"Help! Help! They'll murder me!" screamed the man, looking about wildly as he ran.

His eye fell upon Fred, in the balloon, and at the same moment the reporter recognised him, disguised, mud-stained, and dishevelled as he was.

"Stevens!" exclaimed Larkin, stooping to cut the moorings. Then a better impulse came over him. "Jump in, man!" he shouted. "It's our only chance to get out of town, if that's what you want!"

Stevens recoiled at the sound of Fred's voice, and his pursuers, seeing the daring reporter standing over the fugitive with a drawn knife, hesitated a moment.

"Get in! Get in!" reiterated Fred, seizing the shaking coward by the collar and fairly dragging him over the side of the wicker basket. "I won't hurt you!"

"Wh-where are you going?" stammered the renegade, sinking down in the bottom of the car.

"We'll decide that point later," said Fred, sawing away at the rope. "If a shell hits our ship before we've cast off, we shall stay right here; and from the looks of your excited friends there, the place would probably prove unhealthy for—Ah! Here we go!"

The last strand parted and the great balloon soared swiftly above the town. A distant Japanese artillerist trained his gun upon it, but the shot passed below, and a moment later the air-ship was out of range, mounting toward the clouds and swept by a strong west wind directly over the battle-field.

CHAPTER XIX. AMONG THE CLOUDS.

At the very moment when the adventurous correspondent of the Boston Daily Bulletin was making his escape from Liaoyang, a motley crowd of Koreans, Chinese coolies, Japanese, and Europeans were gathered upon the platform of the railway station in Chemulpo, waiting for the Seoul train to start. Tidings of the great battle had reached the port and the announcement of the decisive victory of Japan, and the evacuation of the city by the Russians, had set the people in a frenzy of delight, real or assumed.

Distinguished by their erect bearing and bright naval uniforms two young men pushed their way through the throng and took their places in a first-class carriage on the train.

"Whew!" said Bob Starr, pulling off his cap and wiping his forehead, "this is about as hot as Key West and St. Louis rolled into one. How soon does the train start, Liddon?"

"In about five minutes," replied the dignified young officer of the Osprey, cool and calm as ever. "Don't complain of the heat, brother, until you've tramped through the interior of Luzon in July."

The two messmates had applied for and obtained leave to run up to Seoul and do a little sight-seeing as well as some shopping. It was believed that the ship would be ordered home soon, and every officer on board wanted some little knick-knacks from the heart of Korea. Bob and "Doc." Liddon, therefore, had half a dozen commissions to execute at the capital, as well as their own purchases to make.

"Now," said the midshipman, leaning back in his seat by the open window as the train began to move, "let's have a few statistics on Korea, old man."

"What do you want to know about it, youngster?" smiled Liddon, who was well used to this sort of appeal.

"Oh, I don't know enough about the place to ask questions," rejoined his companion languidly. "What is there interesting about it, anyway?"

"Well, perhaps the most interesting feature of the history of this country has been, up to a very recent date, its exclusiveness," said Liddon. "You know Korea has always been called 'The Hermit Kingdom.'"

"How big is Korea, anyway?" interrupted Bob, gazing out at the tawny waters of the river Hang-kang.

"Almost exactly the size of Minnesota—or, say, the size of New England, New Jersey, and Maryland. With the sea on three sides, and an uninhabited wilderness on the fourth, this independent little affair has been able to keep out foreigners, up to a very recent day."

"Independent? I thought China——"

"Oh, China holds a sort of suzerainty or protectorate over Korea, but practically it has governed itself. The King, or Sultan, or whatever he calls himself, has always been held sacred—to touch him with an iron weapon was sure death. Of late years foreign merchants have gained a foothold in the country, and travellers have visited it. You know Wiju, at the mouth of the Yalu, was declared an open port only last February."

"What's the religion hereabouts?"

"Mostly Confucianism. Catholic missionaries have made a tremendous struggle to introduce Christianity, and their history has been a long series of martyrdoms. Why, in 1866, there was a great massacre of native Christians, and nearly ten thousand perished."

"That finished the matter, I suppose?"

"Not much. There are supposed to be at least forty-five thousand Roman Catholic Christians in Korea to-day. Just what will become of them if the country goes to Japan, or is divided up among the big Powers, nobody knows. The Koreans, by the way, have a standing army of seventeen thousand men, trained and drilled by European officers."

With talk of this sort, and various other statistics relating to the Hermit Kingdom, time passed rapidly, and the learned young ensign was still lecturing when the train rolled into the station at Seoul.

The two officers strolled up the shady side of the main street, and soon espied some curios from which they determined to select mementos of this strange city.

"We ought to have some change," said Bob. "I've nothing but English gold. Suppose I get this shopkeeper to give me Korean money for half a dozen sovereigns?"

"All right," agreed Liddon, with a twinkle in his eye which the other did not see. "He'll be glad to have the gold, no doubt, and will cheat you a little, but that won't matter."

"How can I make him understand what I want?" queried the midshipman, standing before the Korean helplessly, with the money in his hand.

"I guess I can arrange it," said Doc. Liddon gravely. "I happen to know the word for small change in this country. Hulloa, you! Sapeke!" The ensign held out the gold as he spoke, and let it clink.

The man nodded twenty times, repeating "Sapeke! Sapeke!" and calling three or four coolies, gave them an order, despatching them in different directions. Then he gently drew out the American's watch, and pointing to the open face, held out five fingers.

"That means he'll have the change ready in five minutes, I suppose," said Liddon.

"Of course, just as they'd do at home. Sent round to the bank for it, probably. Let's walk on a bit, and come back here when the time's up."

They indicated on the watch what their plans were, and with many smiles and nods and amiable gestures on both sides the officers proceeded on their way.

There was not much to see in Seoul, after all. The buildings were for the most part miserable little one-story affairs, built of wood, clay, and rice-straw. Some of the meanest dwellings were thatched, but in general this primitive protection had given place to tiles placed in rows along the joints of the boards forming the roof.

"Let's go back and get our pocketful of change," remarked Starr. "Then we'll call on the minister, hurry up our shopping, and get back to the ship. It's too hot to linger in this proud capital all day. I never was cut out for a hermit, anyway."

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!"

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.

CHAPTER XX. THE DOGGER BANK AFFAIR.

In the middle of September the following startling despatch appeared in the newspapers on both sides of the Atlantic:

"Aberdeen, Scotland, Sept. 16.—A passenger who arrived to-day on board a coasting steamship reports that two Japanese officers and nine sailors came on board the vessel from London.

"As soon as she arrived at Aberdeen they jumped into a small boat and proceeded at once to a mysterious low-lying craft in the offing, apparently a torpedo-boat, which, on receiving the men, steamed seaward.

"It is believed here that the intention of the Japanese is to lie in wait for the Baltic fleet."

In order to understand what Oto Owari and a brother officer were doing in the North Sea at the time when the Associated Press gave out this startling piece of news, we must return to the day when the battle-ship Petropavlovsk "turned turtle" in the bay of Korea, and, attacked by some mysterious agency which was generally supposed to be either a Russian or Japanese submerged contact-mine, sank with nearly every soul on board.

The Octopus, which had made its way under cover of the darkness of the preceding night to the western extremity of the Yellow Sea, and was lying in wait for its huge adversary, had remained awash until daylight. Then, closing the main hatch, she sank until only the end of the camera projected above water. This easily escaped observation, looking, as it did, like a bit of floating wreckage. According to directions from his admiral, Oto made no move to attack the Russian ships when they were coaxed out of their safe harbour by the wily Japanese, it being deemed best not to risk a hasty assault at a time when the enemy were fully alert and in the best condition. In case their squadron should escape from the Japanese force outside—vastly superior to the Russians—and should retreat towards Port Arthur, then the Octopus was to strike its blow, quickly and decisively.

The result is known, although naval authorities still dispute as to the cause of the Petropavlovsk's destruction. Oto, conning the Octopus through the camera, observed the battle-ship returning to port after the brief conflict in the open sea. He touched an electric knob and the submarine quietly sank to a further depth of six feet. Being now entirely out of sight, the terrible war-engine approached without difficulty to within less than a hundred yards of the Russian ship, discharged her torpedo with unerring aim, and accomplished her work. The waters in the immediate vicinity of the huge victim were violently agitated as she careened in her dying agony, and the Octopus herself, lingering near to inflict another blow if necessary, was in danger of being drawn into the vortex made by the battle-ship as she went down. The little submarine reversed her engine quickly enough, however, to escape sharing the fate of her prey, and swiftly glided away to rejoin the Japanese fleet. The agent of destruction, known only to the admiral and the heads of the War Office, was not disclosed in Tokio, as it was deemed best that the Russian Admiralty and the world at large should know nothing of the terrible power Japan was wielding beneath the waves.

Oto remained on duty in command of the Octopus for several weeks longer, and was then detached for a more complicated task, one requiring an extraordinary exercise of intelligence and adaptability, as well as courage.

It was known that the Russians were preparing a formidable fleet at home, to take the place of the war-ships that had been put out of action in the East, and to establish the Muscovite power upon the seas. If this could be done, it was conceded in military circles that Japan's fate would be sealed. With her immense army cut off from supplies and from retreat, the Russian ships could ravage the coast of the Island Kingdom, and the army in Manchuria would be compelled to come to terms. It was all-important to prevent the sailing of the Baltic fleet if possible, or to damage it after it had started on its long voyage.

The Russian secret-service system has often been called the most effective and far-reaching in existence; but the Japanese have learned the methods of their huge neighbour, and with Oriental wit and alertness have surpassed their teacher. At about this time several accidents happened in the Russian navy yards at the head of the Baltic. One ship suddenly sank at her moorings; another was severely damaged by an inexplicable explosion; other strange mishaps befel the newly organised fleet before they left their moorings. Everybody read in the newspapers the reports of these "accidents," and everybody was puzzled to account for them—everybody, except the authorities at Tokio!

In spite of every hindrance and disaster it became evident that the fleet was nearly ready to sail, fully equipped and manned for the long cruise which was to terminate, according to general expectation, in the greatest naval battle the world had ever seen, should the fleet reach Eastern waters.

Taking a swift liner across the Pacific, Oto, with ten picked men of the Japanese navy, arrived at Vancouver on the 1st day of September. The Canadian Pacific, Grand Trunk, and New York Central railways landed the party in New York on the 7th; one week later they were in London. Here they took a small steamer on a local line, reaching Aberdeen on the 15th. On reaching shore the men, most of whom were dressed as common sailors in the merchant service, scattered among the water-side boarding-houses, and, in a city where seamen of every nationality are an every-day sight, excited little notice or comment.

Oto himself, having first consulted his note-book, repaired to a shop on an obscure street where tea, carvings, and cheap Japanese curios were sold. The shopkeeper eyed him sharply, glanced at a slip of rice-paper which Oto presented, then made a low obeisance to the visitor, and having locked the outer door of his shop and lowered the shades, led the way to a narrow and steep stairway, murmuring in his own language: "I break my bones to Your Excellency. Be honourably pleased to mount your servant's despicable stairway to the private office."

What communications passed in that office cannot be known with certainty. Oto, however, received from his countryman several despatches, and entrusted to him a return message of utmost importance. On the following day the nine Japanese met at the wharves by appointment. A boat was awaiting them, manned by a crew of the same nationality. In the offing the boat was taken up by a small, rakish-looking black steamer which some observers declared to be a torpedo-boat, others a "trawler," as the ships of the fishing-fleet were called. Whatever its nature, the craft had heels, for, with black smoke pouring from her short funnel, she soon disappeared to the northward. There were those who averred that they had plainly seen the English ensign flying over her taffrail.

Not to make a further mystery of this odd little vessel, it may be stated at once that she was no other than the Kiku, or "Chrysanthemum"; the same small war-ship which had hailed the Osprey in mid-ocean in her outward voyage, and had received and restored by a piece of incomparable naval dexterity the cabin steward of the gunboat.

The Kiku was a combination of torpedo-boat and destroyer; that is she was a small, swift steamer, fitted with both torpedo-tubes and three-inch rifled guns. Her efficiency in attack would depend largely on her speed, which was not less than twenty-six knots an hour, under forced pressure. For this reason, too, she was used as a despatch-boat. During the first six months of the war she was coaled and provisioned at obscure ports, often making long runs to escape observation.

In the weeks that followed Oto's embarkation, the Kiku's appearance was changed in several important particulars. She now might easily have passed for one of the trawling fleet that were familiar to every sailor in the North Sea. Her torpedo-tubes were concealed by canvas shields, painted black and so arranged that they could be easily drawn aside in action. Her guns were rigged out of sight, and port-holes closed so cleverly that only a trained eye would discover them, and that in broad daylight. At night the Kiku was an innocent fishing steamer, pursuing her honest avocation under the protection of Great Britain.

The sailing of the Baltic fleet had been again and again announced, and as often postponed. Vice-Admiral Rojestvensky knew that he was surrounded by spies, and more than half guessed that danger was awaiting him when once the home sea should have been left behind. At length, on the 21st of October, the great battle-ships and cruisers weighed anchor in earnest and started for Port Arthur. If that stronghold was to be saved, the relieving force could no longer be delayed. The Japanese were tightening their grip daily, and with an enormous sacrifice of life were taking position after position. Kouropatkin had made a vain attempt to march southward and succour the beleaguered fortress, and had been beaten back. Relief could only come by sea. It was believed at St. Petersburg that Stoessel could hold out until February, when Rojestvensky's fleet would be at hand to effect a diversion and open the harbour.

Slowly and majestically the ponderous ships moved onward, the lookouts, doubled in number, watching every suspicious-looking craft, the officers scanning the sea, from the bridges, with powerful marine glasses. Just after sunset the fleet entered the North Sea and turned their massive prows toward the south.

Between latitude 54° 10' and 57° 24' North, and longitude 1° and 6° 7' East (from Greenwich), a huge sand-bank lies under the waters of the North Sea, midway between England and Denmark. It is called the Dogger Bank, and affords extensive fishing-grounds which are frequented by all sorts of craft, from a wherry to a thousand-ton steamer. Here the Hull fleet set their trawls, and, with lights twinkling from bow and mast-head, toss and swing at their anchors through the long hours of the night. Every pilot in the United Kingdom, and on the coasts of the adjacent European states, knows of these trawlers and plots his course to avoid them in crossing the North Sea. The admiral of the Baltic fleet either forgot them entirely, or recklessly took the risk of their lying in the path of his heavier ships.

As the night—an unusually dark one—of October 21st closed in, the Hull fishermen were anchored as usual over the Dogger Bank. There were half a dozen or more of them, and before midnight their number was increased by one—a low, black hull like their own, which brought up just north of the main group without attracting attention.

The lights of the Kiku—for the newcomer was no other than the disguised destroyer—were made to conform exactly to those displayed by the trawlers. No one could have taken her for a war-ship, with her big fourteen-foot Whitehead torpedoes waiting to be unleashed behind their canvas tompions.

Far away to the northward a light twinkled in the darkness; another, and another.

"Slip the cable," ordered Oto quietly, not daring to recover his anchor lest the noise of the chain and pawls should be heard. "Clear decks for action!"

A low hum of voices sounded through the ship. Bare feet pattered to and fro as the decks were cleared, the guns were run out, screens removed, and ammunition hoisted. All this had been done in repeated drill until the men knew exactly where to place their hands in the dim light afforded by carefully shielded lanterns.

"Cast loose and provide!" "Load!"

The orders were in a strange tongue, but varied little from those taught at the Annapolis Academy. Like some black kraken of old, crouching for a spring at its approaching prey, the Kiku silently awaited the approach of the Baltic war-ships. Across the water from one of trawlers came a rough sea-song from the English sailors at their work.

Nearer and nearer came the great battle-ship leading the fleet, the flag-ship of the vice-admiral. A much smaller vessel, corresponding in class to the Osprey, scouted at a little distance to the west.

Suddenly a glare illumined the water. The scout's search-light was turned full on the Kiku. Instantly the rattling report of the gunboat's main battery roared out, followed by the heavier guns of the battle-ship.

Rojestvensky, who, strange to say, had been below decks, now rushed to the bridge, and caught sight of the black hulls of the trawlers.

"Fire into them! Sink them! Ahead full speed! They are torpedo-boats!" he ordered without a moment's reflection.

The search-light of the flag-ship picked up a fishing steamer, and a moment later a solid shot passed through the hull of the unfortunate trawler, below the water-line, and she began to sink.

A few more shots were fired wildly from the panic-stricken Russians, but in five minutes it was all over. The fishing-fleet were miles astern, and the battle-ships were furiously rushing from the scene of the brief and inglorious action. One of the trawlers was sunk, two men killed, and twenty wounded. This was the story that was brought to Hull the next morning, and set every Englishman's blood boiling at the reckless, needless disaster inflicted by Rojestvensky's ships.

What, meanwhile, had become of the Kiku? When the first gun was fired and the shot struck the water beside her she slapped a steel bolt into the transport Kamschatka, taking one of her funnels off neatly. The enemy were too distant for torpedo work, and before the Japanese gunners could determine where to fire (they had aimed hap-hazard at the search-light of the scout, for the first shot), or in what direction to steer for an attack at close quarters, a shell plumped into their engine-room and exploded, killing four men and putting the ship completely out of action. Another shot hulled the Kiku and fatally wounded three more of her crew. Oto, standing on the bridge and hitherto unhurt, calmly gave orders to lower the boats. There was confusion in the darkness, and the sudden calamity, and only one of the Kiku's four boats was in the water before the ship sank. Oto was one of the half-dozen men who were picked up; every other on board went, with their vessel, to the bottom of the North Sea.

Driven away from the trawlers by a fresh breeze, the Japanese survivors headed their boat westward and pulled lustily. Early the next afternoon they landed near Yarmouth and made their way to London. Their leader knew where to send them, in that great city, to find friends, and within a week they had shipped in various vessels for Japan. Oto himself, having sent a cipher despatch to Tokio, took passage on a Cunarder for New York, and was once more on board a ship in Togo's fleet in time to witness the fall of Port Arthur.

To anticipate the course of this story, and complete that of the Dogger Bank affair, it may be added that for a time war between Russia and England seemed imminent. An agreement between the two Powers, however, was finally reached, by the terms of which an international inquiry was to be held, conducted by a Commission of naval officers of high rank, one British, one Russian, one French, one American, and one to be selected by these four. Evidence as to the presence of torpedo-boats on the Bank was widely conflicting, but after many protracted meetings the North Sea Tribunal, as it was called, finally announced its decision, which was, briefly, that the Russians had not, in reality, been attacked by torpedo-boats, and that the vice-admiral was not justified in firing into the fishing-fleet; that, however, "under the circumstances preceding and following the incident there was such uncertainty concerning the danger to the squadron as to warrant Rojestvensky in continuing his route." They did not positively condemn the Russians for firing, but they decreed that they should pay an indemnity to England, for the property destroyed, and to aid the families of the killed and wounded fishermen.

There was much criticism upon this verdict throughout the countries represented upon the Commission; but it was indeed impossible for the judges to determine where the fault really lay. The trawlers testified, one and all, that there was no torpedo-boat present. Certain officers of the Russian ships, on the other hand, testified point-blank to having seen the hostile craft, and the commander of the Kamschatka stoutly alleged that he had been fired upon by a torpedo-boat, and had signalled the fact to the flag-ship, at the outset of the affair.

On the whole, the best comment upon the verdict was made by Bob Starr, on the Osprey, when he read the despatch in the papers.

"It reminds me of the Western jury," said the midshipman, "who knew the prisoner well, and liked him too much to convict him; so they brought in a verdict of 'Not guilty, but don't do it again!'"

CHAPTER XXI. THE FALL OF PORT ARTHUR.

At about the date of the miscarriage of Commander Oto Owari's plans in the North Sea, the regiment in which his old friend Oshima[5] commanded a company was detached from Oyama's army of invasion and added to the forces under General Nogi, besieging Port Arthur.

It will be remembered that Port Arthur was completely isolated on land when the Second Japanese Army, under General Oku, captured Nanshan Hill, in the latter part of May, 1904. On August 9th the Russians were driven into their permanent works, the real siege beginning three days later, when shells fell in the streets of the city for the first time.

The task before the small brown men of Nippon seemed an impossible one. There were seventeen permanent forts to be taken, forty-two semi-permanent improvised fortifications, two miles of fortified Chinese wall, and a triple line of trenches over eight miles long. The forts were so arranged that each was commanded by several others; and the whole were manned and defended by some of the bravest soldiers the world has ever seen.

"You are expected to do the impossible things," was the first order from the Mikado to his troops in the field. The expectation was fulfilled; the imperial edict was obeyed. Ten thousand men, in the face of a deadly fire of shot and shell, trampled the word "impossible" under foot, buried it beneath their torn and mangled bodies; and over them the soldiers of Japan marched to victory.

Baron Nogi did not assume command in person until the siege had fairly begun. He had two sons, Hoten and Shoten. Shoten fell on Nanshan Hill, and his body arrived in Tokio on the day when his father was to sail for Manchuria. "Delay the funeral," said the General to his wife, "until Hoten and I are brought home to lie with Shoten." Hoten gave up his life on the deadly ramparts of "203-Metre"; Nogi still lives—a man "with face parchment-crinkled, brown like chocolate, with beard grey shaded back to brown, eyes small and wide apart, perfect teeth, tiny, regular nose and a beautiful dome of a head." So he is described by one who has often stood in his presence. Twice conqueror of Port Arthur, he is a mighty force in the Japanese army.

Within the city the Russian soldiers, and what was left of the civilian population, kept up a brave front. The long hours were passed by the ladies in making garments for the invalids. The hospitals, under the care of the Red Cross, were beautifully kept, the laundry work being done by poor women and the soldiers' wives, in place of the regular "wash men," who had left months before. Every day in the week a military band played in one or another of the hospitals; one day in the New Russian town and one in the New Town. Mrs. Stoessel, the kind-hearted wife of the commander-in-chief, visited the sick men, bringing such dainties as the lessening fare of the fortress could furnish, and speaking encouraging words. For every thousand invalids were thirty trained nurses, in addition to volunteer helpers. Every day came a sad procession, bringing wounded men in litters from the outer works. Every day the shells fell in the doomed city. The streets were full of great gaps, where they struck and exploded. Before October the Old Town was a wreck.

Every three days the men at the front were relieved, and as their comrades took their places the troops came marching back, singing cheerfully, although there were many vacant places in their ranks. When they overtook a litter with a dying comrade the songs would cease, and crossing himself each man walked with bared head until he had passed the brave fellow; then he donned his cap again and continued his song. Not a man of them would admit that the Japanese could ever take Port Arthur. Help would come from Kouropatkin or from the sea. So the days wore on, the leaves fell, chill winter winds began to sweep over the gulf, October gave place to November, and still the longed-for relief was withheld; still the terrible artillery of the foe roared from the surrounding heights and from the mighty battle-ships; and day by day the thunder was louder, the hospitals filled, and the heart of the gallant general grew heavy.

After the futile assault in August the Japanese settled down to the slow process of mining and sapping. No one realised more fully than General Nogi the tremendous task that was before him. Batteries and forts not only commanded one another with their guns, but were connected by meshes of barbed wire which must be cut in the face of a devastating fire before the assailants could advance. In places these wires were charged with electricity. When the cutters attempted to ply their nippers they fell in their tracks, electrocuted. The outer slopes of the fortresses were formed of slippery concrete, or of loose sand in which the Japanese floundered and slid backward, while the Russian marksmen picked them off with their rifles.

Buried in these formidable slopes were mines and torpedoes, some to be exploded by the touch of an electric button, some by mere contact. These hurled hundreds of the assailing troops into the air, torn and mangled. Deep moats surrounded the earthworks, and were so constructed that they could be raked by machine-guns. In at least one instance the moat was filled with combustibles which were fired as soon as hundreds of Japanese had leaped down into it. They were burned alive.

But every stratagem, every defence, every death-dealing manœuvre of the besieged was met and overcome by the relentless besiegers. To approach the fortifications across the zone of fire they dug zig-zag trenches at night, through which the troops, after great sacrifice of life, could get within striking distance and carry this or that battery by sudden assault. They tunnelled like moles, under the moats and through the earthworks. It might take two days or two months to advance a hundred feet, but the advance was effected.

When the soldiers of the two nations actually met, the scene was terrible. As the opposing ranks drew near, the men tossed balls of gun-cotton—an explosive to which powder is as a toy-cracker to a twelve-inch turret gun—among the enemy. They screamed defiance. They fought with swords, with bayonets, and finally, like wild beasts, with claws and teeth. No savage tribes of Darkest Africa ever grappled in more frightful conflict.