"I thank you in the name of our poor country," said the Postmaster, shaking the operator's hand, "I thank you with all my heart; you have done a brave deed."

Just at the time when the operator sent off his telegram to Sacramento, a little, yellow, narrow-eyed fellow, lying in a ditch many miles inland, far to the east of San Francisco, connected his Morse apparatus with the San Francisco-Sacramento telegraph-wire, and intercepted the following message: "Chief of Police, Sacramento.—San Francisco attacked by Japanese fleet this morning; whole city in hands of Japanese army. Resistance impossible, as attack took place in thick fog before dawn. Help imperative."

The little yellow man smiled contentedly, tore off the strip, and handed it to the officer standing near him. The latter drew a deep breath and said: "Thank Heaven, that's settled."

At the time of the occupation of the Post Office building, the Japanese outposts had already spun their fine, almost invisible silver threads around all the telegraph-wires far inland and thus cut off all telegraphic communication with the east. The telegram just quoted therefore served only to tell the Japanese outposts of the overwhelming success of the Japanese arms at the Golden Gate.

But how had all this been accomplished? The enemy could not possibly have depended on the fog from the outset. Nevertheless an unusual barometrical depression had brought in its train several days of disagreeable, stormy weather. The Japanese had been fully prepared for a battle with the San Francisco forts and with the few warships stationed in the harbor. The fact that they found such a strong ally in the fog was beyond all their hopes and strategical calculations.

When the sun sank in the waves of the Pacific on the sixth of May, every Japanese had his orders for the next few hours, and the five thousand men whose part it was to attend to the work to be accomplished in San Francisco on the morning of the seventh, disappeared silently into the subterranean caves and cellars of the Chinese quarter, to fetch their weapons and be ready for action soon after midnight.



Chapter VIII

IN THE BOWELS OF THE EARTH

It was thought that the earthquake had done away forever with the underground labyrinth of the Chinese quarter—those thousands of pens inhabited by creatures that shunned the light of day, those mole-holes which served as headquarters for a subterranean agitation, the mysterious methods of which have never been revealed to the eye of the white man. When had the old Chinatown been laid out; when had those hidden warehouses, those opium dens and hiding-places of the Mongolian proletariat been erected, those dens in which all manner of criminals celebrated their indescribable orgies and which silently hid all these evil-doers from the far-reaching arm of the police? When had the new Chinatown sprung up? When had the new quarter been provided with an endless network of subterranean passages, so that soon all was just as it had been before the earthquake? No one had paid any attention to these things. The Mongolian secret societies never paused for a moment in their invisible conspiracy against the ruling whites, and succeeded in creating a new underground world, over which the street traffic rolled on obliviously.

A narrow cellar entrance and greasy, slippery steps led into Hung Wapu's store, behind which there was a chop-house, which in turn led into an opium-den. The rooms behind the latter, from which daylight was forever excluded, were reserved for still worse things. No policeman would ever have succeeded in raiding these dens of iniquity; he would have found nothing but empty rooms or bunks filled with snoring Chinese; the abominable stench would soon have driven him out again, but if, by any chance, he had attempted to penetrate further and to explore the walls for the purpose of discovering hidden openings, the only result would have been a story in the next day's papers about a "missing" policeman.

Hung Wapu, whose plump face, with its enormous spectacles, resembled that of an old fat boarding-house keeper, was standing at the entrance to his cellar-shop late on the evening of May sixth. A disgusting odor and the murmur of many voices reached the street from the cellar. The policeman had just made his rounds, and Hung Wapu looked after him with a cunning grin as his heavy steps died away in the distance.

The coast was clear for two hours. Hung Wapu went in and locked the door, above which a green paper-lantern swung gently to and fro in the soft night wind. Hung Wapu passed through the store to the chop-house, where several dozen Chinese were squatting on the ground dining on unmentionable Chinese delicacies, which consisted of anything and everything soft enough to be chewed. No one watching the vacant expression of these people would have dreamed for a moment that anything was wrong; no one observing these chattering, shouting sons of the Celestial Kingdom would have guessed that anything out of the ordinary was on foot. They kept on eating, and did not even look up when several Japs stole, one by one, through their midst and disappeared through a door at the back. The Japs apparently attracted no attention whatsoever, but a keen observer would have noticed that Hung Wapu placed a little saki-bowl on a low table for every Japanese visitor that had entered his shop.

The Japs all went through a side-door of the opium-den into a large room, where they took off their outer clothing and put on uniforms instead. Then they lay down to sleep either on the mats on the floor or on the bundles of clothing which were stacked on the floor along the walls of the room.

Hung Wapu now accompanied one of his Chinese guests up the cellar-steps to the street, and sitting down on the top step began to chat in a low voice with his apparently half-intoxicated countryman. At the same time he polished about two dozen little saki-bowls with an old rag, afterwards arranging them in long rows on the pavement.

The animated traffic in the narrow alley gradually died down. One by one most of the gas-lamps closed their tired eyes, and only the green paper-lantern above Hung Wapu's door continued to swing to and fro in the night-wind, while similar spots of colored light were visible in front of a few of the neighboring houses. Far away a clock struck the hour of midnight, and somewhere else, high up in the air, a bell rang out twelve strokes with a metallic sound. A cool current of air coming from the harbor swept through the hot, ill-smelling alley.

Hung Wapu went on whispering with his companion, and all the time he continued to polish his little saki-bowls. After a while the visitor fell asleep against the door-post and snored with all his might. Misty shadows began to fall slowly and the lights of the street lamps took on a red glow. Suddenly the figure of a drunken man appeared a little distance away; he was carefully feeling his way along the houses, but as soon as he came in sight of Hung Wapu's cellar, he suddenly seemed to sober up for a minute and made directly for it. "Saki!" he stammered, planting himself in front of Hung Wapu, whereupon the latter made a sign. The drunken man, a Japanese, whose face looked ghastly pale in the green light from the lantern, stared stupidly at the saki-bowls, which Hung Wapu was trying to shield from the tottering wretch with his arm.

"Twenty-eight bowls," he stammered to himself, "twenty-eight saki-bowls——"

At this moment the sleeping Chinaman awoke and looked at the drunken man with a silly laugh.

"Yes, twenty-eight saki-bowls; it's all right—twenty-eight saki-bowls," repeated the drunken Jap, and reeled on along the houses.

Hung Wapu seemed to have ended his day's work with the polishing of the twenty-eight saki-bowls; he piled them up in a heap and disappeared with them into his cellar, followed with extraordinary agility by the Chinese sleeper. He hurried through the chop-house, the occupants of which were all fast asleep on their straw mats, passed through the opium-den, and then, in the third room, divested himself of his Chinese coat. The silk-cap with the pigtail attached was flung into a corner, and then, dressed in a khaki uniform, he seated himself at a table and studied a map of the city of San Francisco, making notes in a small book by the light of a smoky oil lamp.

The drunken Jap, who had apparently had doubts about entering Hung Wapu's chop-house, tottered on down the quiet street and made for another paper-lantern, which hung above another cellar door about ten houses farther on.

Here too, curiously enough, he found the Chinese landlord sitting on the top step. He wanted to push him aside and stumble down the steps, but the Chinaman stopped him.

"How much?" stuttered the drunken man.

"How much?" answered the Chinaman. "How much money will the great stranger pay for a meal for his illustrious stomach in Si Wafang's miserable hut? Forty kasch, forty kasch the noble son of the Rising Sun must pay for a shabby meal in Si Wafang's wretched hut."

"Forty kasch? I'll bring the forty kasch, most noble Si Wafang. 'I won't go home till morning, till daylight does appear,'" bawled the tipsy man, and staggered on down the street, whereupon this landlord also disappeared in his cellar, after extinguishing the paper lantern over the doorway.

A death-like stillness reigned in the street, and no one imagined that the rats were assembling, that the underground passages were full of them, and that it only needed a sign to bring the swarming masses to the surface.

A cold breeze from the sea swept through the deserted streets and a misty veil enveloped the yellow light of the gas-lamps. The lanterns hanging in front of the Chinese cellars were extinguished one by one, and everyone apparently turned in. The fog became thicker and thicker, and covered the pavement with moisture.

Suddenly the door of Hung Wapu's cellar squeaked; it was opened cautiously and a low clatter came up from below. Thirty dark forms crept slowly up the steps, one after the other, and without a word they began their march. Ten houses farther on a similar detachment poured out of the other Chinese cellar and joined their ranks.

The gas-lamps shed a dull, yellowish-red light on the gun-barrels of the Japanese company, which was marching down to the docks.

Two thousand steps farther on it had become a battalion, which marched rapidly in the direction of the barracks of the Fifth Regiment of regulars in the old Presidio. At the next corner the leader of the battalion unobtrusively saluted a man in uniform who stepped suddenly out of a doorway. A few Japanese words were exchanged in a low tone.

"This is an unexpected ally," said the Japanese colonel, holding out his hand in the dense fog.

Four o'clock struck from the tower of the Union Ferry Depot, and out from the sea, from the Golden Gate, came the bellowing voice of a steamer's whistle. The two officers looked at each other and smiled, and the troops continued their march.

"Halloo!" shouted a roundsman to a policeman who had been leaning against a lamp-post half asleep. "Halloo, Tom, wake up! Who are those fellows over there; where the deuce are they going?"

Tom opened his eyes, and up on the hill, a few blocks away, he could faintly distinguish through the thick fog the outline of a group of rapidly moving soldiers. "I guess they are some of our boys taking part in the naval maneuver. You know, Perry's going to attack us to-day."

"Well, I didn't know that," replied the roundsman. "They're great boys, all right; up and about at four in the morning." Just then the angry bellow from a steamer's whistle came across the water and abruptly ended this early morning conversation.

"I suppose that's Perry now," said Tom. "Well, he can't do much in this beastly fog, anyway."

"So long, Tom," answered the roundsman curtly as he slowly proceeded to resume his interrupted rounds.

An advance guard of a few men had been sent ahead. They found the sentry at the barrack-gates fast asleep. When he awoke it was to discover himself surrounded by a dozen men. He stared at them, still heavy with sleep, and then reached mechanically for his gun; it was gone. He tried to pull himself together, felt something cold pressed against his right temple, and saw the barrel of a Browning pistol in the hand of the man in front of him.

"Hands up!" came the command in a low tone, and a few seconds later he was bound and gagged. As he lay on the ground, he saw a whole battalion of foreign soldiers half in the court-yard before the barracks, and vague thoughts of naval maneuvers and surprises, of Admiral Perry and the Japs went through his mind, till all at once the notion "Japs" caused him to sit up mentally—weren't these men real Japanese? And if so, what did it all mean?

In the meantime double guards had occupied all the men's quarters, in which Uncle Sam's soldiers began gradually to wake up. The guns and ammunition had long ago passed into the hands of the Japs, and when at last the reveille from a Japanese bugle woke up the garrison completely, there was nothing to be done but to grind their teeth with rage and submit to the inevitable. They had to form in line in the court-yard at eight o'clock, and then, disarmed and escorted by Japanese troops, they had to board the ferry-boats and cross over to Angel Island, while the cannon on Fort Point (Winfield Scott) thundered out the last notes of American resistance in San Francisco.

* * * * *

When, shortly after midnight, the guard had been relieved for the last time, and only a few sleepy soldiers remained in the sentry-boxes of the coast batteries of San Francisco, the enemy lay in ambush behind the coast-line, ready, to the last man, to rise at a given signal and render the unsuspecting American troops hors de combat in their sleep. And thus, before the sentinels had any idea what was going on, they were disarmed and gagged. Not a single cry or shot was heard to warn the sleeping soldiers. They awoke to find themselves confronted by Japanese bayonets and gun-barrels, and resistance was utterly useless, for the enemy, who seemed to be remarkably well posted, had already taken possession of the ammunition and arms.

And where, all this time, was Admiral Perry with his fleet? Nowhere. The Japanese had made no mistake in relying on the traditional love of sensation of the American press. The telegram sent on May sixth from Los Angeles to the San Francisco Evening Standard was nothing but a Japanese trick. It notified the Standard that Admiral Perry intended during the naval maneuvers (which were actually to take place within the next fortnight) to gain an entrance through the Golden Gate, and the Japanese felt certain that the editor would not make inquiries at the last moment as to the veracity of this report, which was not at all in accord with previous arrangements, but would print it as it was, more especially as it was signed by their usual correspondent.

Thus the Japanese had reason to hope that no immediate suspicions would be aroused by the appearance of warships in the Bay of San Francisco. And so it turned out. The five Japanese armored cruisers and the torpedo flotilla, which were to surprise and destroy the naval station and the docks, were able to cross the entire bay under cover of the fog without being recognized and to occupy the docks and the arsenal. Four mortar-boats threatened Point Bonita and Lime Point, till they both surrendered.

What could the two cruisers New York and Brooklyn, lying in dock for repairs, do without a single ball-cartridge on board? What was the good of the deck guards using up their cartridges before the red flag of Nippon was hoisted above the Stars and Stripes?

It is true there was a fight at one spot—out at Winfield Scott. Although the fog proved of great assistance to the Japanese in a hundred cases, the stipulated signal for attack, that is, the whistle of the Japanese auxiliary cruiser Pelung Maru, for example, being taken for a fog-signal, nevertheless an annoying surprise awaited the enemy elsewhere.

A steamer headed towards the Golden Gate in the wake of the Pelung Maru heard the roar of the sealions, and as this showed how near they were to the cliffs, the vessel dropped anchor and instead of blowing its whistle ordered the ship's bell to be rung. This was heard by the Pelung Maru a short distance ahead and interpreted as a sign that something had occurred to disturb the plan of attack. A steamlaunch was therefore sent out to look for the anchored ship.

The latter was the German steamer Siegismund, whose captain, standing on the bridge, suddenly saw a dripping little launch approaching with its flag trailing behind it in the water. And just as in every cleverly arranged plan one stupid oversight is apt to occur so it happened now. The launch carried the Japanese flag and the lieutenant at the helm called to the Siegismund in Japanese. As they were directly before the guns of the American batteries, the German captain didn't know what to make of it. He couldn't imagine what the launch from a Japanese warship could be doing here at dawn before the Golden Gate fortifications, and thinking that the fact would be likely to be of interest to the commander of the fort, he sent him the following wireless message: "Have just met launch of a Japanese warship off Seal-Rocks; what does it mean?"

This information alarmed the garrison at Winfield Scott, and the men at once received orders to man the guns. Then they waited breathlessly to see what would happen next.

An inquiry sent by wireless to the other stations remained unanswered, because these were already in the hands of the Japanese, whose operators were not quick-witted enough to send back a reassuring answer. As the commander of the fort received no answer, he became suspicious, and these suspicions were soon justified when a number of soldiers were discovered trying to force their way into the narrow land entrance of the fort. A few shots fired during the first bayonet assault and the bullets landing within the fort showed that it was a serious matter. Besides, a puff of wind dispersed the fog for a few seconds just then, and the shadowy silhouettes of several large ships became visible. Without a moment's hesitation the commander of Winfield Scott ordered the men to open fire on them from the heavy guns. These were the shots that had been heard at the San Francisco Post Office and Tom was quite right in thinking that he heard the rattle of musketry directly afterwards.

But with the small stock of ammunition doled out to the coast defenses in times of peace—there were plenty of blank cartridges for salutes—it was impossible to hold Winfield Scott. The fort sent out a few dozen shells into the fog pretty blindly, and, as a matter of fact, they hit nothing. Then began the hopeless battle between the garrison and the Japanese machine-guns, and although the shots from the latter were powerless to affect the walls and the armor-plating, still they worked havoc among the men. And the ammunition of the Americans disappeared even more quickly than their men, so that when at ten o'clock two Japanese regiments undertook to capture the fort by storm, the last defender fell with practically the last cartridge. Then the Rising Sun of Dai Nippon was substituted on the flagstaff of Winfield Scott for the Stars and Stripes.

In the city itself small Japanese guards were posted at the railway station, the Post Office and the telegraph offices, at the City Hall and at most of the public buildings, and as early as this, on the morning of May seventh, troops for the march eastward were being landed at the pier at Oakland. A standing garrison of only five thousand men was left in San Francisco, and these at once occupied the coast-batteries and prepared them for defense. The same thing was of course done with the docks and the naval station, with Oakland and all the other towns situated on the bay.

The sudden appearance of the enemy had in every case had a positively paralyzing effect. Among the inhabitants of the coast the terrible feeling prevailed everywhere that this was the end, that nothing could be done against an enemy whose soldiers crept out of every hole and cranny, and even when a few courageous men did unite for the purpose of defending their homes, they found no followers. It is a pity that others did not show the resolute courage of a Mexican fisherman's wife, who reached the harbor of San Francisco with a good catch early on Monday morning and made fast to the pier close to a Japanese destroyer. Almost immediately a Japanese petty officer came on board and demanded the catch for the use of the Japanese army. The woman, a coarse beauty with a fine mustache, planted herself in front of the Jap and shouted: "What, you shrimp, you want our fish, do you?" and seizing a good-sized silver fish lying on the deck, she boxed the astonished warrior's ears right and left till he fell over backwards into the water and swam quickly back to the destroyer, snorting like a seal, amidst the laughter of the bystanders.

The question naturally suggests itself at this point: Why didn't a people as determined as the Americans rise like one man and, arming themselves with revolvers and pistols and if it came to the worst with such primitive weapons as knives and spokes, attack the various small Japanese garrisons and free their country from this flood of swarming yellow ants? The white handbills posted up at every street corner furnished the answer to the question.

The municipal authorities were made responsible to the Japanese military governor, who was clever enough to leave the entire American municipal administration unaltered, even down to the smallest detail. Even the local police remained in office. The whole civil life went on as before, and only the machine-guns in front of the Japanese guard-houses situated at the various centers of traffic showed who was now ruler in the land. All the officials and the whole city administration were bound by a marvelously clever and effective system.

In the proclamations issued by the Japanese military governor the city was threatened, should the slightest sign of resistance occur, with acts of vengeance that positively took one's breath away. Three Japanese cruisers, with their guns constantly loaded and manned and aimed directly at the two cities, lay between Oakland and San Francisco. They had orders to show no mercy and to commence a bombardment at the first sign of trouble. It did not seem to have occurred to any one that although the bombardment of a town like San Francisco by a few dozen guns might indeed have a bad moral effect, it would nevertheless be impossible to do much harm. But the Japanese had other trump cards up their sleeves. The military governor declared that the moment they were compelled to use the guns, he would cut off all the available supply of water and light, by which means all resistance would be broken down within twenty-four hours. For this reason all the gas-works and electric plants were transformed into little forts and protected by cannon and machine-guns. Tens of thousands might try, in vain, to take them by storm; the city would remain wrapped in darkness, except, as the Japanese general remarked with a polite smile to the Mayor of San Francisco, for the bright light of bursting shells.

In the same way the municipal waterworks in San Francisco and all the other towns occupied by the Japanese were insured against attack. Not one drop of water would the town receive, and what that meant could be best explained to the Mayor by his wife. And thus, in spite of their often ridiculously small numbers, the Japanese troops were safe from surprise, for the awful punishment meted out to the town of Stockton, where a bold and quickly organized band of citizens destroyed the Japanese garrison, consisting only of a single company, was not likely to be disregarded. The entire population of the Pacific Coast was forced to submit quietly, though boiling with rage, while at the same time all listened eagerly for the report of cannon from the American army in the east. But was there such a thing as an American army? Was there any sense in hoping when months must pass before an American army could take the field?

* * * * *

The deception of the Evening Standard by means of the fatal telegram was preceded by an instructive episode. Indeed, it might well be asked whether anything that happened in this terrible time could not be traced back pretty far. In order that the news of the naval maneuvers in the Evening Standard should receive sufficient attention on the critical day, this paper and consequently the inhabitants of San Francisco had for some months past been taught to expect over the signature "Our Naval Correspondent," amazingly correct accounts of the movements of the American fleet and all matters pertaining to the navy.

Mr. Alfred Stephenson had hard work to keep his head above water as editor of the Los Angeles Advertiser at Los Angeles. The struggle for existence gave him considerable cause for worry, and this was due to the fact that Mrs. Olinda Stephenson wished to cut a figure in society, a figure that was not at all compatible with her husband's income. Mr. Stephenson was therefore often called upon to battle with temptation, but for a long time he successfully withstood all offers the acceptance of which would have lowered him in his own estimation. The consequence was that financial discussion had become chronic in the Stephenson household, and, like a Minister of Finance, he was compelled to develop considerable energy in order to diminish the financial demands of the opposition or render them void by having recourse to passive resistance. This constant worry gradually exhausted Mr. Stephenson, however, and the check-book, which, to save his face, he always carried with him, was nothing more than a piece of useless bluff.

He could therefore scarcely be blamed for eagerly seizing the opportunity offered him one evening at a bar in Los Angeles, when a stranger agreed to furnish him regularly with news from the Navy Department for the Evening Standard. The affair had, of course, to be conducted with the greatest secrecy. The stranger told Stephenson that a clerk in the Navy Department was willing to send him such news for two hundred dollars per annum. The result was astonishing. The articles signed "Our Naval Correspondent" soon attracted wide attention, and the large fees received from San Francisco quite covered the deficits in the Stephenson household. Mrs. Olinda was soon rolling in money and the tiresome financial discussions came to a speedy end. From that time on Stephenson regularly received secret communications, which were mailed at Pasadena, and as to the origin of which he himself remained in complete ignorance. But these same messages enabled the Evening Standard in a brief space of time to establish a national reputation for its naval news, which was at no time officially contradicted.

The matter did not, of course, pass unnoticed in Washington, for it soon became evident that secret dispatches were being misappropriated. Vigorous efforts were made to discover the guilty person in the Navy Department, but they all proved vain for the following reason: Among the wireless stations used for maintaining constant communication between the Navy Department at Washington and the various naval ports and naval stations, and the fleet itself when at sea, was the large station on Wilson's Peak near the observatory, whose shining tin-roof can be seen plainly from Los Angeles when the sun strikes it. All messages arriving there for transmission to San Diego and Mare Island could be readily intercepted by the wireless apparatus attached inconspicuously to the huge wind-wheel on an orange plantation between Pasadena and Los Angeles. The uninitiated would have concluded that the wires had something to do with a lightning-rod. The Japanese proprietor of the plantation had simply to read the messages from the Morse key of his apparatus and forward what he considered advisable to Mr. Stephenson by mail. A few hours later the Evening Standard was in a position to make a scoop with the dispatches of its infallible naval correspondent.

Thus Stephenson, without having the slightest suspicion of it, formed a wheel in the great chain which prepared the way for the enemy, and since the Evening Standard had earned a reputation for publishing absolutely reliable news in this field, no one for a moment doubted the announcement of Admiral Perry's attack, although this was the first spurious message which Stephenson had furnished to his paper.



Chapter IX

A FORTY-EIGHT-HOUR BALANCE

A steamer is lying at the pier taking in cargo. Long-legged cranes are taking hold of bales and barrels and boxes and lowering them through the ship's hatches with a rattle of chains. Wooden cases bound with steel ropes and containing heavy machinery are being hoisted slowly from the lorries on the railway tracks; the swaying burden is turning round and round in the air, knocking against the railing with a groaning noise, and tearing off large splinters of wood. The overseer is swearing at the men at the windlass and comparing his papers with the slips of the customs officer, the one making a blue check on the bill of lading and the other taking note of each article on his long list. Suddenly a small box comes to light, which has been waiting patiently since yesterday under the sheltering tarpaulin. "A box of optical instruments," says the customs officer, making a blue check. "A box of optical instruments," repeats the overseer, making a mark with his moistened pencil-stump: "Careful!" he adds, as a workman is on the point of tipping the heavy box over. Then the hook of the crane seizes the loop in the steel rope and with a stuttering rattling sound the wheels of the windlass set to work, the steel wire grips the side of the box tightly, the barrel beside it is pushed aside, and a wooden case enclosing a piece of cast-iron machinery is scraped angrily over the slippery cobble-stones. Heave ho, heave ho, chant the men, pushing with all their might. To the accompaniment of splashing drops of oily water, puffs of steam, groans of the windlass and the yells and curses of the stevedores, the whole load, including the box of optical instruments, at last disappears in the hold of the ship. It is placed securely between rolls of cardboard next to some nice white boxes filled with shining steel goods. But when the noise up above has died down, when with the approach of darkness the rattling of the chains and the groaning of the windlasses has ceased, when only the slow step of the deck-watch finds an echo—then it can be heard. Inside the box you can hear a gentle but steady tick, tick, tick. The clock-work is wound up and set to the exact second. Tick, tick, tick it goes. When the ship is far out at sea and the passengers are asleep and the watch calls out: "Lights are burning. All's well!" then the works will have run down, the spring will stop and loosen a little hammer. Ten kilograms of dynamite suffice. A quarter of an hour later there'll be nothing left of the proud steamer but a few boats loaded down with people and threatening every moment to be engulfed in the waves.

Tick, tick, tick, it goes down in the hold; the clock is set. Tick, tick, tick, it goes on unceasingly, till the unknown hour arrives. No one suspects the true nature of a piece of the cargo which certainly looked innocent enough. Yet the hour is bound to come sooner or later, but no one knows just when.

* * * * *

Nor had the country at large recognized that the hour was at hand. In the time that it took the short hand of the clock to complete its round four times, our country had completely changed its complexion, and the balance drawn by the press on Tuesday morning after an interval of forty-eight hours, had a perfectly crushing effect. Of course the appearance of the enemy in the West at once produced a financial panic in New York. On Monday morning the Wall Street stock-quotations of the trans-continental railroads fell to the lowest possible figure, rendering the shares about as valuable as the paper upon which they were printed. Apparently enormous numbers of shares had been thrown on the market in the first wild panic, but an hour after the opening of the Stock Exchange, after billions had changed hands in mad haste, a slight rise set in as a result of wholesale purchases by a single individual. Yet even before this fact had been clearly recognized, the railway magnates of the West had bought up all the floating stock without exception. They could afford to wait for the millions they would pocket until the American army had driven the enemy from the country.

At the same time selling orders came pouring in from the other side by way of London. The Old World lost no time in trying to get rid of its American stocks, and the United States were made to realize that in the hour of a political catastrophe every nation has to stand on its own feet, and that all the diplomatic notes and the harmless sentimentalities of foreign states will avail nothing. So it was after the terrible night of Port Arthur and so it was now.

It was of course as yet impossible to figure out in detail how the Japanese had managed to take possession of the Pacific States within twenty-four hours. But from the dispatches received from all parts of the country during the next few days and weeks the following picture could be drawn. The number of Japanese on American soil was in round numbers one hundred thousand. The Japanese had not only established themselves as small tradesmen and shopkeepers in the towns, but had also settled everywhere as farmers and fruit-growers; Japanese coolies and Mongolian workmen were to be found wherever new buildings were going up as well as on all the railways. The yellow flood was threatening to destroy the very foundations of our domestic economy by forcing down all wage-values. The yellow immigrant who wrested spade and shovel, ax and saw, from the American workman, who pushed his way into the factory and the workshop and acted as a heartless strike breaker, was not only found in the Pacific States but had pushed his way across the Rockies into the very heart of the eastern section. And scarcely had he settled anywhere, before, with the typical Tsushima grin, he demanded his political rights. The individual Jap excited no suspicion and did not become troublesome, but the Mongolians always managed to distribute their outposts on American soil in such a way that the Japanese element never attracted undue attention in any one particular spot. Nevertheless they were to be found everywhere.

We had often been told that every Japanese who landed on the Pacific Coast or crossed the Mexican or Canadian borders was a trained soldier. But we had always regarded this fact more as a political curiosity or a Japanese peculiarity than as a warning. We never for a moment realized that this whole immigration scheme was regulated by a perfect system, and that every Japanese immigrant had received his military orders and was in constant touch with the secret military centers at San Francisco, who at stated periods sent out Japanese traders and agents—in reality they were officers of the general staff, who at the same time made important topographical notes for use in case of war—to control their movements. Both the lumber companies in the State of Washington, which brought hundreds of Japanese over from Canada, and the railways which employed Japanese workmen were equally ignorant of the fact that they had taken a Japanese regiment into their employ.

Thus preparations for the coming war were conducted on a large scale during the year 1907, until the ever-increasing flow of Japanese immigrants finally led to those conflicts with which we are familiar. At the time we regarded it as a triumph of American diplomacy when Japan, in the face of California's threatening attitude, apparently gave in after a little diplomatic bickering and issued the well-known proclamation concerning emigration to Hawaii and the Pacific States, at the same time dissolving several emigration companies at home.

As a matter of fact Japan had already completed her military preparations in our country in times of absolute peace, the sole difficulty experienced being in connection with the concentration of the remaining coolie importations. The Japanese invasion, which our politicians dismissed as possible only in the dim and distant future, was actually completed at the beginning of the year 1908. A Japanese army stood prepared and fully armed right in our midst, merely waiting until the military and financial conditions at home rendered the attack feasible.

When we glance to-day through the newspapers of that period, we cannot help but smile at allowing ourselves to be persuaded that the Japanese danger had been removed by the diplomatic retreat in Tokio and the prohibition of emigration to North America. Our papers stated at the time that Japan had recognized that she had drawn the bow too tight and that she had yielded because Admiral Evans's fleet had demonstrated conclusively that we were prepared. That only goes to show how little we knew of the Mongolian character!

We had become so accustomed to the large Japanese element in the population of our Western States, that we entirely neglected to control the harmless looking individuals. To be sure there wasn't a great deal to be seen on the surface, but it would have been interesting to examine some of the goods smuggled so regularly across the Mexican and Canadian borders. Why were we content to allow the smuggling to continue without interference, simply because we felt it couldn't be stamped out anyhow? The Japanese did not resort to the hackneyed piano-cases and farming machinery; they knew better than to employ such clumsy methods. The goods they sent over the line consisted of neat little boxes full of guns and other weapons which had been taken apart. And when a Japanese farmer ordered a hay-cart from Canada, it was no pure chance that the remarkably strong wheels of this cart exactly fitted a field-gun. The barrel was brought over by a neighbor, who ordered iron columns for his new house, inside of which the separate parts of the barrel were soldered. It was in this way that, in the course of several years, the entire equipment for the Japanese army came quietly and inconspicuously across our borders.

And then the Japanese are so clever, clever in putting together and mounting their guns, clever in disguising them. Did it ever enter anyone's head that the amiable landlord who cracked so many jokes at the Japanese inn not far from the railroad station at Reno commanded a battalion? Did anyone suppose that the casks of California wine in his cellar in reality enclosed six machine-guns, and that in the yard behind the house there was sufficient material to equip an entire company of artillery inside of two hours, and that plenty of ammunition was stored away in the attic in boxes and trunks ostensibly left by travelers to be held until called for? As long as there's sufficient time at disposal, all these things can be imported into the country bit by bit, and without ever coming into conflict with the government.

Things began to stir about the end of April. A great many Japs were traveling about the country, but there was no reason why this circumstance should have attracted special notice in a country like ours where so much traveling is constantly done. The enemy were assembling. The people arrived at the various stations and at once disappeared in the country, bound for the different headquarters in the solitudes of the mountains. There each one found his ammunition, his gun and his uniform exactly as it was described in Japanese characters on the paper which he had received on landing, and which had more than once been officially revised or supplemented as the result of information received from chance acquaintances who had paid him a visit.

Everything worked like a charm; there wasn't a hitch anywhere. No one had paid any particular attention to the fact, for example, in connection with the fair to be held in the small town of Irvington on May eighth, that numerous carts with Japanese farmers had arrived on the Saturday before and that they had brought several dozen horses with them. And who could object to their putting up at the Japanese inn which, with its big stables, was specially suited to their purpose. At first the Japanese owner had been laughed at, but later on he was admired for his business ability in keeping the horse trade of Irvington entirely in his own hands.

When on the following day during church hours—the Japanese being heathens—the streets lay deserted in their Sunday calm, the few people who happened to be on Main Street and saw a field battery consisting of six guns and six ammunition wagons turn out of the gate next to the Japanese inn thought they had seen an apparition. The battery started off at once at a sharp trot and left the town to take up a position out in a field in the suburbs, where a dozen men were already busily at work with spades and pick-axes digging a trench.

The police of Irvington were at once notified, a sleepy official at the Post Office was roused out of his slumbers, and a telegram was directed to the nearest military post, but the latter proceeding was useless and no answer was received, since the copper wires were long ago in the control of the enemy. Even if it had got through, the telegraphic warning would have come too late, for the military post in question, of which half of the troops were, as usual, on leave, had been attacked and captured by the Japanese at nine o'clock in the morning.

A hundred thousand Japanese had established the line of an eastern advance-guard long before the Pacific States had any idea of what was up. During Sunday, after the capture of San Francisco, the occupation of Seattle, San Diego and the other fortified towns on the coast, the landing of the second detachment of the Japanese army began, and by Monday evening the Pacific States were in the grip of no less than one hundred and seventy thousand men.

* * * * *

When, on Sunday morning, the Japanese had cut off the railway connections, they adopted the plan of allowing all trains going from east to west to pass unmolested, so that there was soon quite a collection of engines and cars to be found within the zone bounded by the Japanese outposts. On the other hand, all the trains running eastward were held up, some being sent back and others being used for conveying the Japanese troops to advance posts or for bringing the various lines of communication into touch with one another. In some cases these trains were also used for pushing boldly much farther east, the enemy thus surprising and overpowering a number of military posts and arsenals in which the guns and ammunition for the militia were stored.

Only in a very few instances did this gigantic mechanism fail. One of these accidents occurred at Swallowtown, where the mistake was made of attacking the express-train to Umatilla instead of the local train to Pendleton. The lateness of the former and the occupation of the station too long before the expected arrival of the latter, and coupled to this the heroic deed of the station-master, interfered unexpectedly with the execution of the plan. The reader will remember that when the express returned to Swallowtown, Tom's shanty was empty. The enemy had disappeared and had taken the two captive farmers with them. The mounted police, who had been summoned immediately from Walla Walla, found the two men during the afternoon in their wagon, bound hand and foot, in a hollow a few miles to the west of the station. They also discovered a time-table of the Oregon Railway in the wagon, with a note in Japanese characters beside the time for the arrival of the local train from Umatilla. This time-table had evidently been lost by the leader of the party on his flight. Soon after the police had returned to the Swallowtown station that same evening, a Japanese military train passed through, going in the direction of Pendleton. The train was moving slowly and those within opened fire on the policeman, who lost no time in replying. But the odds were too great, and it was all over in a few minutes.

By Monday evening the enemy had secured an immense quantity of railway material, which had simply poured into their arms automatically, and which was more than sufficient for their needs.

The information received from Victoria (British Columbia) that a fleet had been sighted in the Straits of San Juan de Fuca, whence it was said to have proceeded to Port Townsend and Puget Sound, was quite correct. A cruiser squadron had indeed passed Esquimault and Victoria at dawn on Sunday, and a few hours later firing had been heard coming from the direction of Port Townsend. The British harbor officials had suddenly become extremely timid and had not allowed the regular steamer to leave for Seattle. When, therefore, on Monday morning telegraphic inquiries came from the American side concerning the foreign warships, which, by the way, had carried no flag, ambiguous answers could be made without arousing suspicion. Considerable excitement prevailed in Victoria on account of the innumerable vague rumors of the outbreak of war; the naval station, however, remained perfectly quiet. On Monday morning a cruiser started out in the direction of Port Townsend, and after exchanging numerous signals with Esquimault, continued on her course towards Cape Flattery and the open sea. It will be seen, therefore, that no particular zeal was shown in endeavoring to get at the bottom of the matter.

A battle between the Japanese ships and the forts of Port Townsend had actually taken place. Part of the hostile fleet had escorted the transport steamers to Puget Sound and had there found the naval depots and the fortifications, the arsenal and the docks in the hands of their countrymen, who had also destroyed the second-class battleship Texas lying off Port Orchard by firing at her from the coast forts previously stormed and captured by them. They had surprised Seattle at dawn much in the same way as San Francisco had been surprised, and they at once began to land troops and unload their war materials. On the other hand, an attempt to surprise Port Townsend with an insufficient force had failed. The Americans had had enough sense to prohibit the Japanese from coming too near to the newly armed coast defenses, and the better watch which the little town had been able to keep over the Asiatics had made it difficult for them to assemble a sufficiently large fighting contingent. The work here had to be attended to by the guns, and the enemy had included this factor in their calculations from the beginning.

How thoroughly informed the Japanese were as to every detail of our coast defenses and how well acquainted they were with each separate battery, with its guns as well as with its ammunition, was clearly demonstrated by the new weapon brought into the field in connection with the real attack on the fortifications. Of course Japanese laborers had been employed in erecting the works—they worked for such ridiculously low wages, those Japanese engineers disguised as coolies. With the eight million two hundred thousand dollars squeezed out of Congress in the spring of 1908—in face of the unholy fear on the part of the nation's representatives of a deficit, it had been impossible to get more—two new mortar batteries had been built on the rocky heights of Port Townsend. These batteries, themselves inaccessible to all ships' guns, were in a position to pour down a perpendicular fire on hostile decks and could thus make short work of every armored vessel.

Now the Japanese had already had a very unpleasant experience with the strong coast fortifications of Port Arthur. In the first place, bombarding of this nature was very injurious to the bores of the ships' guns, and secondly, the results on land were for the most part nominal. Not without reason had Togo tried to get at the shore batteries of Port Arthur by indirect fire from Pigeon Bay. But even that, in spite of careful observations taken from the water, had little effect. And even the strongest man-of-war was helpless against the perpendicular fire of the Port Townsend mortar batteries, because it was simply impossible for its guns, with their slight angle of elevation, to reach the forts situated so high above them. And if the road to Seattle, that important base of operations in the North, was not to be perpetually menaced, then Port Townsend must be put out of commission.

But for every weapon a counter-weapon is usually invented, and every new discovery is apt to be counterbalanced by another. The world has never yet been overturned by a new triumph of skill in military technics, because it is at once paralyzed by another equally ingenious. And now, at Port Townsend, very much the same thing happened as on March ninth, 1862. In much the same way that the appearance of the Merrimac had brought destruction to the wooden fleet until she was herself forced to flee before Ericsson's Monitor at Hampton Roads, so now at Port Townsend on May seventh a new weapon was made to stand the crucial test. Only this time we were not the pathfinders of the new era.

While the Japanese cruisers, keeping carefully beyond the line of fire from the forts, sailed on to Seattle, four ships were brought into action against the mortar batteries of Port Townsend which appeared to set at defiance all known rules of ship-building, and which, indestructible as they were, threatened to annihilate all existing systems. They were low vessels which floated on the water like huge tortoises. These mortar-boats, which were destined to astound not only the Americans but the whole world, had been constructed in Japanese shipyards, to which no stranger had ever been admitted. In place of the ordinary level-firing guns found on a modern warship, these uncanny gray things carried 17.7-inch howitzers, a kind of mortar of Japanese construction. There was nothing to be seen above the low deck but a short heavily protected funnel and four little armored domes which contained the sighting telescopes for the guns, the mouths of which lay in the arch of the whaleback deck. Four such vessels had also been constructed for use at San Francisco, but the quick capture of the forts had rendered the mortar-boats unnecessary.

We were constantly being attacked in places where no thought had been given to the defense, and the fortifications we did possess were never shot at from the direction they faced. Our coast defenses were everywhere splendidly protected against level-firing guns, which the Japanese, however, unfortunately refrained from using. With their mortar-boats they attacked our forts in their most vulnerable spot, that is, from above. With the exception of Winfield Scott, the batteries at Port Townsend were the only ones on our western coast which at once construed the appearance of suspicious-looking ships on May seventh as signs of a Japanese attack, and they immediately opened fire on the four Japanese cruisers and on the transport steamers. But before this fire had any effect, the hostile fleet changed its course to the North and the four mortar-boats began their attack. They approached to within two nautical miles and opened fire at once.

What was the use of our gunners aiming at the flat, gray arches of these uncanny ocean-tortoises? The heavy shells splashed into the water all around them, and when one did succeed in hitting one of the boats, it was simply dashed to pieces against the armor-plate, which was several feet thick, or else it glanced off harmlessly like hail dancing off the domed roof of a pavilion. The only targets were the flames which shot incessantly out of the mouths of the hostile guns like out of a funnel-shaped crater.

By noon all the armored domes of the Port Townsend batteries had been destroyed and one gun after another had ceased firing. The horizontal armor-plates, too, which protected the disappearing gun-carriages belonging to the huge guns of the other forts, had not been able to withstand the masses of steel which came down almost perpendicularly from above them. One single well-aimed shot had usually sufficed to cripple the complicated mechanism and once that was injured, it was impossible to bring the gun back into position for firing. The concrete roofs of the ammunition rooms and barracks were shot to pieces and the traverses were reduced to rubbish heaps by the bursting of the numerous shells of the enemy. And all that was finally left round the tattered Stars and Stripes was a little group of heavily wounded gunners, performing their duty to the bitter end, and these heroes were honored by the enemy by being permitted to keep their arms. They were sent by steamer from Seattle to the Canadian Naval Station at Esquimault on the seventh of May, and their arrival inspired the populace to stormy demonstrations against the Japanese, this being the first outward expression of Canadian sympathy for the United States. The Canadians felt that the time had come for all white men to join hands against the common danger, and the policy of the Court of St. James soon became intensely unpopular throughout Canada. What did Canada care about what was considered the proper policy in London, when here at their very door necessity pressed hard on their heels, and the noise of war from across the border sounded a shrill Mene Tekel in the white man's ear?

* * * * *

There were therefore no less than one hundred and seventy thousand Japanese soldiers on American soil on Tuesday morning, May ninth. In the north, the line of outposts ran along the eastern border of the States of Washington and Oregon and continued through the southern portion of Idaho, always keeping several miles to the east of the tracks of the Oregon Short Line, which thus formed an excellent line of communication behind the enemy's front. At Granger, the junction of the Oregon Short Line and the Union Pacific, the Japanese reached their easternmost bastion, and here they dug trenches, which were soon fortified by means of heavy artillery. From here their line ran southward along the Wasatch Mountains, crossed the great Colorado plateau and then continued along the high section of Arizona, reaching the Mexican boundary by way of Fort Bowie.

Only in the south and in the extreme north did railroads in any respectable number lead up to the Japanese front. In the center, however, the roads by way of which an American assault could be made, namely the Union Pacific at Granger, the Denver and Rio Grande at Grand Junction, and further south the Atcheson, Topeka & Santa Fe, approached the Japanese positions at right angles, and at these points captive balloons and several air-ships kept constant watch toward the east, so that there was no possibility of an American surprise. In the north strong field fortifications along the border-line of Washington and Idaho furnished sufficient protection, and in the south the sunbaked sandy deserts of New Mexico served the same purpose. Then, too, the almost unbroken railway connection between the north and the south allowed the enemy to transport his reserves at a moment's notice to any point of danger, and the Japs were clever enough not to leave their unique position to push further eastward. Any advance of large bodies of troops would have weakened all the manifold advantages of this position, and besides the Japanese numbers were not considerable enough to warrant an unnecessary division of forces.

And what had we in the way of troops to oppose this hostile invasion? Our regular army consisted, on paper, of sixty thousand men. Fifteen thousand of these had been stationed in the Pacific States, composed principally of the garrisons of the coast forts; all of these without exception were, by Monday morning, in the hands of the Japanese. This at once reduced the strength of our regular army to forty-five thousand men. Of this number eighteen thousand were in the Philippines and, although they were not aware of it, they had to all intents and purposes been placed hors de combat, both at Mindanao and in the fortifications of Manila. Besides these the two regiments on the way from San Francisco to Manila and the garrison of Pearl Harbor in the Hawaiian Islands, could be similarly deducted. It will be seen, therefore, that, only twenty-five thousand men of our regular army were available, and these were scattered over the entire country: some were in the numerous prairie-forts, others on the Atlantic coast, still others in Cuba and in Porto Rico. Thus twenty-five thousand men were pitted against a force not only seven times as large, but one that was augmented hourly by hundreds of newcomers. On Monday the President had called out the organized militia and on the following day he sent a special message to Congress recommending the formation of a volunteer army. The calls to arms were posted in the form of huge placards at all the street-corners and at the entrances to the speedily organized recruiting-offices. In this way it was possible, to be sure, within a few months to raise an army equal to that of the enemy so far as mere numbers were concerned, and the American citizen could be relied upon. But where were the leaders, where was the entire organization of the transport, of the commissariat, of the ambulance corps—we possessed no military train-corps at all—and most important of all, where were the arms to come from?

The arsenals and ammunition-depots in the Pacific States were in the hands of the enemy, the cannon of our far western field-artillery depots had aided in forming Japanese batteries, and the Japanese flag was waving above our heavy coast guns. The terrible truth that we were for the present absolutely helpless before the enemy had a thoroughly disheartening effect on all classes of the population as soon as it was clearly recognized. In impotent rage at this condition of utter helplessness and in their eagerness to be revenged on the all-powerful enemy, men hurried to the recruiting-offices in large numbers, and the lists for the volunteer regiments were soon covered with signatures. The citizens of the country dropped the plow, stood their tools in the corner and laid their pens away; the clattering typewriters became silent, and in the offices of the sky-scrapers business came to a stand-still. Only in the factories where war materials were manufactured did great activity reign.

For the present there was at least one dim hope left, namely the fleet. But where was the fleet? After our battle-fleet had crossed the Pacific to Australia and Eastern Asia, it returned to the Atlantic, while a squadron of twelve battleships and four armored cruisers was sent under Admiral Perry to the west coast and stationed there, with headquarters at San Francisco. To these ships must be added the regular Pacific squadron and Philippine squadron. The remaining ships of our fleet were in Atlantic waters.

That was the fatal mistake committed in the year of our Lord 1909. In vain, all in vain, had been the oft-repeated warning that in face of the menacing Japanese danger the United States navy should be kept together, either in the west or in the east. Only when concentrated, only in the condition in which it was taken through the Straits of Magellan by Admiral Evans, was our fleet absolutely superior to the Japanese. Every dispersal, every separation of single divisions was bound to prove fatal. Article upon article and pamphlet upon pamphlet were written anent the splitting-up of our navy! And yet what a multitude of entirely different and mutually exclusive tasks were set her at one and the same time! Manila was to be protected, Pearl Harbor was to have a naval station, the Pacific coast was to be protected, and there was to be a reserve fleet off the eastern coast.

And yet it was perfectly clear that any part of the fleet which happened to be stationed at Manila or Hawaii would be lost to the Americans immediately on the outbreak of hostilities. But we deluded ourselves with the idea that Japan would not dare send her ships across the Pacific in the face of our little Philippine squadron, whereas not even a large squadron stationed at Manila would have hindered the Japanese from attacking us. Even such a squadron they could easily have destroyed with a detachment of equal strength, without in any way hindering their advance against our western shores, while the idea of attempting to protect an isolated colony with a few ships against a great sea-power was perfectly ridiculous. The strong coast fortifications and a division of submarines—the two stationed there at the time, however, were really not fit for use—would have sufficed for the defense of Manila, and anything beyond that simply meant an unnecessary sacrifice of forces which might be far more useful elsewhere.

After our fleet had been divided between the east and the west, both the Pacific fleet and the reserve Atlantic fleet were individually far inferior to the Japanese fleet. The maintenance of a fleet in the Pacific as well as of one in the Atlantic was a fatal luxury. It was superfluous to keep on tap a whole division of ships in our Atlantic harbors merely posing as maritime ornaments before the eyes of Europe or at the most coming in handy for an imposing demonstration against a refractory South-American Republic. All this could have been done just as well with a few cruisers. English money and Japanese intrigues, it is true, succeeded in always keeping the Venezuelan wound open, so that we were constantly obliged to steal furtive glances at that corner of the world, one that had caused us so much political vexation. Matters had indeed reached a sorry pass if our political prestige was so shaky, that it was made to depend on Mr. Castro's valuation of the forces at the disposal of the United States!

In consideration of the many unforeseen delays that had occurred in the work of digging the Panama Canal, there was only one policy for us to adopt until its completion, and that was to keep our fleet together and either to concentrate it in the Pacific and thus deter the enemy from attacking our coasts, regardless of what might be thought of our action in Tokio, or to keep only a few cruisers in the Pacific, as formerly, and to concentrate the fleet in the Atlantic, so as to be able to attack the enemy from the rear with the full force of our naval power. But these amateur commissioners of the public safety who wished to have an imposing squadron on view wherever our flag floated—as if the Stars and Stripes were a signal of distress instead of a token of strength—condemned our fleet to utter helplessness. In 1908, when there was no mistaking the danger, we, the American people, one of the richest and most energetic nations of the world, nevertheless allowed ourselves in the course of the debate on the naval appropriations to be frightened by Senator Maine's threat of a deficit of a few dollars in our budget, should the sums that were absolutely needed in case our fleet was to fulfill the most immediate national tasks be voted. This was the short-sighted policy of a narrow-minded politician who, when a country's fate is hanging in the balance, complains only of the costs. It was most assuredly a short-sighted policy, and we were compelled to pay dearly for it.

The voyage of our fleet around South America had shown the world that the value of a navy is not impaired because a few drunken sailors occasionally forget to return to their ship when in port: on the contrary, foreign critics had been obliged to admit that our navy in point of equipment and of crews was second to none. And lo and behold, this remarkable exhibition of power—the only sensible idea evolved by our navy department in years—is followed by the insane dispersal of our ships to so many different stations.

How foolish had it been, furthermore, to boast as we did about having kept up communication with Washington by wireless during the whole of our journey around South America. Had not the experience at Trinidad, where a wireless message intercepted by an English steamer had warned the coal-boats that our fleet would arrive a day sooner, taught us a lesson? And had not the way in which the Japanese steamer, also provided with a wireless apparatus, stuck to us so persistently between Valparaiso and Callao shown us plainly that every new technical discovery has its shady side?

No, we had learned nothing. In Washington they insisted on sending all orders from the Navy Department to the different harbors and naval stations by wireless, yet each of the stations along the whole distance from east to west provided possibilities of indiscretion and treachery and of unofficial interception. Why had we not made wireless telegraphy a government monopoly, instead of giving each inhabitant of the United States the right to erect an apparatus of his own if he so wished? Did it never occur to anybody in Washington that long before the orders of the Navy Department had reached Mare Island, Puget Sound and San Diego they had been read with the greatest ease by hundreds of strangers? It required the success of the enemy to make all this clear to us, when we might just as well have listened to those who drew conclusions from obvious facts and recommended caution.

In spite of all this, the press on Tuesday morning still adhered to the hope that Admiral Perry would attack the enemy from the rear with his twelve battleships of the Pacific squadron, and that, meeting the Japanese at their base of operations, he would cut off all threads of communication between San Francisco and Tokio. It was no longer possible to warn Perry of his danger, since the wireless stations beyond the Rockies were already in the enemy's hands. The American people could therefore only trust to luck; but blind chance has never yet saved a country in its hour of direst need. It can only be saved by the energy, the steady eye and the strong hand of men. All hope centered in Admiral Perry, in his energy and his courage, but the people became uneasy when no answer was received to the oft-repeated question: "Where is the Pacific fleet?" Yes, where was Admiral Perry?



Chapter X

ADMIRAL PERRY'S FATE

The wireless apparatus on board Admiral Perry's flag-ship, the Connecticut, rattled and crackled and on the strip of white paper slowly ejected by the Morse machine appeared the words: "Magdalen Bay to Commander-in-chief of Squadron, May 7, 8h. 25. A cruiser and two torpedo-boats sighted four miles N.W. with course set towards Magdalen Bay; uncertain whether friend or foe. Captain Pancoast."

The man at the instrument tore off the duplicate of the strip and pasted it on the bulletin, touched the button of an electric bell and handed the message to the signalman who answered the ring. The telephone bell rang directly afterwards and from the bridge came the order: "Magdalen Bay to establish immediate connection by wireless with cruiser and torpedoes; ascertain whether they belong to blue or yellow party."

The officer ticked off the message at great speed.

"This looks like bad weather," he said to himself, while waiting for the answer. The increased rocking of the ship showed that the sea was getting rougher. A black pencil, which had been lying in the corner between the wall and the edge of the table, suddenly came to life and began rolling aimlessly about. The officer picked it up and drew a map of the location of Magdalen Bay as far as he could remember it. "Four miles," he murmured, "they ought to be able to identify the ships at that distance with the aid of a glass."

Suddenly the instrument began to buzz and rattle and amidst a discharge of little electric sparks the strip of white paper began to move out slowly from beneath the letter roller.

"Magdalen Bay to Commander-in-chief of Squadron, May 7, 8 h. 53: Approaching cruiser, probably yellow armored cruiser New York; does not answer call. Captain Pancoast."

The officer hadn't had time to get the message ready for the bridge, when the instrument again began to rattle madly:

"Take care of Kxj31mpTwB8d—951SR7—J," warned the strip in its mute language; then nothing further; complete silence reigned. "What does this mean?" said the officer, "this can't be all."

He knocked on the coherer, then put in a new one: not a sign. He took a third, a fourth, he knocked and shook the instrument, but it remained dumb. With his Morse-key he asked back:

"Magdalen Bay, repeat message!"

No answer.

Then he asked: "Did you understand question?"

No answer.

The signalman was standing beside him, and he handed him the message with the order to take it at once to the bridge; then he went to the telephone and took off the receiver. "This is Sergeant Medlow. I've just received from Magdalen Bay the message now on the way to the bridge: 'Take care of—' then the connection was cut off.... All right, sir."

Two minutes later an excited lieutenant rushed in crying: "What's the matter with the apparatus?"

"It won't work, sir; it stopped in the middle of a sentence."

"Take a new coherer!"

"I've tried four."

They both tapped the coherer, but nothing happened. All questions remained unanswered, and they seemed to be telegraphing into space.

"Probably a breakdown," said the lieutenant naively.

"Yes, sir, probably a breakdown," repeated Medlow; and then he was alone once more.

* * * * *

The officer on duty on the bridge of the Connecticut had informed Captain Farlow, commander of the ship, of the latest messages from Magdalen Bay, and when he now appeared on the bridge in company with Admiral Perry, the officer held out the two bulletins. The admiral studied them thoughtfully and murmured: "New York, it's true she belongs to the yellow fleet, but what brings her to Magdalen Bay? Admiral Crane cannot possibly be so far to the southeast with his squadron, for the latest news from our outposts led us to believe that he intended to attack us from the west."

"But he may be going to surprise Magdalen Bay, Admiral," said Captain Farlow.

"Perhaps," replied the Admiral, rather sharply, "but will you tell me what for? There are only two torpedo-boats at Magdalen Bay, and to destroy a wireless station from which there are no messages to be sent would be a rather silly thing for an overzealous commander of the yellow fleet to do. And besides we have special orders from Washington to draw Magdalen Bay as little as possible into the maneuvers, so as to avoid all unpleasantness with Mexico and not to attract the attention of foreigners to the importance which the bay would assume in case of war."

A lieutenant stepped up to Captain Farlow and reported, saluting: "All attempts to establish connection with Magdalen Bay have failed."

"Well, let it go," grumbled Admiral Perry, "Crane seems to have deprived us of Magdalen Bay, but the commander of the New York will reap a fine reprimand from Washington for this."

With these words Admiral Perry left the bridge, steadying himself by holding on to the railing on both sides of the steps, as the sea was becoming rougher every minute.

The increasing northeast wind tore through the rigging, whistled in the wires, howled through all the openings, screamed its bad temper down the companionways, pulled savagely at the gun-covers and caused the long copper-wires belonging to the wireless apparatus to snap like huge whips. The bluish-gray waves broke with a hollow sound against the sides of the six battleships of the Connecticut class, which were running abreast in a northwesterly direction through the dreary watery wastes of the Pacific at the rate of ten knots an hour.

There was a high sea on. A barometric depression that was quite unusual in these sunny latitudes at that particular time of year had brought nasty weather in its train. During the night violent rain-storms had flooded the decks. Now the wind freshened and swept low-hanging clouds before it. The sharp white bow of the Connecticut with the pressure of 16,000 tons of steel behind it plowed its way through the water, throwing up a hissing foaming wave on each side. The wind lashed the waves on the starboard-side so that they splashed over the forepart of the cruiser like a shower of rain, enveloping it in a gray mist. The thick, black smoke pouring out of the three long funnels was blown obliquely down to the edge of the water and hung there like a thick cloud which shut off the western horizon and made the passage of the squadron visible a long distance off. The small openings in the casemates of the armored guns had been closed up long before, because the waves had begun to wash over them, and even the turrets on the upper deck had received a few heavy showers which had flooded their interiors. It was indeed nasty weather.

Captain Farlow had taken up his stand on the upper conning-tower of the Connecticut the better to examine the horizon with his glass, but a thick curtain of rain rendered it almost invisible.

"Nothing to be seen of our cruisers," he said to the navigating officer of the squadron, "this is disgusting weather for maneuvers."

Then he gave the command to telephone across to the two leading cruisers California and Colorado and ask if, on account of the thick weather, they required the assistance of two small cruisers in order to be sufficiently protected against the yellow fleet?

The commander of the California answered in the affirmative and asked that the three destroyers in the van, which had all they could do to maintain their course in such a heavy sea, and were therefore of little use in their present position, be recalled and replaced by two cruisers.

The admiral recalled the three destroyers by a wireless signal and ordered them to take up their position in the rear beside the other three destroyers and to assist in protecting the rear of the squadron. At the same time he strengthened his front line by sending the cruisers Galveston and Chattanooga, which had formed the port and starboard flank, respectively, to the van. His advance, consisting now of the two last-named cruisers and the two armored cruisers, proceeded in a flat wedge formation, while the cruiser Denver to starboard and the Cleveland to port, at a distance of three knots from the squadron, established the connection between the van and the rather dubious rear-guard of destroyers, which could scarcely do much in such weather.

The Galveston and Chattanooga, both pouring forth clouds of smoke, quickly assumed their positions at the head of the line.

Captain Farlow paced restlessly up and down the bridge in his oilskins. "I suppose this is the last remnant of the spring storms," he said to his navigating officer, "but it's a good-sized one. If we didn't have a fairly good formation the yellow fleet could play us a nasty trick by taking us by surprise in such weather."

"A wireless message from the cruiser California," said a lieutenant, handing it to the captain, who read:

"Chattanooga and Galveston stationed on right and left flanks of advance guard; Denver and Cleveland establish connection between latter and squadron. No sign of yellow fleet."

Just then an orderly appeared and requested Captain Farlow to report to Admiral Perry.

The squadron continued on its way. The northeast wind increased, driving black scurrying clouds before it which swept across the foaming waves and suddenly enveloped everything in glimmering darkness. The rain poured down on the decks in sheets and everything was swimming in a splashing flood. What with the downpour of the rain and the splashing of the waves, it was often impossible for the lookouts to see a yard ahead. Added to all this was a disagreeable sticky, humid heat. It was surely more comfortable below deck.

* * * * *

"What do you think of this Magdalen Bay affair?" asked the admiral of the captain as the latter entered the admiral's cabin; "it is worrying me considerably."

"In my opinion," was the answer, "it's a piece of crass stupidity on the part of the commander of the New York. It is all nonsense to play such tricks with a country where we are not particularly welcome guests at any time, in spite of all the diplomatic courtesies of Porfirio Diaz. The gentlemen over in Tokio have every movement of ours in the bay watched by their many spies, and their diplomatic protests are always ready."

"Certainly," said the admiral, "certainly, but our maneuvers are supposed to reflect actual war, and—between ourselves—there's no doubt but that we should treat Magdalen Bay in time of war just as though it were American soil."

"In time of war, yes," answered the captain eagerly, "but it's foolish to show our hand in a maneuver, in time of peace. Even if we do act as though Magdalen Bay belonged to us, whereas in reality we have only been permitted to use it as a coaling-station and had no right to erect a wireless station as we did, it is nevertheless inexcusable to use that particular spot for maneuver operations. If it once becomes known in Mexico, the diplomats there, who are always dying of ennui, will make trouble at once, and as we don't suffer from a surplus of good friends at any time, we ought to avoid every opportunity of giving them a diplomatic lever through maneuver blunders."

"Then the best plan," said the admiral in a thoughtful tone, "would be to report the circumstances to Washington at once, and suggest to them that it would be advisable to represent the attack on Magdalen Bay as the result of too much zeal on the part of a poorly posted commander and to apologize to Mexico for the mistake."

"That would certainly be the correct thing to do," answered Farlow, adding, "for when we do have our reckoning with the yellow...."

Here the telephone bell in the cabin rang madly and Captain Farlow jumped up to answer it; but in his excitement he had forgotten all about the rolling of the ship, and consequently stumbled and slipped along the floor to the telephone. The admiral could not help smiling, but at once transformed the smile into a frown when the door opened to admit an orderly, who was thus also a witness of Captain Farlow's sliding party. The latter picked himself up with a muttered oath and went to the telephone.

"What," he shouted, "what's that, Higgins? You must be crazy, man! Admiral Crane's fleet, the yellow fleet? It's impossible, we've got our scouts out on all sides!"

Then he turned halfway round to the admiral, saying: "The navigator is seeing ghosts, sir; he reports that Admiral Crane with the yellow fleet has been sighted to windward three knots off!" He hurried towards the door and there ran plumb against the orderly, whom he asked sharply: "What are you doing here?"

"The navigator, Lieutenant Higgins, reports that several ships have been sighted to starboard three miles ahead. Lieutenant Higgins thinks...."

"Lieutenant Higgins thinks, of course, that it is Admiral Crane's yellow fleet," snarled Farlow.

"Yes, sir," answered the orderly, "the yellow fleet," and stared in astonishment at the commander of the Connecticut, who, followed by Admiral Perry, rushed up the stairs.

"Oh, my oilskins!..." With this exclamation the commander reached the top of the staircase leading to the bridge deck, where a violent rush of greenish-gray water from a particularly enormous wave drenched him from head to foot.

"Now, then, Mr. Higgins," he called, wiping the water from his eyes and mustache, "where is the yellow fleet?"

The navigator was staring out to sea through his glass trying to penetrate the thick veil of rain. The storm howled and showers of foam burst over the decks of the Connecticut, the water washing over everything with a dull roar.

Captain Farlow had no need to inquire further. That was Admiral Crane and his yellow fleet sure enough!

The silhouettes of six large battleships looking like phantom-ships rising from the depths of the boiling ocean could be plainly seen through the rain and waves about six thousand yards to starboard of the Connecticut.

"Clear ships for action!" commanded the captain. The navigator and another lieutenant hurried to the telephones and transmitted the order. The flag lieutenant of the squadron rushed to the telephone leading to the wireless room, and ordered a message forwarded to all of the ships of the squadron to proceed at full speed. For safety's sake the order was repeated by means of flag signals.

While from the bridge the officers were watching the gray phantoms of the strange armored fleet, it continued calmly on its course. The leading ship threw up great masses of foam like huge exploding fountains, which covered the bow with showers of gray water.

In a few minutes things began to get lively within the steel body of the Connecticut. The sounds of shrill bugle-calls, of the loud ringing of bells, of excited calls and a hurried running to and fro, came up from below.

In the midst of the water pouring over the deck appeared the sailors in their white uniforms. They at once removed the gun-coverings, while peculiarly shrill commands resounded above the roar of the wind and the waves.

Great quantities of thick, black smoke poured from the yellowish brown funnels, to be immediately seized and broken up by the wind. The reserve signalmen for duty on the bridge as well as the fire-control detail took up their positions.

One lieutenant climbed hastily up into the military top of the foremast. Two other officers and a few midshipmen followed him as far as the platform above the conning-tower, where the instruments connected with the fire-control were kept. Orderlies came and went with messages. All this was the work of a few minutes. Captain Farlow was inwardly delighted that everything should have gone off so well before the admiral. Now the other ships reported that they were clear for action. Just as the bright ensigns were being run to the mastheads, the sun broke through the black clouds for a moment. The six monster ships continued on their way in the sunlight like sliding masses of white iron, with their long yellowish brown funnels emitting clouds of smoke and their rigid masts pointing upward into the angry sky. The sunshine made the deck structures sparkle with thousands of glistening drops for a brief moment; then the sun disappeared and the majestic picture was swallowed up once more by the gray clouds.

"Shall we go up to the conning-tower?" inquired the flag lieutenant of the admiral.

"Oh, no, we'll stay here," said the latter, carefully examining the yellow fleet through his glass. "Can you make out which ship the first one is?" he asked.

"I think it's the Iowa," said the commander, who was standing near him. But the wind tore the words from his lips.

"What did you say?" screamed back the admiral.

"Iowa," repeated Farlow.

"No such thing, the Iowa is much smaller and has only one mast. The ship over there also has an additional turret in the center."

"No, it's not the Iowa," corroborated the captain, "but two funnels ... what ship can it be...?"

"Those ships are painted gray, too, not white like ours. It's not the yellow fleet at all," interrupted the admiral, "it's, it's—my God, what is it?"

He examined the ships again and saw numerous little flags running up the mast of the leading ship, undoubtedly a signal, then the forward turret with its two enormously long gun-barrels swung slowly over to starboard, the other turrets turned at the same time, and then a tongue of flame shot out of the mouths of both barrels in the forward turret; the wind quickly dispersed the cloud of smoke, and three seconds later a shell burst with a fearful noise on the deck of the Connecticut between the base of the bridge and the first gun-turret, throwing the splinters right on the bridge and tearing off the head of the lieutenant who was doing duty at the signal apparatus. The second shell hit the armored plate right above the openings for the two 12-inch guns in the fore-turret, leaving behind a great hole with jagged edges out of which burst sheets of flame and clouds of smoke, which were blown away in long strips by the wind. A heartrending scream from within followed this explosion of the cartridges lying in readiness beside the guns. The forward turret had been put out of action.

For several seconds everyone on the bridge seemed dazed, while thoughts raced through their heads with lightning-like rapidity.

Could it be chance...? Impossible, for in the same moment that the two shots were fired by the leading ship, the whole fleet opened fire on Admiral Perry's squadron with shells of all calibers. The admiral seized Farlow's arm and shook it to and fro in a blind rage.

"Those," he cried, "those ... why, man, those are the Japanese! That's the enemy and he has surprised us right in the midst of peace! Now God give me a clear head, and let us never forget that we are American men!" He scarcely heard the words of the flag lieutenant who called out to him: "That's the Japanese Satsuma, Togo's Satsuma!"

The admiral reached the telephone-board in one bound and yelled down the artillery connection: "Hostile attack!... Japanese. We've been surprised!"

And it was indeed high time, for scarcely had the admiral reached the conning-tower, stumbling over the dead body of a signalman on the way, when a hail-storm of bullets swept the bridge, killing all who were on it.

As there was no other officer near, Captain Farlow went to the signaling instrument himself to send the admiral's orders to those below deck.

The Connecticut, which had been without a helmsman for a moment because the man at the helm had been killed by a bursting shell that had literally forced his body between the spokes of the wheel, was swaying about like a drunken person owing to the heavy blows of the enemy's shells. Now she recovered her course and the commander issued his orders from the bridge in a calm and decisive voice.

We have seen what a paralyzing effect the opening of fire from the Japanese ships had had on the commander and officers of the Connecticut on the bridge, and the reader can imagine the effect it must have had on the crew—they were dumfounded with terror. The crashing of the heavy steel projectiles above deck, the explosion in the foreward gun-turret, and several shots which had passed through the unarmored starboard side of the forepart of the ship in rapid succession—they were explosive shells which created fearful havoc and filled all the rooms with the poisonous gases of the Shimose-powder—all this, added to the continual ring of the alarm-signals, had completely robbed the crew below deck of their senses and of all deliberation.

At first it was thought to be an accident, and without waiting for orders from above, the fire-extinguishing apparatus was got ready. But the bells continued to ring on all sides, and the crashing blows that shook the ship continually became worse and worse. On top of this came the perfectly incomprehensible news that, unprepared as they were, they were confronted by the enemy, by a Japanese fleet.

All this happened with lightning-like rapidity—so quickly, indeed, that it was more than human nerves could grasp and at the same time remain calm and collected. The reverberations of the bursting shells and the dull rumbling crashes against the armored sides of the casemates and turrets produced an infernal noise which completely drowned the human voice. Frightful horror was depicted on all faces. It took some time to rally from the oppressive, heartrending sensation caused by the knowledge that a peaceful maneuver voyage had suddenly been transformed into the bloody seriousness of war. It is easy enough to turn a machine from right to left in a few seconds with the aid of a lever, but not so a human being.

The men, to be sure, heard the commands and after a few moments' reflection, grasped the terrible truth, but their limbs failed them. It had all come about too quickly, and it was simply impossible to get control of the situation and translate commands into deeds as quickly as the hostile shots demolished things above deck. Many of the crew stood around as though they were rooted to the spot, staring straight in front of them. Some laughed or cried, others did absolutely senseless things, such as turning the valves of the hot-air pipes or carrying useless things from one place to another, until the energetic efforts of the officers brought them to their senses.

Someone called for the keys of the ammunition chambers, and then began a search for the ordnance officer in the passages filled with the poisonous fumes of the Shimose-powder. But it was all in vain, for he lay on the front bridge torn into an unrecognizable mass by the enemy's shells.

At last a young lieutenant with the blood pouring down his cheek in bright red streaks, rushed into the captain's cabin, broke open the closet beside the desk with a bayonet and seized the keys of the ammunition rooms. Now down the stairs and through the narrow openings in the bulkheads, where the thud of the hostile projectiles sounds more and more hollow, and here, at last, is the door of the shell-chamber containing the shells for the 8-inch guns in the forward starboard turret.

Inside the bells rang and rattled, calling in vain for ammunition; but the guns of the Connecticut still remained silent.

The petty officer, hurrying on before his three men, now stood at the telephone.

"Armor-piercing shells, quickly!" came the urgent order from above. And when the electric lever refused to work, the two sailors raised the shell weighing over two hundredweight in their brawny arms and shoved it into the frame of the lift, which began to move automatically.

"Thank God," said the lieutenant in command of the turret, as the first shell appeared at the mouth of the dark tube. Into the breech with it and the two cartridges after it. When the lieutenant had taken his position at the telescope sight in order to determine the direction and distance for firing, orders came down from the commander to fire at the enemy's leading ship, the Satsuma. The distance was only 2800 yards, so near had the enemy come. And at this ridiculously short distance, contrary to all the rules of naval warfare, the Americans opened fire.

"2800 yards, to the right beneath the first gun-turret of the Satsuma," called the lieutenant to the two gunners. They took the elevation and then waited for the ship that was rolling to port to regain the level after being lifted up by the waves. Detached clouds hurried across the field of the telescope, but suddenly the sun appeared like a bright spot above the horizon and dark brown smoke became visible. The foremast of the Satsuma with its multicolored signal-flags appeared in the field of vision.... A final quick correction for elevation ... a slight pressure of the electric trigger. Fire! The gray silhouette of the Satsuma, across which quivered the flash from the gun, rose quickly in the round field; then came foaming, plunging waves, and columns of water that rose up as the shells struck the water.