The North Pacific. Willis Boyd Allen
passed along the Strada Reale – "Royal Street" – for the last time, and were just turning down toward the harbour when a slight commotion on the sidewalk ahead attracted their attention. A knot of people had gathered around a group in which some sort of altercation was going on.
"Hold on a minute," cried the midshipman, "let's see what's up."
The three inseparables pushed their way into the crowd, the outer portion of which was composed of good-natured Maltese and a variety of street-loungers. Within this circle were a dozen sailors from a small Russian cruiser in port. They, in their turn, had corralled a couple of small brown men whom their tormentors were hustling rudely as if to provoke a resistance which would afford an excuse for rougher treatment.
The officers from the Osprey simultaneously recognised the victims of this assault, and with a howl of indignation from Bob, and a stern "Stand aside, men!" from Liddon, they pulled off the Russian blue-jackets and took their stand beside the Japanese, who were no other than Oto and Oshima.
"Amerikanski!" snarled the sailors as they noted the uniforms of the intruders and closed in again, while the throng of idlers increased.
"What's the matter, my lads?" said Dobson to the stewards, who seemed in no wise discomposed, but stood quietly awaiting a favourable moment for withdrawal.
"We do no harm," said Oshima, when both had given the naval salute. "These men, these Russians" – (it is impossible to describe the tone of lofty contempt with which he pronounced the word, looking around at the burly tars, each a full head taller than himself) – "they stop us here in the street and call us bad names and dare us to fight – the big men – cowards!"
Perhaps it was fortunate for the little Jap that the Russian sailors could not understand a word of English; but the general tenor of his remarks was only too plain from his tones and gestures. The assailants closed in again with a volley of incomprehensible expletives and unmistakably threatening gestures. Liddon was violently shoved aside. This was more than he could stand.
"Take that, you bully!" he cried, planting a quick, nervous blow straight between the eyes of the fellow who had jostled him.
The man fell over against his comrades – the street was too crowded to allow him to drop outright – and the inner circle enlarged; but only for a moment. The sailors, half of whom were intoxicated, rushed forward with a roar of rage. Before they reached the officers, whose prospects of gaining their ship in safety seemed decidedly poor, Oto spoke a swift word to his chum, and each darted upon a Russian. It was like a terrier charging a bloodhound; but with a lightning-like grasp and twist of the arm the diminutive assailants brought to the ground their bulky adversaries, screaming with pain. Then the Japanese ducked under the arms of the nearest bystanders and disappeared as if by magic.
Another momentary diversion had been effected by this quick and unexpected display of jiu-jitsu, but now the sailors were about to charge again. The unarmed young officers stood on guard, their fists advanced.
"You take that big chap with a black beard, Bob," said Liddon hastily, "and I'll engage the brute next to him. Dob., you look out for the beauty with red hair. Steady, now, fellows, here they come!"
But before the two parties fairly clashed, a ringing shout rent the air.
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