Among the most distinguished of the correspondents was Richard Harding Davis. The polished, aristocratic Davis was the walking image of the 19th-century gentleman, lending an air of class and style to the grim business of war reporting. In contrast to London, who reflected the rugged experiences of seaman, laborer and vagabond, Davis was comfortable socializing with admirals, generals and statesmen. Despite their very different backgrounds, however, a strong friendship developed between the two Americans that would prove to be very helpful to London in the coming weeks.

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When Siberia docked in Yokohama, London made the rounds of the bars he had visited 10 years earlier when he was a seaman on a sealing vessel. After fulfilling his vow of imbibing a drink at each of his old watering holes, he joined his fellow correspondents in Tokyo.

The journalists were housed in the comfortable Imperial Hotel but were not permitted by the Japanese military authorities to leave the city. So while troop trains roared daily to embarkation ports on the Sea of Japan, the exasperated correspondents sipped good liquor in the Imperial Hotel Bar and were treated to nightly luxurious banquets.

After spending several days in Tokyo, London was satiated with good food and liquor but was frustrated at not being able to report on the action. On January 27, he secretly boarded an express train for Kobe, hoping to find a steamer that would take him to Korea. After a disappointing day on the Kobe docks, he was back on a train for a 22-hour ride to Nagasaki. But he was no more successful there than in Kobe in finding passage to Korea.

Undaunted, London traveled along the coastline of the Inland Sea to the city of Mojo, where he finally obtained a ticket on a steamer to Chemulpo, Korea, which was a major staging area for Japanese ground forces moving north toward the Yalu and Manchuria. With some time to kill before boarding, London wandered through the heavily fortified city, taking photographs to send back to the United States. His openness in photographing everything from people to buildings was quickly observed by the Japanese secret police, leading to the first of several major confrontations with the Japanese army.

London was arrested and subjected to hours of rigorous interrogation. The Japanese police were eventually convinced that he was not a Russian spy, but in order to save face, they took him to court, where he was convicted and fined five yen. And worst of all for a correspondent, his camera was confiscated.

London immediately wired Richard Harding Davis, who was still in Tokyo, requesting his assistance in retrieving his camera from the Japanese. Davis quickly contacted his old friend Lloyd Griscom, U.S. minister to Japan. Griscom met directly with the foreign minister, Baron Komura, and requested the return of London’s camera. Komura listened sympathetically but reported that legal counsel had advised that any weapon used in a crime became state property. London had in fact been convicted of spying and his weapon (i.e., his camera) was therefore rightfully subject to forfeiture.

The seasoned American Foreign Service officer sat thoughtfully for a few moments and then asked, Does that apply to every crime?

Yes, replied Komura’s legal counsel, to every crime of every description.

Turning his attention to the foreign minister, Griscom asked, If I can name a crime to which this does not apply, will you release the camera?

Yes I will, Komura replied confidently.

What about rape? Griscom asked with a straight face.

Baron Komura responded with a roar of laughter. London’s camera was returned, and he continued his efforts to find passage to Korea. He was intrigued by reports of reserves being called from their homes in the middle of the night for deployment and of warships moving through the Korea Straits toward the Yellow Sea and staging areas on Korea’s west coast.

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