiru Siko, “but I can’t live on it right along.”

“Rice and fish very good,” replied the little brown man, who, now that the danger was over, was quite himself once more. “Make much muscle, good wind—can live on rice and fish.”

From one of the fishermen Gilbert learned that the ship had been stranded at a point about sixty miles south of Chemulpo, and that there was a fairly good road leading to the latter named seaport. There was also another road leading over the mountains to Fu-san, on the southeast coast of the Land of the Morning Calm, as Korea is locally called.

“Japanese steamers stop at both Chemulpo and at Fu-san,” said Captain Toyano, “or at least, they did so before this war broke out. If you wish to leave us I should advise you to go to Chemulpo, which is close to Seoul, the capital. All trade centers at Seoul, and if you get into any further trouble it will be best for you to be within call of that city.”

Matters were talked over for several hours, and in the end Gilbert arranged to be taken in a pony cart to Chemulpo. Jiru Siko remained behind with his family, and it was a long time before the young American saw his faithful Japanese friend again.

“I shan’t forget you, Siko,” said Gilbert, on parting. “You did a great deal for me.”

“Master Pennington do much for me,” was the reply. “Send Russian rent man ’bout business—make rent man give up money—nice thing to do—not forget dat! We come together some day—when Jiru Siko soldier, maybe;” and so they parted.

Gilbert had with him for company a sailor named Nouye, sent to Chemulpo by Captain Toyano. There was also the driver of the cart, an elderly Korean, who insisted upon having his pay for the trip before they started. As the amount was less than two dollars and fifty cents in our money Gilbert furnished the cash without hesitation. It was likewise agreed that the young American should pay about forty cents for a night’s lodging for himself and his companion, and twenty cents for food for the driver and his ponies.

Under other circumstances Gilbert would have noted many things on that trip through a new country. But the weather remained cold, with another light fall of snow, and he was glad to bundle himself up and huddle down in the cart to keep warm. Yet he noticed that in general the air was much drier than in Manchuria and consequently more healthful. As a whole, the climate of the Land of the Morning Calm is delightful, the spring and autumn being unexcelled anywhere for clearness and balminess, and the summer being far from sultry. To be sure, there is some bad weather, and a few days when the thermometer climbs into the nineties in the shade, but these are the exceptions.

The night’s stop was at a long row of nipa huts, some used as dwellings and others as stages. Much to his surprise, Gilbert was offered a fairly good bed and also a supper and a breakfast with which he could find no fault. He also met a Korean who could speak fairly good English.

“I learned your tongue from a missionary,” said the Korean. “I worked for him at his church. He was a nice man.”

“And where is the missionary now?” questioned Gilbert.

“He has gone away. The Russians came here and they made it unpleasant for him.”

“Why?”

“I know not, excepting it might be that they wanted to establish their own church.”

“And have they done that?”

“Not yet. But they are coming sooner or later. They are now in the north of my land. They are pressing us hard.”

“But the Japanese may drive them out.”

“I trust they do. We do not want any Russians in the Land of the Morning Calm.” And there the talk came to an end.