I told the Russians that they were going to Chefoo, and that they had better see their consul there. They did not seem to know what sort of a " tchinovneek " a consul was, and, addressing me as barin (gentleman), — in the morning they had always used the contemptuous "thou" (Tui) and sometimes even durak (fool), — they innocently asked if there were Russian soldiers in Chefoo. I believe that the British consul in that Chinese port afterwards explained the fact of their appearance in Chefoo on board a British vessel to his Russian colleague, with the object of preventing, if possible, their being shot as deserters on their return to Port Arthur, and I think that they afterwards returned by rail to that fortress, but what happened to them there I cannot say.
I shall never forget the joy with which I saw again in the distance the calm harbour lights of Chefoo. An age of horrors seemed to have elapsed since I had seen them last. The captain anchored afar off, alongside a Russian steamer, which, in blissful ignorance of all that had just occurred, was getting ready to proceed to Port Arthur with a cargo of cattle. He then sent me ashore in the ship's boat, so that I could send off my wire before any of the correspondents in Chefoo got the news. It was an hour's long rowing before we reached the pier; and then, though the boat with its Chinese crew immediately pushed off again, leaving only me and the chief officer of the Colmnbia on the land, a few quick sing-song monosyllables which passed between the men in the boat and the pig-tailed loungers about the quay betrayed our secret to the keen Celestial merchants of the town, and within an hour the Russian rouble had fallen to depths such as it had never before fathomed. As I hurried towards the telegraph office I laughed hilariously at the utter sleepiness and respectability of this staid little outport, which reminded me strongly of an obscure village in England on a wet Sunday afternoon, for I knew that I carried news that would stir it like an earthquake. The telegraph office was as silent as a church on a week-day. An invisible clock ticked loudly, and an old woman was explaining a telegram to a pale, bored-looking clerk, who gazed at me reproachfully when I came in, judging doubtless from my appearance that I was drunk. In ten minutes more that clerk rushed out from his sanctum with flushed face and gripped me in silence by the hand. I wound up that night in the Japanese Consulate, where Commander Mori, of the Imperial Japanese Navy, was displaying to an enthusiastic audience, which included Mr. Brindle of the Daily Mail and Mr. Denny of the Associated Press, a British flag torn to rags by a shell. It was the flag which had fluttered at the masthead of the Columbia on her mad race from Port Arthur.
CHAPTER V
I shall now try to give some account of what was happening at this time inside Port Arthur.
On Monday, February 8, the stranger who landed in that fortress-city found himself immediately in an atmosphere charged to the highest degree with electricity; and, no matter how languid he may have felt on corning ashore, he soon became, like all those around him, excited, nervous, full of expectation and vague dread.
It might almost be said that the change was brought about more by something in the atmosphere of the place than by anything that was heard or seen, for nothing was to be seen save groups of excited people, — ladies,shop assistants, Chinese "boys," "izvoshcheeks," etc., — gesticulating wildly on the pavement, and nothing was to be heard save a babble of confused and incomprehensible talk, in which, owing to frequent repetition, the words " Yapontsi " (Japanese) and " voina" (war) alone fixed themselves in the memory.
The "Saratoff" was so thronged with people that no standing room was left, and the Russian waiters had had to cease in despair the cry of "seichass" (immediately) with which they had previously been in the habit of making customers wait for hours before being served. They had evidently come to the conclusion that, on such an occasion, it was useless for them to hold out even the faint hope signified by " seichass."
The congestion was great. The very limited resources of the "Saratoff" were, in fact, overtaxed, and Pankratoff, the Armenian proprietor, looked on helpless and dumbfounded, through his enormous mous-+ taches, like a torpedoed battle-ship looking at a fleet of the enemy's transports. Besides, nobody ever thought of eating, everybody was too busy talking.