The North Pacific: A Story of the Russo-Japanese War

by Willis Boyd Allen

As soon as the real Boxer movement was disposed of by the Powers, and by China herself, the Russians undertook the suppression of this systematic brigandage, by which some thousands of outlaws were living in insolent security. Moukden was garrisoned with twelve thousand soldiers, and troops took the field against the robbers. In less than six weeks three thousand bandits were killed and nearly as many captured. The remainder scattered and fled to the fastnesses of the mountains, where they were hunted like wild beasts. As an organised force, they were, indeed, "suppressed"; but strong gangs of criminals escaped, and during the early months of the Japanese war they gained courage and assumed their unlawful calling with something of their former boldness.

Fred knew all this—he had followed the recent history of China carefully—and he had no doubt whatever that he had fallen into the hands of one of the scattered bands of this still powerful organisation. He knew, moreover, that a more daring and remorseless set of men never gained their living by highway robbery than these same bandits, through whose agent, Kanuka, they had so cleverly entrapped him.

Revolving these things in his mind and trying to concoct some sort of plan for escape, the reporter at last fell asleep from sheer exhaustion, in spite of the pain caused by his bonds, and the presence of two bandits who had remained to watch the prisoner.

When he awoke it was broad daylight. The mistress of the hut was occupied in preparing another seething mess over the fire, exactly as she had been when he entered the hut. Fred felt lame and sore from head to foot, and soon discovered, moreover, that he had taken a severe cold. He was hot and feverish, and had a weak longing for his mother's cool, soft hands upon his burning forehead.

The old hag presently lifted the pot from the fire, groaning as she did so.

"I wish I could help you, ma'am," said Fred, trying to assume a cheerful tone, "but 'circumstances over which I have no control,' you know!"

She seemed to gather the import of his words—perhaps remembering his courteous assistance on the preceding night—and dishing out a portion of the nauseous mess offered it to him. When she saw that he was so tightly bound that he could not help himself to food she uttered an exclamation in which he recognised the first hint of pity among his captors. Looking over her shoulder with evident apprehension, she freed his right arm, and when he indicated with a feeble smile and shake of his head that it was benumbed, she rubbed it with a not unwomanly touch until he could use it and feed himself. Having forced down a little of the distasteful food, to avoid hurting her feelings, he lay back on his couch and motioned to her to lay the rope lightly over his arm, giving it its former appearance of confinement. This she did at once, and not too soon, for the whole gang of seven men, including Kanuka, trooped in for their breakfast a minute later.

The storm continued through the day, and Fred found his condition unchanged, save that he was allowed to walk about the room a little, under guard of three of the ugliest-looking of the bandits. As night came on once more, his feverishness increased. He felt faint and giddy. He had no doubt that his drink was drugged the day before, and it was quite possible that the process—though for what purpose he could not guess—was being kept up. He was too feeble to care much what he ate or drank. All he wanted was to be left alone.

At about midnight on the second night in the hut, as the sick man was tossing on his filthy bed, the inner door of the room opened softly, and the woman appeared, shading the flame of the lamp with her hand. Her son, who had been left on guard, was standing silently by the window, gun in hand. The aged crone now knelt beside Fred, and noiselessly cast off the ropes, which had been tied with less caution than at first, it being deemed impossible that the captive, weakened as he was, could make his escape. Fred managed to gain his feet, and stood stiffly, half supported by the woman. She led him to the outer door, which she opened. The stars were shining, and it was bitter cold. The young bandit now slipped around the corner of the house and presently reappeared with one of the ponies, upon which Fred managed to scramble. The old woman gave the reporter a soft pat on the back and whispered something to her son, who stooped and kissed her! Then she went into the house, wiping her eyes on her ragged skirt, and leaving the two men outside, free.

Fred soon found that he could not sit upright in the saddle without help, and the bandit, slinging his gun over his back, put his arm around the rider and so held him on, while the pony picked his way down the mountain trail. In places the drifts made the path almost impassable. The wind still swept fiercely through the defile, although the night was clear. Once the young robber stopped suddenly and unslung his rifle; but the noise he had heard was but that of a falling tree, and he resumed his steady walk beside the pony.