army and navy. The avenues and gardens and shores of the rich men’s
pleasure-place were thronged with bluejackets and marines. The famous
power-boats, rich with mahogany and cedar, were brought out of their
opulent housings and launched. Glittering steam yachts were being eased
down the ways, to take the water and go into commission under the
foreign flag.
After the last of the ships had entered, an American sea captain, who
had been crouching in a hiding place on Sakonnet Point at the eastern
entrance to the harbor, clapped his telescope together, arose
cautiously, and straightened out his stiffened old limbs. Taking great
care to select by-paths, he went inland to the village of Little
Compton, where he found an automobile stage that took him to the
railroad station at Tiverton.
Thence he telephoned to Fall River, and Fall River sent it on to Boston,
and Boston sent it on to Worcester, whence it went to the army, that an
old seaman had not only counted and identified the transports, but was
able to say approximately which ships had troops aboard and which
vessels probably carried only supplies.
There were liners of more than 40,000 gross tons. There were three ships
of more than 25,000 tonnage. Each of them was a famous liner whose
character was known to its last details. It was a matter of only a few
minutes to figure out that the net tonnage of the troop-laden vessels
was 200,400. Under the foreign military allowance of one soldier for
each two net tons of ship capacity, it was indicated with fair accuracy
that the force that had entered the harbor was at least 100,000 men.[69]
“With the ample landing facilities,” said the American Commanding
General to his staff, “the men can, no doubt, be disembarked within
twenty hours. Count in the work of landing supplies, artillery,
ammunition and horses, and organizing the army for effective
movement--we cannot safely figure on more than fifty hours before the
enemy will be ready to undertake important operations. He will, no
doubt, have occupied Providence and Fall River at once.”[70]
_An Incident of the Occupation of Fall River_
A gunboat was lying at that moment in the mouth of Taunton River, with
4-inch guns covering tall, smoky Fall River. Its officers were watching
the signalmen who had been left behind by a detachment of marines that
had been sent in to occupy the river streets.
Crouching behind a third-story window of a square, multi-windowed
monster of a cotton mill, three men, roughly clad, watched the
bluejackets approach. “I tell you,” said one, “it is no use, no use.
Have you not read the order? It is that we must not do anything.”
“We have been made citizens,” answered the other, savagely. “And shall
we not fight for this country? Go, then, you, if you fear. Peter and I
will kill these men. Is it not so, Peter?”
The man addressed nodded, silently. He had a bomb in his hand. The
first speaker, shrugging his shoulder, hurried out.
“Now!” said Peter. His comrade raised the window, and Peter’s arm went
out swiftly. He tossed the bomb.
It fell in front of the blue-jackets and burst. The detachment reeled.
But the smoke had not quite dissipated before the sailors were in order
again, running back, dragging their machine-gun and carrying two men,
one dead, one wounded.
At the corner they stopped and aimed the gun at the mill. There was a
tearing scream, like the sudden yelp of a circular saw when it bites a
plank. A stream of steel-jacketed bullets blew against the building. The
windows vanished with a clash of splintering glass. Three men, their
heads bent low and their arms covering their faces as if to breast a
tempest of hail and wind, ran out of the door. They had not gone ten
yards when they were jerked, and tossed high, and flung forward, and
dropped into a heap that might have been nothing except a huddle of old
clothes.
The man at the machine-gun grunted. Squatting comfortably behind his
little demon, he turned it on the factory again like a man manipulating
a hose. Exactly as if he were sprinkling, he fanned the rows of windows,
systematically.
Behind them the gunboat awoke. Its men had learned by signal what had
occurred. Their guns opened fire on the street. Four steel projectiles
struck the brick buildings, broke through them and tore up floors and
walls and girders. As the shells exploded inside, the walls bent
outward, seemed to recover, and then suddenly leaned out again and
toppled, with smoke and dust mounting into a column on a cyclone of
their own making.
Through the smoke and thick dust sped another flock of shells. A
building at the head of a street moved. It seemed to jump, curiously
like a frightened man staggering backward. Then there was no building.
There was nothing but a pile of stone and twisted iron--with half a
dozen men under it.
_Providence’s Handful of Desperate Men_
The gunboat lowered boats and sent more men ashore. They rushed machine
guns into the town. “Our men have been attacked,” said their Commander,
appearing at the City Hall. “The town is subject to punishment under the
rules of war. Write a proclamation to your people at once. Inform them
that a single other hostile act will cause your immediate execution and
the complete destruction of your city.”
“Fall River Destroyed!” was the news that went through the country. It
was spread by men who had seen the houses fall, and had run away in
terror with the roar of tumbling walls and exploding shells in their
ears, and who truly believed that they had seen the entire city in flame
and ruin.
“Quick! Quick!” shouted a newspaperman in Providence when the news came
in. “Get this on the street with the biggest head you can and rush
copies to the madmen at the barricade. It’ll probably be the last thing
we print; but it may save Providence.”
Behind the barricade, made of stones and wagons and all the useless,
pitiable defenses that desperate men in desperate cities have always
used, there were a hundred or more men who had lost their heads and
would listen to nothing but the voice of their own fury. They were
armed with old rifles taken from a plundered marine store’s
establishment whose dusty cellar was piled with condemned arms. From the
same place they had taken four automatic guns on rusty tripods.
Lashing themselves to greater and blinder rage at every attempt at
opposition or argument, they had sworn to turn the weapons on their own
police. But the black headlines on the extras that were tossed to them
acted like the shock of ice-cold water on a drunken man.
One by one they slouched away. When the enemy arrived, there was nobody
to oppose the files of bluejackets and marines that marched past the
silent, gloomy crowds to occupy the city for the troops.
_Green Scouts for the American Army_
“Reports here that Providence is occupied,” Washington telegraphed to
the army. “Send details.”
The General laughed sarcastically, and tossed the dispatch to his aide.
“Blazes!” growled the latter. “Since they established their aviation
camp back of their lines at Narragansett Pier yesterday, every
reconnoisance we’ve attempted has been just like stirring up a nest of
yellow-jackets. I’m afraid that we’ve lost another machine, sir. It
should have been back here hours ago. If it’s gone, we have only six
left; and our crack aviation squadron from San Diego has been whittled
down to 14 officers and 90 enlisted men. They simply pile on top of
every machine of ours with half a dozen or more of their own.”
“The mounted patrols that we pushed out toward the south last night got
good results,” said the General.
“Yes, sir. But,” the aide selected a sheet of paper from the pile, “it’s
like trying to build up a monster from a single bone. Look at this, sir.
Here’s a green patrol--plucky, too, for they got in farther than most.
But see what they give us. They report a regiment of infantry at Exeter,
west of Wickford; and they say that there is positively no artillery
with it.”
“Of course!” answered the General. “They didn’t know where to look for
artillery, or how it is concealed.”[71]
“Nice man-trap that sort of scouting is!” grunted the aide.
“Well, well!” The old General laughed again. “It’s late in the day to
kick. We’ve known long ago what sort of soup was being cooked for our
eating. The only thing to do now is not to let them ladle it into us too
hot.”
An officer with the insignia of the aviation corps appeared before the
tent-flap and saluted. A trickle of blood was creeping down his forehead
and across one cheek. “Hullo!” said the aide. “Then we haven’t lost that
machine after all! Did you get anything?”
_The Report of the Air Scout_
“Cavalry and artillery have seized all the railroad and electric lines
to Providence,” reported the flier. “Apparently they are not moving into
the town, but holding tight so that the troops that are landing there
can complete their line. Couldn’t get details--three bi-planes got after
me within twenty minutes.”
“What delayed you?”
“They drove me south to the coast. Going over Kingston, I got touched up
with shrapnel. Then two other fliers came down on me, coming from the
direction of our own lines. I had to hustle across the Sound and fly
around Montauk Point and inland before I could shake them off.”
“What did you see on Montauk?” asked the General, quickly.
“A small force is holding it, apparently for a supply and repair base,”
said the scout. “I saw a row of forges in one place.”
“That’s better news, anyway,” said the General. “I’ve been anxious since
we heard that a force had been landed there. Feared it might be a second
army moving toward New York. Well, we’d better tell Washington what
we’ve gathered.”
“Hostile line,” Washington learned, “is strongly extended through Rhode
Island along entire railroad system from Westerly northeast almost to
Providence. Enemy’s left flank at Westerly has been strengthened by
successful assault on Fort Mansfield near Watch Hill whose two-company
garrison was overcome before it could destroy the 5-inch guns.[72]
“The enemy holds in strength Westerly, Niantic, Wood River, Wickford
Junction and Landing, River Point and East Greenwich, thus maintaining
line that touches Narragansett Bay at one end and the ocean east of Long
Island at the other. Extraordinarily powerful artillery supports
reported along entire front.”
“No important news from the front,” said Washington, transmitting this
information to the newspapers. “Providence appears to have been
occupied, as all communication with that place has ceased. It is
reported that two blocks of buildings in Fall River have been destroyed,
but the rest of the city is intact.”
Washington had become the only source of news, for the time, after the
foe had effected a base in Narragansett Bay. The coasts of New Jersey
and Long Island suddenly had become as quiet again as if there were no
enemy within three thousand miles. No demonstration was made against the
ocean defenses of New York City. No ships threatened the defenses of
Long Island Sound.
_The Plight of New Bedford_
Simultaneously with the severance of communication with Providence,
Boston had been cut off from direct communication with southern New
England, and could telegraph or telephone only by way of Worcester.
Late that night the city transmitted a dispatch that had come to it from
Fort Rodman, near New Bedford in Buzzards Bay. A strong force, numbers
unknown, had begun moving along the railroad out of Fall River, with
evident design against the town or the fort. Trains were being
assembled. “Send reinforcements,” said Fort Rodman. “No militia in the
city. We have in our defenses only 63 men, Fourth Company, New Bedford
Militia Coast Artillery, besides our own two companies of regulars and
the two companies that were sent here from Charleston and Mobile.”[73]
The morning newspapers announced that New Bedford was in uproar and had
demanded of Washington to know if the Government intended to abandon its
sea-board cities utterly. The people had gone out to tear up the
railroad tracks leading into the town, but one train of fifteen cars
had already advanced half way from Fall River, with another of twelve
cars behind it.
Shortly afterward a dispatch from a station along the line informed
Boston that three other trains had just passed, close behind each other,
going slowly. One train had twelve, one had eight and the other had ten
cars.
“Fifty-seven cars,” said the War Department, “would indicate that two
regiments with artillery were on the way.”
Two hours later Washington gave out this bulletin:
“New Bedford was occupied at nine A.M. by a regiment of infantry and
three batteries of heavy field artillery. Shortly before 10 A.M. this
force, augmented by a further regiment of infantry, a strong body of
sappers and miners, and a battery of howitzers, proceeded in the
direction of Fort Rodman. Since then it has been impossible to gain any
intelligence.”
_The Demand of the Cities for Protection_
At noon an enemy force of unknown strength advanced toward Taunton,
Massachusetts, by way of the railroad running north from Fall
[Illustration: “The people had gone out to tear up the railroad tracks
leading into the town.”]
River. It was reported that two companies of infantry, Massachusetts
Volunteer Militia, had attacked enemy cavalry outside of the town and
had defeated it. A little later came a report that the Americans had
been surrounded and forced to surrender.
Then Taunton was cut off. Boston telegraphed to Washington: “We have
practically stripped ourselves of militia and demand help at once.”
“Hold the army where it is!” said New York, promptly. “To move it toward
Boston would simply uncover us, and open all Connecticut to capture.”
“Protect Boston!” demanded Lawrence and Lowell and Haverhill.
“Hold the army in Connecticut!” telegraphed New London and New Haven,
Bridgeport and Hartford.
“Most of our militia is with the army!” urged Philadelphia. “We insist
that our men be kept between us and the foe.”
“What is the disposition of the enemy forces now?” Washington asked army
headquarters.
“Disembarkation proceeding swiftly,” was the reply. “The line Providence
to New Bedford appears to be strongly held. Main strength, however,
evidently being thrown to face our front. The original army is being
steadily augmented by additions from the forces now landing. Believe
that hostile line stretching across Rhode Island and threatening us is
now fully eighty thousand men, with preponderating artillery.”
The news bulletin that the War Department in Washington gave out as a
result of this information was that the American army, though
numerically inferior, was holding the invader in check for the time. No
immediate movement, said the bulletin, was expected.
To the General in command, however, the Department telegraphed: “It is
of the utmost importance to know if you can maintain present position,
and if so, how long. We wish to work Springfield arsenal to the last
moment. Must have twenty-four hours to dismantle it and ship machinery
away.”
_Two Days in Which to Make Ammunition for the American Army!_
Springfield Arsenal, lying behind the protecting army, was a-glare with
light at night and a-roar night and day with labor. It was toiling
almost literally over a mine; for the foundations were mined, ready for
the dynamite that was to blow them up when the need came.
An army of workmen, each provided with his own specific instruction,
were ready, when the word came, to tear out what machinery they could
and load it on the trains.[74]
Thus, with men standing ready to pull it apart, the great place was
being “speeded” to turn out rifles. Under civilian and military experts
all the workers who could find room were working in eight-hour shifts.
They had increased the output from the normal one hundred rifles an hour
to three thousand in the twenty-four hours.
“Forces in our front constantly increasing,” the army leaders informed
Washington, after a council of war. “No doubt of offensive intention. We
believe, however, that no forward movement will be made until completion
of landing operations. The total destruction of all roads in our front
will then delay enemy for not more than two days. Think it safe to delay
dismantling works till expiration of that time.”
“Thank God!” said one of the men in Washington. He was thanking God for
two days of grace--after fifty years of unused time. Two short days had
become suddenly precious. In that time there could be added to the stock
of arms 6,000 rifles before the Springfield works should have to be
abandoned and the country forced to depend on the output of the Rock
Island arsenal in Illinois, whose utmost capacity was only two hundred
and fifty rifles in each eight-hour day.[75]
_Militia That Had Come in Without Rifles_
Already, without a battle, the army had made requisition for 2,500 new
rifles. The militia had come in with many rifles corroded from the
powerful fumes and acid deposits released by smokeless powder. The
rifling of many was ruined by rust, due to lack of cleaning after use.
In more than one militia company there were men who had come in without
rifles.[76]
Beholding this wastage that had occurred in peace, the authorities were
inclined to believe the dictum of some of the military men who insisted
that for every infantryman in the field there must be a rifle in
reserve. Certainly it was evident enough that when fighting should once
begin, the waste of small arms would be enormous.[77]
Two days more! The word went secretly to Hartford and Ansonia, to
Bridgeport, to New Haven, to all the crowded world of Connecticut and
southern Massachusetts where machines were panting night and day,
buildings trembling with their steam fever, men toiling without sleep,
to take advantage of the days of grace.
It was not only the brass cases for the fixed ammunition, the fuses for
shells, the cartridges for rifles and pistols, the bayonets and
entrenching tools for which the army depended on New England. A hundred
places of peaceful manufacture were working as desperately as were the
manufacturers of quick-firing guns, to provide the food that war devours
with such monstrous rapacity when it begins to feed.
There were shops that turned out chains, and shops that turned out
cooking utensils. There were workmen who never had done anything more
warlike than to make bootlaces. There were manufacturers of whips and
hats, and wheelwrights and makers of thread. Up and down all the river
valleys, and in all the crowded towns they were working to give the army
what it needed before the enemy should reach out and make the land his
own.
Now that it was on the verge of being lost, the United States knew
suddenly what this New England meant to it. It realized all at once what
vast productiveness had enriched the entire Continent with its manifold
variety. So accustomed through long generations to the endless supply,
even the merchants of America had not realized how much they depended
on Connecticut and Massachusetts factories for a thousand articles of
daily utility.
From every point in the Union came orders. Had such a torrent arrived in
a time of peace, Connecticut might have built one unbroken factory
reaching from the Berkshire Hills to Stonington, to meet the demand.
“_We Will Play Our Hand Out!_”
And all that lay between this treasure-house of the United States and
capture was a bluff--a last, desperate American bluff.
The American General knew that his adversary must know that it was a
bluff; but bluffing was an American game.
“We will play our hand out,” he said to his staff. “No doubt he knows
that he could drive us back now, without waiting for his whole army to
land, and all that ungodly mess of artillery that he’s brought with him.
But he wants to play safe. He wants to clean the whole thing up in one
operation. He wants to lick us, true; but he wants still more to
accomplish his bigger job--the possession of the seaboard. We’ll sit
tight--and bluff him into going slow.”
The army sat tight. It sat tight while New England worked, and Chambers
of Commerce and Committees of Safety argued and resolved and argued and
could agree on nothing except that the whole thing was a hopeless mess.
It sat tight while a hundred millions stared at the mess, and hooted
their Congressmen and politicians who wandered around feebly to explain
that it was the fault of somebody else.
In Ohio and Indiana the mess was typified. Here in great camps were
gathered the organized militia of the western States to be organized,
with 300,000 entirely raw volunteers who had everything to learn. These
green men were the pick of the country--physically perfect, intelligent,
quick to understand. But there was nobody to teach them.
For years the United States had been warned that if the crisis ever
should occur, there would not be any officers available for the work of
organizing and training recruits. The warning had been whistled down the
wind. Congresses that could find ample time to debate about mileage and
constructive recesses and pork barrels had never found a time when they
could debate this.
[Illustration: “Entirely raw volunteers, who had everything to
learn.”]
Congresses that could always find the money for increased pension rolls
never had been able to find the time to lessen the pension rolls of the
future by providing trained officers who would protect their soldiers
and teach them to stay alive as long as possible instead of rushing to
glorious and unnecessary death.[78]
Even as it was, there were not enough officers for the army that was in
the field. For training the new men, the Nation had to call on every
aged officer in the land, on every otherwise qualified man who was
physically unfit for active service, and on foreigners from foreign
armies.
_A Land Lacking in War Efficiency_
This army in formation was placed in perfect surroundings. Its health,
its sanitation and its water-supply were excellent. It was fed on the
best that money could buy. In everything that did not depend on military
efficiency, its maintenance was beyond criticism.
Uniforms were being made for it in record time. Mills were producing
blankets at a speed never before reached. Wherever Americans could help
by the efficient execution of duties that they understood, the result
was magnificent.
But in everything that demanded the efficiency of men trained to war,
the land was entirely lacking. Everything had to be improvised. There
were only a few men who knew anything about pitching tents, camp
drainage, and the management of large bodies of men. There were
practically no men outside of the army who were capable of managing the
work of supplying the great camps with what they needed. As in the
Spanish-American War, the utter inadequacy of the Quartermaster’s
Department under its civilian appointees had become a scandal within a
few weeks, and threatened already to demoralize the entire volunteer
body.
Perishable provisions were left in freight cars till they rotted.
Requisitions for vitally needed supplies were not made until it was too
late. Requisitions for one and the same thing were sent out by half a
dozen different officials, leading to inextricable confusion. There was
not an hour in the day when quartermaster’s transports did not block
roads where they had no business to be, and in situations that in war
would have made disaster for a hurrying army.[79]
“Six months to train that mob!” said a retired General, reporting to the
President. “Well, Mr. President, let’s hope so. I should say nine
months, and not even then unless you can give ’em more officers to teach
’em.”
_The News the Spy Brought_
In Connecticut a spy was reporting to the staff. He was a Captain of
Artillery, and he had spent seventy-two hours behind the enemy’s lines.