"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."