Under the Mikado's flag

From the tone of the speaker Gilbert realized that he had a rough individual with whom to deal. But it was too late to back out or hide and he faced the man boldly. He proved to be a corporal, and behind him were several Russian privates, all in heavy winter uniforms, for the day was stinging cold.

“What are you doing up here?” demanded the corporal.

“I was looking at the battle,” answered Gilbert.

“Who gave you permission to come in this building?”

“Nobody, but as I found it wide open I thought there would be no harm in coming in.”

The corporal muttered several words Gilbert did not catch. Then he turned to the privates behind him.

“See that this man does not get away,” he said.

“Do you mean to say that you are going to detain me?” cried the young American. He did not like the appearance of the Russians, or the black looks they gave him.

“And why not? For all we know you may be a spy,” and the corporal leered suspiciously at Gilbert.

“I am no spy.”

“Have you been making signals from this tower?”

“No.”

“Then why was that shot fired at you?”

“I don’t know anything about that. If I was signaling to the Japanese, do you think they’d fire at me?”

“The shot may have come from one of our forts. Come down at once.”

Evidently the Russian corporal was afraid another shot might imperil his own safety, and he hustled Gilbert down to the lower floor of the building without ceremony. As soon as the American appeared there was a cry of astonishment from all of the soldiers.

“What is he doing here?”

“Is he the American who aided those Japanese?”

“Let us make an example of him! We want no traitors in Port Arthur!”

So the talk ran on, and for the moment it looked as if Gilbert would suffer bodily violence. But then a rather pleasant-looking Russian captain stalked up, and pushed his men back.

“Not so fast, men,” he said, quietly but firmly. “This American may mean no harm after all.”

“But it is known that he has helped the Japanese,” said one.

“He was put out of his hotel for so doing,” added another.

“I have heard he is a spy,” came from a third.

“I give you my word of honor, captain, that I am not a spy,” said Gilbert, when he could get the chance to speak.

“Who are you?”

“I am simply an American citizen, the selling agent for the Richmond Importing Company. We have been doing business here for several years.”

“I see.” The Russian captain mused for a moment. “But it is true that you aided some Japanese, yes?”

“I helped one man whom I knew personally. He was being put out of his house after paying his rent. I made the rent gatherer give the rent money back. The man was poor, and he had a sick wife and several small children depending upon him.”

“Ha! I see. Well, we have no further use for the Japanese in this city, or in the whole of Manchuria, for the matter of that. They must leave and at once. I will investigate your case more fully later. In the meantime you must remain here.”

Gilbert’s heart sank and for the time being he knew not how to reply. If he was made a prisoner there was no telling when he would be able to clear himself and get away. The Russian authorities might keep him locked up for weeks and even months. In the meanwhile, what would become of the Columbia with her valuable cargo, and what would become of his friends on board?

“They are not going to keep me a prisoner if I can help it,” he told himself grimly. “I’ve been in a tight fix before and got out of it, and I’ll get out of this one too!”

The opportunity to escape came sooner than expected. Scarcely a quarter of an hour went by when there was a commotion on the street, and word was brought in that all the Chinese and Japanese in Port Arthur were rising, to massacre the Russian citizens. The report was a false one, but it produced a terrible sensation for a couple of hours, and the Russian soldiers were called out to quell the disturbance.

In the excitement Gilbert watched his chance, and when he was not observed, he slipped from among the soldiers who surrounded him and through an open doorway into another portion of the building. From this apartment he ran into a near-by shed, and then along a lane lined on either side by storehouses.

“Stop! stop!” he heard a Russian soldier yell, and then several shots were fired after him, none of which, however, took effect. He continued to run, and coming to a wide open storehouse, ran inside, mounted a ladder, and then laid down to hide behind a number of sacks of salt.

The ex-lieutenant thought the Russian soldiers would follow him, and such would undoubtedly have been the case had it not been for the alarm just mentioned. The alarm was close to the center of the city, and the vicinity of the storehouse in which he had hidden was all but deserted.

It must be admitted that the young American was now in a most unsettled state of mind. What to do next he did not know. He felt that he had gotten himself into “hot water” in more ways than one. Captain Barusky was against him, so were the owner of the house in which Jiru Siko had resided, and the officer from whom he had just made his escape.

“They’ll prove me a spy, or worse, if they possibly can,” he thought, and drew a deep sigh. “To my way of thinking Port Arthur is getting too warm to hold me. I reckon I had best clear out and come back when this excitement is over. With this fighting going on, I’ll never be able to bring Ivan Snokoff and Captain Barusky to justice.”

It was an easy matter to decide upon leaving Port Arthur, but how the thing was to be done was another matter. He knew that the railroad to the north was closely guarded, and so was the entire harbor front.

“If I had a good horse I might leave in the dark and ride to Dalny, or Yang-tau-wo, or some other place, and ship from there,” he reasoned. “Wonder if I can buy a horse without attracting attention?”

Gilbert remained in the storehouse the best part of two hours before he thought it safe to leave it. Some soldiers had gone past and they did not return. With caution he looked out of the doorway and out of several windows to make certain that the coast was clear.

The storehouse was in a portion of the city which was new to him, and as he stepped out into the lane once more he scarcely knew how to turn. But he remembered the way he had come, and started in a direction directly opposite.

A few minutes of rapid walking brought him to a small square, on one side of which were more storehouses, and on the other a number of drinking places, and cheap lodging houses. Here were a number of idle Russians, many the worse for liquor. To avoid them Gilbert walked past as rapidly as he could.

He had just reached the corner of a side street when three half-drunken Russian stevedores hailed him, and as he did not stop, two caught him by the arm.

“Come and be cheerful!” cried one, in a thick voice. “Don’t be afraid to spend your money.”

“Thank you, but I have no money to spare,” answered Gilbert briefly, and attempted to pass on.

“Ho! ho! just to hear the Englishman!” cried the fellow. “For a truth I’m sure your pockets are lined with rubles.”

“Or if not with rubles at least with kopecks,” hiccoughed the second Russian. “Come, stranger, let us drink to the success of Russia.”

“Aye!” put in a third. “The success of Russia, and may every dog of a Nippon lose his life in this war!”

The trio gathered closely around Gilbert, and one, the dirtiest of the lot, almost embraced the ex-lieutenant.

“I tell you, I have nothing for you!” cried Gilbert sharply. “Now let me pass.”

“What, will you not drink to the success of Russia and to the health of our Czar?” growled one of the trio.

“I told you I had no money to spare. Now let me pass,” and Gilbert tried to break away and pass down the side street, for he saw that several other Russians were approaching.

The breaking out of the war, and the battle in the harbor, had made the Russian stevedores reckless, and they thought they saw a chance to get some money without working for it. At a sign from their leader they set upon Gilbert and tripped him up, so that he fell flat upon his back.

“Here, stop that!” he cried. “Stop it, I say!” And when they did not stop, but instead made movements as if to get at his watch and purse, he began to struggle violently.

As my old readers will remember, Gilbert was healthy and muscular, and it did not take him long to struggle to his feet, and send one of his assailants sprawling. Then he struck out once more, hitting a second Russian on the nose.

“Knock him down!” spluttered that individual, staggering back “Knock him down! Hit him with a club.”

By this time two others of the stevedore gang were at hand. One had a club and he made a wicked pass for the young American’s head. Fortunately Gilbert saw the move, and dodged just in time, so that the end of the stick merely grazed his shoulder.

The fight was now growing hot, and Gilbert backed up against a wall, hoping by this means to keep his assailants in front of him. But now all five of the Russians came at him, and he felt that sooner or later he must become then victim.

“Help! help!” he cried. “Thieves! help!”

“Be quiet!” growled one of the Russians. “Be quiet!”

“Hit him, Michael! Hit him, before he alarms the whole neighborhood!” put in another.

The fellow called Michael advanced to do as bidden. Gilbert warded off the blow once more, and then sought to wrench the stick from the stevedore’s grasp. In another instant the other Russians leaped in, and down went the young American once more, with all his enemies on top of him.