One brilliant April morning Jack set out towards Ninguta, accompanied by Gabriele and the servant, Hi Lo, and two trusty Chunchuses. They were all dressed in Chinese garb, and since Manchurian women do not deform their feet there was no difficulty for Gabriele on that score. But they carried Russian dresses and uniforms for use if necessary. They crossed the railway safely at night half-way between two of the block-houses; and, striking into the hills, followed a path that would take them a considerable distance south of Ninguta. Their great danger lay in the chance of meeting one of the Russian columns which had been engaged in rounding up Ah Lum; but the two bandits believed that they would hear of the proximity of any such troops in good time to avoid them.
Jack had discussed with Gabriele whether they should take Father Mayenobe's mission station in passing. On all grounds they decided that it would be best to leave the good priest undisturbed. No doubt he believed that Gabriele was well on the way to Europe; it would be a pity to renew his anxieties, and possibly involve him in trouble with the Russians.
While they were laboriously making their way over the hills, another member of Ah Lum's band, posing as a lumberman, travelled by the railway, newly restored and more strictly guarded than ever, to Vladivostok. He bore a letter from Gabriele to the man by whose aid she had communicated with her father in Sakhalin. The letter stated that the receiver might earn 500 roubles if he would accompany the bearer to Possiet Bay, and there meet the writer, who would then give him further instructions. Jack had little doubt that when they arrived they would find the man waiting. To an ex-convict of Sakhalin 500 roubles is a fortune.
The Chinese shipping interest at Possiet Bay was scandalized when it heard that Too Chin-seng was contemplating a voyage to Chifu at least three weeks before the usual season. The ice, it was true, was breaking in the harbour; but the weather was tempestuous outside; and large quantities of loose floe rendered navigation difficult and dangerous. There was much shaking of the head over the temerity of the ship-owner who was thus imperilling not only the lives of the crew but the safety of the vessel. He could easily get another crew; a vessel like the Yu-ye ("Abundant Profits") was more difficult to replace. She was a stout junk some sixty feet in length and fifteen in beam, built of thick wood to withstand the heavy seas of those northern latitudes, and from the Chinese point of view well found in all respects. That for the sake of a few weeks' gain in time a man should risk so valuable a craft seemed to the shipping world at Possiet Bay a wilful flying in the face of fortune, almost an insult to Ma Chu, the goddess who watched over good sailors.
Too Chin-seng went quietly about his preparations, not even swerving when his neighbours protested that by the time he returned from Chifu he would be too late for the early herring fishing off Sakhalin. One day the vessel, loaded with a cargo of rice, made her way with much creaking and groaning out of the harbour, her sides bumped and scratched by heavy ice floes. Before sailing she had undergone the usual inspection; the officials sniffed and pried, as though the dissatisfaction of the native community had infected them also; but everything was in order. The day was fine, the sea exceptionally smooth for the time of year; and when once free from the floating ice, the Yu-ye ran merrily before a light north-easter down the coast.
But towards evening, when off Cape Lesura, she hauled her wind and beat about as if in expectation of something. She had not long to wait. Half a dozen figures appeared on the shore; a sampan was launched from the edge of the ice and laboriously punted its way out to the junk. The passengers were got aboard with some difficulty, for the wind was rising and the sea beginning to be choppy. But, all being at length embarked, the junk clumsily beat out to sea, heading towards the coast of Yesso to the north-east.
"He can makee chop-chop sailo pidgin, lowdah?" asked Jack of Too Chin-seng at the tiller.
"My belongey numpa one junk, masta. Ping-ch'wahn no can catchee he, galaw!"
In a rough wooden hut on a hill-slope above a small lumber settlement on the south-east coast of Sakhalin two men were talking. It was nearly dark; a sputtering tallow candle threw a murky light over the room, showing up its bareness. A rickety table was the only article of furniture; a raised portion of the rugged wooden floor, covered with one or two frowsy blankets, served both for chairs and bed. On these blankets the two men were now seated.
One of them was a big, heavy-browed, uncouth fellow—a posselentsy; that is, one who having served his time in the convicts' prison, was now liberated, though not free. He could not leave the island, nor could he choose his place of residence; he was bound to live where the governor bade him live. On leaving the prison he had been furnished with implements and ordered to go and build himself a hut at the spot prescribed, and till the soil around it. For two years he had been provided with food enough to keep him from starving; after that he must keep himself by the labour of his hands—cutting wood, loading coal, mending bridges. His hut became the nucleus of a village, other convicts being sent to do as he had done. After fourteen years he might hope to be permitted to return to Siberia or Russia.