Part 27

Reproaching himself for forgetting, in the excitement of the moment, the scene he had witnessed in Chang-Wo's room, Bob sent Ah-Sam back to the kitchen, whence he returned with a full cup. Handing this to his master, he knelt down and raised the prisoner's head. Bob held the cup to Kobo's lips, allowing him to take only one sip at a time. The Japanese gave a sigh of ineffable content; for several minutes not a word was spoken by any of the three; Bob's heart was too full for speech. Presently Kobo signified that he had drunk enough, and Bob placed the cup beside him on the floor.

"Thank God I came in time to save you!" he said, laying his hand on Kobo's. He had a terrible sinking of the heart as he felt the thin hand--it was mere skin and bone, the hand of a skeleton; it was clammy to his touch.

"I thank you, Mr. Fawcett," said Kobo feebly. "I thank you, but it is too late. I am dying."

"Don't say that," replied Bob. "We'll take you out of this horrible place. In the fresh air and sunshine, with good food, you will be yourself again."

"Tell me," went on the prisoner, in the same low, difficult tones, "did you give my message to the general?"

"Yes; I remained with him, and was able to do something to guide the Twelfth Division. We are across the Yalu, sir."

"Banzai! Banzai!" exclaimed Kobo with sudden vigour. "The Russians are beaten?"

"Thoroughly--driven from all their positions; we captured forty of their guns."

"Banzai! My country! She will win. I know it. We have crossed the Yalu: then we shall drive the enemy before us--from Kiu-lien-cheng to Liao-yang, from Liao-yang to Mukden, from Mukden to Harbin, from Harbin-- Ah! why should we drive them farther? Dai Nippon shall come to her own."

"But yourself, sir; we must take you out of this. You will be more comfortable in Chang-Wo's room, and then, when you have rested and eaten, we will take you slowly into the Japanese lines, and you will live to see the triumph you have done so much to secure."

Kobo shook his head.

"I cannot stand," he said. "I shall die. But what is death?--Rest, peace, eternal quiet."

Bob felt a lump in his throat.

"Help me lift Kobo San," he said, turning to the Chinaman.

Tenderly they carried the slight figure between them down the stairs into Chang-Wo's room, where they laid him on the soft quilts that still bore the impress of his enemy's form. And then Bob saw that there was indeed no hope. Kobo was almost unrecognizable. He was haggard, emaciated to a shadow; but for his open eyes he would have seemed a corpse. At Bob's orders Ah-Sam hurriedly prepared some food, but after one or two mouthfuls Kobo refused to take any more.

"Rest," he said; "I want rest, that is all. I thank you."

His eyes roved round the room as though in search of something or someone.

"Your enemy will not trouble you again," said Bob. "Chang-Wo is dead."

"He died first! He has starved me, beaten me; he kept me without water--how many days? I do not know. He tempted me, held a cup before me; I might drink if I would do as he wished: betray my country. We Japanese do not fear death.--My servant! Have you any news of him?"

"No, I have not seen him since I left you."

"No matter. Taru will know how to die. If he should survive, and you meet him, tell him to return to Nikko; my wife will have need of him. And my son, my boy Takeo in England. You will see him? You will tell him?"

"Yes; I will go to him as soon as I can."

"I thank you. Will you give me a little water?"

Kobo lay back on the padded quilts, and his eyes spoke his thanks. Bob was troubled, and watched him in silence. Ah-Sam, with stolid countenance, was busy preparing a meal for his master. Suddenly through the walls of the tower penetrated the sound of a multitudinous discharge of firearms. Bob rose to his feet, and leaving Kobo in Ah-Sam's charge hurried to the top of the tower, his mind filled with apprehension. Was Kobo's end to be disturbed? From the roof he saw a strange sight. The inner wall of the fortress was thronged with the garrison, who were shouting and gesticulating with excitement. The huge gate stood wide open, and beyond, half a mile across the green plain, a tall figure had just mounted a beautiful horse, which had evidently been taken out to meet him by three men from the garrison. The horseman rode up slowly, and as he approached, Bob saw that it was his late companion, Sing-Cheng.

At the gate of the fortress the chief halted and made a speech to the men, who responded with loud cries and another discharge of their rifles. Then he rode through the gate into the courtyard. Looking up, he caught sight of the solitary figure on the roof of the tower. Instantly springing from his horse, he bowed himself low to the ground, and ordered the surprised Manchus to do the same. The kow-towing over, he sent a man to knock at the outer door of the tower. Bob hurried down, and bade Ah-Sam open the door. Sing-Cheng entered, bowed humbly to the Englishman, and followed him into Chang-Wo's room. He gave one glance to the figure prostrate on the floor, looked a mute question at Ah-Sam, and then explained what had happened.

As he stood at the edge of the cleft, looking towards the wall, he had recognized among the crowd one who had been his comrade when he himself had served the old chief. Addressing him by name, he had reminded him of his own former importance in the band before the chieftainship had been usurped by Chang-Wo. He explained that Chang-Wo had met a terrible fate through his ill-considered adhesion to the Russian side in the great struggle now desolating the country. Chang-Wo was dead; if he had lived, the extermination of the whole band could only have been a matter of time. But now he, Sing-Cheng, the chief of a rival band, had disposed of his old enemy and proved himself a better man. Let them accept him, therefore, as their new chief. He would lead them with more success; under him let them relinquish the losing side and do yeoman service for the conquering Japanese. The alternative? If they did not accept his leadership he would deliver them into the hands of an army of Japanese whom he had guided into the neighbourhood, and they would be slain to a man. The strong tower of the fortress was already in the hands of two powerful friends of his, who had crossed the ravine by an unheard-of means, had faced the Mountain Tiger in his lair, and driven him headlong to destruction.

The bold offer had been accepted. Sing-Cheng had demanded that an escort of three men, with a horse suited to his dignity, should meet him at the distance of a li from the fortress, and, as Bob had seen, he had ridden in to receive the submission of the garrison.

The chief's story was hardly finished when one of the garrison came running in with a message. Sing-Cheng instantly went out into the courtyard.

"He say Manchu hab catchee one piecee Japanee," explained Ah-Sam.

"Follow the chief, and bring me word what is happening," said Bob.

A few minutes passed. Kobo was restless, his eyes wide open with a look of strained eagerness, his breath coming and going in quick feeble pants. Bob sat by his side, moistening his lips at intervals. Presently the door opened, and Ah-Sam first appeared, restraining a small gray-headed man, who seemed to be in haste to enter.

"One piecee boy Kobo San," said Ah-Sam to his master.

The man came forward eagerly, and Bob saw that it was Taru, his friend's servant. The little Japanese flung himself down at his master's feet, and muttered a few words brokenly. Kobo smiled. Beckoning to Ah-Sam, Bob went out of the room, leaving the two lifelong friends, master and man, together. Outside he learnt what had happened. The rider whom he had seen leave the fortress on the memorable night when he had reconnoitred the position had returned, bringing with him the disguised Japanese servant, who had been making his way by devious routes to the haunt of his old enemy. Taru had explained to Ah-Sam that while in Yongampo he had heard that his master had been captured by Chang-Wo, and had instantly set out to track him; if possible to rescue him; if not, to die with him. He had come safely to within two miles of the fortress, and then fallen into the hands of a small party led by the Manchu courier.

For half an hour Bob remained in conversation with the chief, discussing through Ah-Sam the measures that were to be taken to consolidate his new authority, and to do service to his new allies, the Japanese. Then Taru came hurriedly from the tower, and asked Bob to return with him. They found Kobo now raised to a sitting posture. His eyes were closed, but he opened them as Bob entered. He was pale with the pallor of death.

"I am going--to my fathers," he whispered.

Bob sat down by his side, and looked at him with dim eyes. He breathed painfully; Taru, on the other side, gave him at intervals a spoonful of water.

"I rejoice to have--two faithful friends," said Kobo. "Mr. Fawcett, Taru will--return to Nikko; you will remember--Takeo, my son in England. I shall rest."

He closed his eyes and remained silent. Taru took one hand and held it fast, Bob held the other. He waited, sad at heart, grieved that Japan was to lose one who had served her so well. He thought of the long hours of agony this hero must have suffered; the tortures of hunger and thirst, the fierce temptation that must have assailed him. Kobo had been reticent of details, but Bob understood that he might have purchased his life by disclosing the methods of the Japanese secret service. How small a thing, thought Bob, to meet death bravely in the heat of battle! in a moment a man passes from full life to quietude. But to endure such horrors as Kobo had faced without flinching needed another kind of courage, a higher mind, a greater soul. Bob thrilled with sympathy and admiration, and all the time felt an aching disappointment that he had not been able to avert this tragic martyrdom.

Kobo's eyes slowly opened. In tones almost inaudible he said a few words in Japanese to his servant. Taru bent to the floor, and placed his master's hand upon his head. Kobo looked at Bob, and attempted feebly to press his hand.

"It is good-bye," he said. "I am going into the dark--which is rest. Good-bye."

Bob could not speak. There was a moment of silence. The dying man gasped painfully.

"Taru," he murmured. "Taru--sayonara!"

His head sank. Taru waited a few moments; then, lifting Kobo's hand, he rose saying:

"Be at peace, dear master."

*CHAPTER XXVI*

*Old Friends and New Prospects*

Compulsory Leave--Andrew B. Charteris--Looking Ahead--The Busy Bee--Smuggling Ah-Sam--Schwab Proposes--A Blessing

Kobo was buried in a glade among the trees near the fort. Bob placed over the grave a stone from the ravine--a flat slab washed smooth and white by the torrent; and upon this Taru scratched a simple inscription in Japanese characters. The chief meanwhile had sent men to find the body of Chang-Wo. What indignities the already mangled corpse might have suffered but for Bob's presence need not be told; Bob insisted on a decent burial, and made the chief promise that the grave should not be desecrated. The dead man's effects were thoroughly examined, and a discovery was made which threw light on a matter always puzzling to Bob--the presence of Chang-Wo in Tokio. Among his belongings were many papers, charts, and maps of Japan and the surrounding seas, plans of the Japanese ports, memoranda of military details--all probably intended for Russian use in an invasion of the islands, and kept by the Manchu until he could depend on getting a good price for them. These Bob made into a bundle; then he prepared to return with Taru and Ah-Sam to the Japanese head-quarters.

A few days later the services of one of the army doctors with General Kuroki's force were required for a young Englishman who had just been brought into camp by four coolies, led by a Japanese and a Chinaman. Sunstroke had laid Bob low on the day after leaving the fort. The unusual exertions which he had undergone since his adventure with the Cossacks had tried his constitution more than he was aware, and the final excitement and strain of Kobo's rescue had left him too weak to withstand the effect of the sudden heat. He was unconscious when he reached General Kuroki's quarters, and the doctor who examined him looked grave.

It was some days before he came fully to himself, and then the doctor, though he foretold a complete recovery, declared that it would be a matter of time and rest, and emphatically forbade Bob to think of active service for months to come.

"But I must get back to the fleet," protested Bob. "I'm a kind of deserter, and though I couldn't help being captured, and everything else has followed from that, I sha'n't be able to help feeling guilty when I report myself to Admiral Togo."

"You'll do nothing of the kind. We're a long way from the coast; in any case we can't spare a cruiser to carry you to Port Arthur; and if we could, I shouldn't allow you to go."

"What's to become of me, then? I can't follow the army; and I'm sure I don't want to be left behind in a Manchurian village."

The doctor's reply was interrupted by the entrance of General Kuroki himself. After greeting Bob, the general took the doctor aside, and for some minutes the two were engaged in conversation. They spoke in Japanese, and Bob, with the impatience of an invalid, felt annoyed at being the subject of a discussion which he could not follow. At length General Kuroki turned to him and said:

"I hear you want to rejoin the fleet, Mr. Fawcett. That is an entirely creditable wish; but the doctor is quite right, you must not think of it. You need not be disturbed about your quarters, however; we shall not leave you to the tender mercies of the Manchus. I'm going to send you to Yokohama. Stay," he added, as Bob began to protest, "it is quite fixed; you will be escorted to Chemulpo as soon as the doctor gives permission. For my part, I shall be glad to be rid of you." The general smiled. "Don't take that personally; I have had the pleasure of sending a report to the illustrious Emperor detailing the services you have rendered us since you left the fleet, and your adventurous expedition for the rescue of Kobo San. You have good friends, sir. Ever since you started on your quest I have been pestered by telegrams from a lady, first from Seoul, then from Yokohama--a Mrs. Pottle, who has been most energetic in enquiring after your welfare. Mrs. Pottle has given me more trouble than all the press correspondents together, and that is saying a good deal. I wired to the lady when you were brought in, telling her of your illness, and hoped that I should hear no more from her. But her telegram has now become a daily event, and only this morning she wired: 'Send him right along, I will nurse him like a mother'. So you see, Mr. Fawcett, that in getting rid of you I get rid, as I hope, of Mrs. Pottle."

For all his disappointment, Bob could not help smiling.

"She is a most determined woman," he said; "quite capable of leading your army, sir, with her umbrella. Well, I'm in your hands, general; it's very kind of you to be bothered with me at all. I only wish I had a chance of doing something; but I suppose that when I am quite well again the war will be over."

"I hope so," said the general gravely. "We have hard work before us; many good lives will be lost; but we shall persevere, and who knows--?"

Bob was welcomed by Mrs. Pottle at Yokohama literally with open arms. He had never been so much fussed over in his life as he was during the next few days. His health had improved with the voyage; but he was still only the shadow of his former self, and Mrs. Pottle showed that she had undertaken in all earnestness the duties of nurse. Bob found her energy rather trying, but he endured her ministrations with patience, for they were alleviated by the presence of Ethel Charteris, whose enthusiasm was displayed in a quieter and more winning manner. Mrs. Pottle was by no means short-sighted, and after a time she began to leave Bob more and more in her niece's hands, much to his contentment.

One day she returned from her usual morning expedition through the town accompanied by a stranger--a tall grizzled gentleman, sparse, keen, yet bearing an undefinable resemblance to the lady. Ethel was seated at Bob's side on the veranda of the hotel when she saw the two figures approaching.

"Good gracious! It's poppa!" she exclaimed, and fled to meet him.

Mrs. Pottle came up first, rustling in Japanese silk under a chrysanthemum parasol.

"See what you're responsible for!" she exclaimed. "Here's my brother, Andrew B. Charteris, come right out to fetch us. Says he couldn't make head or tale of our letters, and couldn't size up the attractions of Yokohama, and so he's left his business in a critical situation to see what his sister and daughter are doing. I hope you and Andrew will get along, Mr. Fawcett. He's a silent man, but a real good hand at taking stock of things. Here he is."

Mr. Andrew B. Charteris came up with Ethel clinging to his arm. The introductions were made.

"Heard a lot about you, sir," said Mr. Charteris. "Real glad to meet you in the flesh."

"There, Andrew, you don't mean anything; but if you had known Mr. Fawcett before, you wouldn't have said just that. Poor boy! he's little enough flesh on his bones now."

"H'm! Nature has wonderful recuperative powers," said Mr. Charteris, who after this profound remark walked on into the hotel with his daughter.

A week passed--a time of quiet enjoyment to Bob, who had still more of Ethel's company now that Mrs. Pottle had her brother to pilot round, as she put it. There was only one drawback to his happiness. One day he was surprised by a visit from a high court functionary, who had come to command his attendance at the palace in Tokio at a certain hour next day. Bob made a wry face when the functionary was gone. He guessed that this unexpected honour was due to General Kuroki's report to the Mikado, and was sufficiently boyish yet to hate all fuss, as he told Ethel.

"I think you are quite wrong," she replied. "You have done splendidly, and it is only right that the Mikado should thank you himself. Why, I know young men in San Francisco who'd give their eyes to be invited to see a real live emperor."

He went to Tokio, and certainly did not look unhappy when he returned. Mrs. Pottle bombarded him with questions about what had happened.

"Oh, it was all right," said Bob. "He's a very good sort; so's the Empress. It wasn't the formal affair I expected. They had me in their private apartments and gave me some tea, and the Emperor said uncommonly nice things, and presented me with--this."

He held up a ribbon with a gold ornament attached.

"My!" exclaimed Mrs. Pottle, "what's that?"

"It's the insignia of the order of the Sacred Treasure."

"Mysakes! Only think of that! Well, I'll say this; it's no more than you deserve. There!"

"I'm so glad," said Ethel.

"What's it worth in cash?" drawled Mr. Charteris.

"Oh, poppa, you unromantic, practical, shocking old man! The idea! It's perfectly priceless. Mr. Fawcett wouldn't part with it for anything, I'm sure."

"I sha'n't tempt him. I don't cotton to fal-lals of that sort. A thumping cheque would have been more to the point. Say, Mr. Fawcett, you ain't a rich man?"

Bob flushed at the blunt question, and Ethel blushed in sympathy.

"No offence!" added the old man, his eyes twinkling. "It's just this way. I've been thinking for a week, Mr. Fawcett. It ain't right for that tramp of yours across the Manchurian hills to be thrown slick away. How long do you suppose this war will last out?"

"That's more than I can even imagine," replied Bob. "I don't see how Port Arthur can hold out much longer; they are closing in on it; and as to the land campaign, the Japanese generals are driving the Russians from pillar to post. If the Russians are wise, the war will end with the fall of Port Arthur."

"Ah! and then?"

"What do you mean, sir?"

"Well, I suppose the Japs--"

"Poppa!" interrupted Ethel. "Don't use that horrid word--call them Japanese."

"Anything to please you, my love. I was going to say that I suppose the Japs--Japanese, I mean--are not running this war for nothing. They'll want to develop the country--what?"

"No doubt."

"And they'll keep an 'open door', eh? Well, what I've been thinking is this. When the war ends, it'll be time for me to slip in with a syndicate to work out some of the minerals--what! And it seems to me, from what I've heard and seen of you--especially what I've seen--that you're the right sort to be of use. You know the country; say, you've had a practical training--not wasted too much time on defunct languages, eh? and what's most to the point, you've got a pretty level head, and I'll go bail you ain't afraid of work. So, if you're agreeable, we'll strike a bargain. What?"

"I accept your offer with pleasure, sir," said Bob, his face flushed, his eyes shining. "I've always wanted to live an active life, and--"

"Shake!" said the American, relapsing into his usual laconic mode of utterance. Mrs. Pottle gleamed benevolence through her eye-glasses, and Bob's eyes sought Ethel's.

A few days later, one of the liners of the _Pacific Mail_ was steaming across the ocean from Yokohama towards San Francisco. On the deck sat a group of three--the same three who had foregathered on the voyage out to Nagasaki seven months before. Morton and Desjardins, finding that their chances of seeing anything of the actual fighting were not improving, had asked to be recalled, and were returning by way of New York. Bob, with sick-leave from the Japanese government, had accepted an invitation to spend a few weeks with Mr. Charteris in San Francisco. The three were lolling on their deck-chairs, when a fourth figure was seen slowly rising from the companion-way.

"Well, Schwab, feel better?" shouted Morton.

"Zanks, Mr. Morton, I am vat you call fairly gumfortable. Ze sea-illness attack me not zis time so bad. Indeed," he added expansively, "I gommence to enjoy myself."

"Ah! de beautiful sea, de beautiful sun!" exclaimed Desjardins. "I look up into de blue sky lovly above, and it make me feel all de vorld is poetry."

"Bosh!" snorted Morton in his downright way. "Excuse me; no poetry in the world but what you put there. I ain't built that way; no Englishman who can eat a beefsteak is. No!"

"But, monsieur, you do yourself, you do your nation, im-mense injustice. Par exemple! vat vas it I hear last night ven I promenade myself beneas de so silent stars? Assuredly it vas de sweet voice of Mademoiselle Charteris who give a lesson to de boy Ah-Sam. I listen; I am charmed; it vas a little poem, so short, so simple, I learn it by 'art at once:

"''Ow doss de leetle beesy bee-e Impr-rove each shinin' hour-r, And gader 'oney all de day-e From every openin' flower-r-r!

So it begin, and--"

"I see Madame Bottle!" suddenly exclaimed Schwab, rising clumsily from the deck-chair into which he had subsided. The others rose also and hastened along the deck towards a group of two ladies and a gentleman coming in their direction. Schwab at once took possession of Mrs. Pottle; the others manoeuvred for the place at Ethel's left hand, the right being occupied by her father. Desjardins lost his chance by waiting to make an elaborate bow; Morton, for all his bluntness, was a bashful man; so that Bob had no great difficulty in securing the position. Morton consoled himself by arranging deck-chairs for the ladies, and the company grouped themselves, Schwab still next to Mrs. Pottle, and Bob retaining his place at Ethel's left hand.

"We've been hearing of your English lessons to Ah-Sam," said Morton to Ethel.