_Chapter_ V A Fleet in Action _Chapter_ VI Helping-to-Decide _Chapter_ VII The Battle of the Destroyers _Chapter_ VIII Cut Off _Chapter_ IX Chased by Cossacks _Chapter_ X The One-Eared Man _Chapter_ XI Tried and Sentenced _Chapter_ XII At Midnight _Chapter_ XIII Ah-Sam _Chapter_ XIV Mrs. Isidore G. Pottle _Chapter_ XV Fortifying the Gully _Chapter_ XVI Hemmed In _Chapter_ XVII A Night Reconnaissance _Chapter_ XVIII Rushing a Cossack Camp _Chapter_ XIX Sound and Fury _Chapter_ XX Herr Schwab Gomblains _Chapter_ XXI The Battle of the Yalu River _Chapter_ XXII A Dumb Chinaman _Chapter_ XXIII The Tiger’s Lair _Chapter_ XXIV In the Enemy’s Gates _Chapter_ XXV Nemesis _Chapter_ XXVI Old Friends and New Prospects *Glossary* *List of Illustrations* _Plate_ I Koreans Receiving Cavalry . . . . . . Frontispiece _Plate_ II Bob Rescues Yamaguchi _Plate_ III Bob Surprises his Jailer _Plate_ IV A Korean Knight-Errant _Plate_ V A Question of Seconds *Map and Plan* Map of Korea and part of Manchuria Plan of the Battle of the Yalu River *CHAPTER I* *A mere Chinaman* Flotsam—A Commercial Correspondent—A Story of the Sea The P. and O. liner _Sardinia_ was some twenty hours out of Shanghai, making a direct course for Nagasaki. Few passengers were on deck: it was drear and cold this January afternoon, the sky grey and sullen as with coming snow, the sea rolling heavily under a stiff north-easter that blew cuttingly through the Korea Strait. But beneath the bridge, somewhat sheltered from the wind, sat three figures in a group, talking earnestly. The eldest of the three, John Morton by name, a big shaggy Englishman of forty-five, sat enwrapped in a heavy ulster and a travelling rug, his legs propped on a deck-chair before him. Every few seconds a voluminous cloud of smoke issued from his lips, and floated away like a pale miniature copy of the vast black coil from the funnel above. John Morton was correspondent of the _Daily Post_. At his left sat a round little Frenchman, with fine-drawn moustache and neat imperial, a comforter about his neck, a cigarette in his mouth. Armand Desjardins was also a correspondent, representing the _Nouveau Figaro_. The third member of the group was much younger than his companions. He was a tall, slim young fellow, with bright hair and frank blue eyes, his cheeks tanned the healthy brown of outdoor life at home no less than by the winds of four weeks’ sea travel. The collar of his long frieze ulster was turned up to his ears; a low cloth cap was perched on the back of his head. Nobody could have mistaken Bob Fawcett for anything but a Briton.