"I'm going into Port Arthur, my boy."
"Port Arthur! You'll never get there alive—don't try it, Larkin!" exclaimed Staples earnestly. "There's a close blockade, and you'll either be sunk in the bay or at the very best be taken prisoner if you reach the shore."
"It's just that 'very best' that I'm reckoning upon," rejoined the reporter coolly. "I wanted to see you fellows before I went in, so you can allude to my whereabouts if I don't show up in a week or two. I'm an American citizen, Dave, and don't you forget it. You may be sure I won't let Russian or Jap, whichever one captures me, forget that little fact. There's no danger of my being hung as a spy, for I have my passport and credentials, and the worst they can do, when they've made their investigation, is to fire me out. All this is supposing I actually reach one 'firing-line' or the other. I've sat round in Tokio and looked at lanterns and spidery letters until I'm tired of it. The Bulletin sent me out here to get news, and I'm not going to disappoint the old man."
The day passed pleasantly enough, with stories, talk of old times and discussions of war incidents. The routine duties of naval life filled the intervals in the conversation. Late in the afternoon the officers missed their jolly companion, and enquired for him, but no one knew where he was. As evening came on they realised that the daring young reporter had kept his word and left them, it was impossible to ascertain when or by what means.
"I hope he won't get into serious trouble," said the commander anxiously.
"Oh, Larkin can take care of himself," replied Liddon, who had joined in the useless search. "He has been through one war, besides innumerable scrapes in which he came out on top. That's why the Bulletin chose him for this service."
"Evening colours!" sang one bugle after another, on the war-ships; and all hands stood with bared heads while the flags fluttered down from staff and peak.
Shortly afterward a dull boom sounded across the waters of the bay. But little attention was paid to it by the men on the Osprey, such disturbances being of daily occurrence. That shot, however, meant much to Fred Larkin.
About half an hour before he was missed, that afternoon, he had slipped over the ship's side into a Chinese sampan, or small fishing-boat, which had come alongside to dispose of its fare of fish. Fred tossed a coin to the Chinaman who was seated in the stern and pulled a broad piece of matting over himself in the bottom of the boat. All this was done in less time than it takes to tell it. If any of the Osprey's jackies saw it, he said nothing. The sympathy of a sailor always goes with a runaway, whatever the reason for the escape may be.