After the fruitless effort to escape from Port Arthur harbor the Russian warships “bottled up” there remained where they were for a long time to come.  Occasionally one or another attempted to run the blockade, but results were usually disastrous, and at last the risk became so great nothing more was done in that direction.  The Japanese continued to put down mines and sank several boats loaded with stone in or near the winding channel, and this made getting in as hard as getting out - thus putting a stop to the arrival of more supply boats, such as brought Ben to the seaport.

In the meantime the campaign on land was pushed forward with increased activity.  The headquarters of the Japanese army investing Port Arthur was not far from the railroad, but the lines stretched many miles to the east and the west.  Troops were hurried both from Japan and from the divisions near Liao-Yang, and heavy siege guns were mounted on every available hilltop.  The Japanese were, at the start, at a great disadvantage - they could not see the enemy at which they were firing.  Hills and mountains cut them off from every view of the port.  But they kept hammering away, day after day, week after week, and month after month, gaining steadily, throwing up new intrenchments, digging new tunnels, and hauling their heavy guns forward to more advantageous positions.  The labor was body racking and the sacrifice of life enormous.  But the Mikado’s soldiers did not appear to care.  They had set out to capture Port Arthur and they were going to do it.

For the foot-soldiers and for the cavalry there was at the start but little to do in the way of fighting.  Most of the time was spent in digging trenches and tunnels, and in keeping out of the way of shells that whistled and screamed in all directions - shells weighing hundreds of pounds, which, when they struck, tore up the ground for yards around and smashed the rocks as if the latter were passing through a quartz crusher.  Such is war of modern times, when carried on at a distance of miles.

But as the months went by, and Japanese and Russians came closer to each other, hand-to-hand conflicts became numerous.  The Russians contested every foot of the ground, fighting with a courage that was truly heroic, and sacrificing themselves freely for the Czar and the country they loved.  The hand-to-hand conflicts became bloody in the extreme, thousands upon thousands being slaughtered between the rising and the setting of the sun.

From the seacoast the command to which Gilbert was attached moved to a small place called Fugi Klan.  Here they went into camp for several weeks and while there were joined by a number of other commands, including that containing those old soldiers of fortune, Dan Casey and Carl Stummer, who had served with Gilbert and Ben in Cuba and in the Philippines.

“Py chiminy, of it ton’t done mine heart goot to see you, cabtain!” exclaimed Carl Stummer, rushing up and giving Gilbert a handshake.  “How you peen, annavay?”

“First rate, Stummer.  And how are you, Casey?”

“Sure an’ it’s meself is as foine as a fiddle,” answered the Irishman, with a broad grin on his freckled face.  “It’s a great war, ain’t it now?  Both soides is fightin’ like a pair o’ Kilkenny cats, so they are!  An’ where is me ould friend, Captain Russell?”

“He was captured by Chunchuses.”

“No!” came from both Stummer and Casey, and then they poured in a volley of questions which were bewildering.  Gilbert answered them as best he could.

“Dot’s der vorst ding vot I hear yet alretty!” said Carl Stummer, with a sad shake of his head.  “I vish I got dem Chunchusers - or vot you call dem - here.  I fix ’em, eh, Tan?”

Dan Casey nodded vigorously.  “Sure an’ we’d be after puttin’ a ball through ivery mother’s son of ’em, so we would!  Poor Ben Russell!  I loiked him loike a brother!” And the honest Irish sharp-shooter heaved a long sigh.

Both Casey and Stummer had been having easy times of it for several weeks, but now they were called upon to go forth with pick and shovel, to do their share of work in digging intrenchments.  This was not so nice, but they went at the labor without a murmur.

“Sure an’ we might as well git into practice,” observed Casey, as he started in with vigor.  “Whin the war’s over an’ we git back to the States, it may be ourselves as will be workin’ fer the corporation in New York or ilsewhere!”

“Yah, udder puttin’ town railroad dracks alretty in der Vest,” answered Carl Stummer.  “Dot is,” he added, “of I ton’t got money enough to puy a farm.”

“’Tis a stock farm I’m wantin’,” came from Casey.  “Wid horses galore.  There’s money for ye, Carl!” And he went to work with added vigor - as if he expected to turn up the stock farm from the soil beneath him.

To Gilbert, even though he occasionally saw Stummer and Casey, the days were very lonely.  He missed Ben greatly, and each day wondered if he would ever see his old war chum again.  Major Okopa saw this and did what he could to cheer up the young officer.

“He may turn up before you realize it,” said the major.  “I don’t think he was killed.”

“If he is alive, it is very strange that we do not hear from him.”

Two days later came a batch of letters into camp, written, or rather painted, for the most part, on thin Japanese paper.  Among the communications were two for Gilbert, one from Captain Ponsberry concerning the Columbia and her cargo, and the other from a stranger in Pekin, China.

“Who can be writing to me from Pekin, China?” mused the young captain, and began to read the communication with interest.  It was from a Chinese merchant, and ran in part as follows: 

    “You will be mystified to receive this from an utter
    stranger, but I deem it my duty, kind sir, to send this word
    to you.

“Know, then, that one Ken Gow, a servant of my family, was in Port Arthur up to sixteen days ago - first a servant in an American family there, and next a prisoner in the vilest prison man ever saw, guarded by dogs of Russians unworthy to be used as door mats.  Ken Gow is a faithful man, the flower of all my help.

“It is needless to explain to you why my servant was thus ill-treated.  But you must know that when in prison he met your great friend Captain Benjamin Russell, and it was the captain who saved Ken Gow from many hard blows from the other prisoners, who wanted not a Chinaman amongst them.

“Ken Gow was grateful, even as I am grateful, and he promised to get word to you of this matter if the Russians granted him his liberty.  Finding no fault in my servant he was, after a time, liberated, and watching his chance, left Port Arthur and came home.

“Kind sir, he is grateful to Captain Russell and would do much for him if he could.  Yet his most is to send this letter to you, telling you that Captain Russell is alive and held in a Port Arthur prison as a spy.  One Russian hates him - his name, Captain Barusky, - and it would appear that this Russian is also your enemy, so beware of him.

“I can tell no more.  Ken Gow is sick from his treatment at the hands of the Russian dogs.  Accept this miserable assurance of my eternal friendship, and esteem for one I know must be high and illustrious.”

          “CHENG MO.”

Gilbert read the letter several times and showed it to Major Okopa.  It was written in true Chinese style, with a big Chinese seal attached, and was, beyond all doubt, genuine.

“I can’t understand one thing,” said the young captain.  “How did Ben get to Port Arthur?”

“It may be that this Captain Barusky had him taken there, Captain Pennington.”

“I thought Captain Barusky was at Mukden.”

“The Russians have been taking in some troops at Port Arthur on the sly.  Despite Admiral Togo’s efforts, some supply boats and transports have passed his ships.”

“If Barusky is there he will do what he can to make Ben miserable.  He is down on both of us - for he knows we are down on him and Ivan Snokoff.”

“Do you think Snokoff could have anything to do with this?”

“I’m sure I don’t know.  Anything is possible.  Snokoff would be glad to make trouble for Ben - since he helped me to make him settle up at Liao-Yang.  Those Chunchuses tried to capture both of us.”

The matter was talked over for half an hour, but brought forth no satisfaction.  To Gilbert’s mind, being held by the Russians as a spy was as bad as being in the hands of the Chinese brigands.

“I wish we could get into Port Arthur at once,” he said, finally.  “I shouldn’t like anything better than to capture this Captain Barusky and liberate Ben.”

“We are bound to get into the port sooner or later,” answered Major Okopa.  “They are bringing up more siege guns every day.  If the Russians won’t give up we’ll batter the whole town down over their heads.”

“Which will be a bad thing for Ben,” rejoined Gilbert.  “I don’t want him killed in the attempt to rescue him.”