“I’m going to have a cup of coffee,” said Ben, and forthwith set a Japanese cook to making the same. Gilbert joined him, and each drank two cups, which seemed to do them much good.
The distance from Chinampo to Ping-yang is about fifty miles, but the route by land or water is almost twice that distance. To the east and the west are great ridges of mountains, covered with a variety of trees and shrubs, nearly all, as yet, bare of leaves. The main highway into China from Seoul runs through Ping-yang and also touches Hwang-ju, which is midway between Ping-yang and the seacoast.
The following noon found the command on the march to a point where they were to meet another portion of the army bound for Ping-yang. It was reported that the soldiers ahead had already had a skirmish with the Russian outposts, in which none had been killed but several wounded.
“We’ll be on the firing line before a great while,” said Gilbert. “The Russians are not going to give up their hold on Korea, if they can help it.”
Once more, to the surprise of all, the weather turned out bitterly cold and there was a slight fall of snow. Meeting more troops and also several hundred coolies,—Japanese peasants brought along to “tote” baggage and stores—the whole body went into camp far the best part of a week not far from Hwang-ju.
“This is tough and no mistake,” said the old sailor, Blarco, as he hugged a small camp-fire which had been built. “I believe my left foot is about half frozen.”
“It’s no wonder, since we’ve been marching through icy slush six inches deep,” replied a brother soldier. “After all, campaigning in Korea is going to be no picnic.”
“Did you expect a picnic, when you enlisted?” asked Gilbert, who was munching a slice of not over-fresh bread.
“Not at all,” was the prompt answer. “But I did think spring would be here by this time.”
“I don’t think winter will last much longer,” said Blarco. “The snow is very wet and it will soon disappear. But, oh, for a good hot wind from the south!” and he heaved a sigh.