Chapter XXII Capturing a Locomotive
Overdue—A Special—The Vladivostok Train—The Sound of a Whistle—An Interrupted Message—A Correction—Bound East
“The fair at Wu-chi-mi will be well attended this month. I have not had so many bookings for a long time.”
The station-master at Mao-shan looked appreciatively at the motley gathering. With true oriental patience they had come at least an hour before the train was due, and in Manchuria that was probably two hours before it would arrive. Flanked by the enormous bundles and parcels that in the East represent personal luggage, they were squatting on rugs and mats under the station shed, waiting for the gates leading on to the platform to be opened.
“I only hope there’ll be room for them all. But it’s wonderful how tight these Chinamen can pack. And they haven’t far to go. The long-distance passengers will grumble.”
The waiting crowd was not really large, but the station was small. There might be seventy or eighty in all—men, women, and children. Some of them were chattering volubly in their high-pitched voices; others were stolidly smoking or doing nothing at all. One big, burly fellow was joining in a game of knuckle-stones with a bright-looking boy, the man playing with the deepest solemnity, the child bubbling with merriment as he got the better of his elder. All were protected from the cold by garments so thickly wadded that the heads of the people looked entirely out of proportion to their bulk of body.
“It’s extraordinary,” continued the station-master, who was doing the most of the talking, his companion, a tall captain of Cossacks wearing long felt boots, a large fur hat, and a fur-lined cloak up to his ears, interjecting only an occasional brief word—“it’s extraordinary, your nobility, how the Chinese have taken to the railway. When I came here four years ago, the most of them looked on it with suspicion, even dread; now they use it as freely as the folk in Moscow or Petersburg. But this is a poor district hereabouts, and they can’t afford to travel much, though it’s cheap enough, goodness knows.”
“She’s late, is she not?” enquired the captain, breaking into the official’s monologue. “It’s past eight”—glancing at the station clock.
“True, little father. Half an hour late at Hsiao-ten-shan-ling, and that’s less than usual. She may make up five or ten minutes; it is downhill on the whole. But the government is keeping a sharp eye on the fuel. They won’t burn extra to make up lost time; and for the matter of that, there’s no need. The only train that mattered ran through two hours ago.”
“Ah! a special?”
The station-master dropped his voice, as if fearful of being heard by the Chinese outside the barrier.
“Yes, a special. We were warned by telegraph not to let the news spread among the natives. But seeing you are an officer, there’s no harm in mentioning there were three hundred of your own men—Cossacks, and a sprinkling of Siberian Rifles. I suppose you are going on the same errand?”
There was much curiosity in the station-master’s voice. He was himself a soldier, and keenly interested in military matters, in which, indeed, he was more at home than in the routine of railway work. A green-coated railway sentinel passed and saluted. The captain, who was unknown to the station-master, had ridden in from Ho-ni-ho-tzü an hour before, and purchased a ticket for Hai-lin, the station for Ninguta. He had been anything but communicative, much to the chagrin of the official, to whom a gossip was the sole distraction in a very monotonous existence, exiled as he was in this out-of-the-way station. His curiosity had been aroused by the fact that the captain was leaving his horse in his charge. It was to be put on board the Harbin train when that officer returned.
“Yes,” the captain replied, “the same errand.”
“Ah Lum?”
“Da, da! Ah Lum. There will soon be a strong force at Ninguta.”
“There must be nearly a thousand there now, to say nothing of the three hundred that passed through this morning, and as many yesterday morning. They are running them very quickly, for the empty train passed here on the way back to Harbin on the afternoon of the same day. We don’t often make such running on this railway. It’s more like old days on the Warsaw section. I was there before I came here. The Paris express—that is a train if you like. Although they do say that they run even faster in England. Of course that’s a lie; they are all liars, the English. That’s well known, is it not, little father?”
“What’s that yonder?” said the officer instead of replying.
The station-master looked in the direction indicated. Nearly a mile away a cart, drawn by mules and ponies, was hurrying from the neighbourhood of Ho-ni-ho-tzü towards the station.
“Another passenger, I suspect,” said the station-master. “And he’d better hurry, for there’s the train at last.”
A thin white riband of vapour was just visible against the blue sky, floating above the hills to the west.
“He won’t catch it,” said the officer.
“I sha’n’t keep it for him,” returned the official. “But he may just do it. He’s cut it rather fine for a Chinaman. The train’s late as it is; should have been half-way to Wu-chi-mi by this time.”
As he spoke, the engine came in sight round a curve of the hilly track. The Chinamen in waiting rose to their feet, grasped their bundles, and closed up against the barrier. Three riflemen emerged from their little blockhouse and began to patrol the platform; two or three station attendants appeared. A few seconds later the huge train, looking far too large for the station, rumbled in and came to a stop. It consisted of several old and shaky carriages already well filled with passengers, and one saloon in the centre. The few passengers for Mao-shan alighted and passed through the barrier; then the waiting crowd surged through and hurried along the platform in search of vacant places, which seemed hard to find.
A train attendant handed an official-looking paper to the station-master, who passed with it into his office; there was a signature to affix. Two of the Chinese passengers followed him as he left the platform; two others halted near the attendant. There were cries from the officials to the Chinamen to take their seats. Meanwhile the Cossack captain had sauntered into the room of the telegraph operator, and half a dozen Chinamen, having, it seemed, failed to discover vacant places in the forward carriages, were moving on towards the engine, followed by the voluble protest of one of the riflemen, who hurried after them to bring them back. Two or three, among them the big man and the boy who had been playing knuckle-stones, were peering in at the windows of the saloon carriage, apparently in great curiosity to see the occupants.
By this time the rest of the passengers had squeezed themselves into the already crowded compartments. Faces were pressed against all the windows; there was much speculation as to the chance of the belated passenger in the cart catching the train, its progress being eagerly watched, and the Chinamen in the carriages betting freely on the event.
Suddenly a shrill whistle rang out from the room of the telegraph operator. There was an instant change of scene. Here and there along the platform, groups of Chinamen, who a moment before had all the guise of peaceable passengers, threw themselves with startling rapidity upon the officials and the riflemen. There was a series of brief swift struggles; a revolver shot was heard; but that was all. Inside and outside of the train the guard and attendants were in a few seconds bound and helpless; the men who had gone forward to the engine grappled with the driver and fireman; the station-master was tied up in his own office. The passengers, alarmed and apprehensive, were staring open-mouthed at the proceedings. The door of the saloon carriage was thrown open, and there appeared at it two men, one a tall long-bearded Russian officer, whose uniform betokened high rank, the other a fair hook-nosed civilian, who stared round the other’s shoulder.
“What is this, what is this?” cried the officer, stepping out of the train revolver in hand.
The last word was hardly out of his mouth when the burly Chinaman hurled himself at the Russian’s knees from behind; he fell backwards; the revolver was wrenched from his hand, and the Chinaman held him pinned to the platform. His companion meanwhile had run back into the saloon; before he could slam the door the Chinese boy interposed, flinging himself flat on the floor of the doorway. Two Chinamen forced their way in, and did not reappear.
The prostrate officer was now trussed up. His captor had given a brief order to the rest of the assailants, now ranged along the platform awaiting instructions. At once they boarded the train, and peremptorily ordered the passengers to alight. Then the Chinamen found their tongues; there was a great hubbub and commotion among them; their first hesitation was quickly overcome by the pistol butts of the bandits, who hastened their exit by ruthless and well-directed kicks and buffets. One of the passengers, a heavy man, roared an imprecation and showed fight; but he was matched in size by the big fellow who had tackled the officer, and who now, his work with him being finished, seized the protester and flung him out on to the platform. Bruised and shaken, he rolled over and squatted on his hams; there was no more fight in him.
As soon as the train came to a standstill the Cossack officer had entered the little room of the telegraphist, and at a sign from him the Chinaman close behind him blew the shrill blast on a whistle that had been the signal for the attack.
“Excuse me,” said the captain, “I have a message to send.”
The operator, interrupted in the midst of a message, was startled by the abrupt entrance of the soldier, the sudden whistle, and the sharp crack of a revolver immediately following. He looked round, half-rising from his chair, his hand still on the key of the instrument.
“Finish your message,” said the officer quietly. His uniform, his calm air of authority, impressed the man. Dropping back into his seat he ticked off the remainder of his message: it was merely a service intimation of the arrival of the train. The sounds of commotion on the platform were increasing; when the operator had finished he said:
“Is there a fight, your nobility? Perhaps I ought to assist. We are a small staff.”
“No. Stay where you are. It is all over. Now please, my message. To Wu-chi-mi——”
“But, your nobility, if you will write the despatch out—we are not allowed——”
“There is no time for that. At once, if you please.”
The man still hesitated: the officer sternly continued:
“My business will not admit of a moment’s delay. You can attend to formalities afterwards.”
“Well, your nobility, if you insist—— But you will take the responsibility?”
“Certainly. Call up Wu-chi-mi, if you please.”
The man ticked off the call. There was an immediate reply.
“Say this: ‘Station on fire’——”
The operator almost sprang from his stool; his eyes were wide with alarm.
“But——”
“You heard what I said. ‘Station on fire!’”
A pistol’s cold muzzle at the man’s ear sent him cowering to his post. Pale to the lips, with trembling fingers he ticked off the words. It was clear that the officer could follow his rapid movements, for he suddenly pointed the pistol full at his brow, saying:
“That is enough: recall your last word; another mistake of the kind may cost you your life.”
Seeing that his attempt to warn the operator at the other end had been detected, the man corrected the word.
“Now add: ‘Vladivostok train can get through; expect temporary cessation of messages: will try to save instruments’. That will do.”
The man sank back, and wiped his clammy brow. The officer turned to the Chinaman, beckoning him forward. In his arms he bore a bulky parcel. At a sign from the captain he placed the bundle beneath the operator’s desk; opening it, he disclosed a heap of greasy shavings. He struck a match and set light to the pile; the man sprang from his chair and made for the door, but was caught and held by the Chinaman. Dismantling the apparatus, the officer gave it into the free hand of his follower; then, the room being full of smoke, he hurried out to the platform, the cowed and bewildered official being pushed along in front.
Only a few minutes had elapsed since the train came to a stop at the platform. As the captain emerged, the cart which had been sighted in the distance had just arrived. While twenty men stood with levelled revolvers overawing the crowd, a dozen muscular bandits hauled crowbars, spades, and long spanners from the cart across the platform into the brake-van, and the noticeably big man carefully carried a small box to the saloon carriage. At a sign from the captain, a gang of the Chinamen had hurried up the line some distance from the station and were now cutting the wires in two places a hundred yards apart. Breaking open the store-room, yet another group found what they were evidently in search of: a reserve instrument and a heavy coil of wire. These, with the wire cut from the line, with which the other men came hastening up, were bundled into the train; and within a quarter of an hour from the beginning of the attack the brigands were aboard, the Cossack captain was in the cab of the locomotive, and, watched by the ejected passengers in silent amazement, the train rumbled slowly out of the station.