WAR TALK
They had only just finished the cooling refreshments so daintily served
them, when the American party, led by one of Japan’s most illustrious
admirals, entered the tent. Lieutenant Takishima was on his feet in
an instant, his heels firmly together, and his hand raised to his cap
vizor. Phil followed the little Japanese’s example, and grasped the
naval hero’s hand warmly as the latter stepped over to greet him.
“Admiral Kamikura is my chief; he is our Minister of Marine,” Takishima
whispered as the high ranking naval officer returned to Captain
Rodgers’ side. “It was he who commanded the cruiser squadron during our
late war.”
Phil nodded: his eyes were devouring admiringly and with a great deal
of reverence the short well-built naval officer. He marveled at the
youthful appearance of this admiral; Captain Rodgers looked years
older. He turned questioning eyes upon his foreign classmate.
“He is very young for an admiral?” There was mystification in his voice.
Takishima shrugged his shoulders.
“About forty-five,” he answered. “He has been an admiral two years.”
Phil sighed thoughtfully. He was thinking of the difference between
the two navies. Captain Rodgers, he knew, had passed his fifty-fifth
birthday, and was no nearer than three years to his rear admiral’s
commission.
The Kingsleys had left Mr. Impey with his new-found friends, and had
joined Miss Tillotson and the newcomers. As if by mutual consent
Takishima and his party had withdrawn to a small table farthest from
the refreshment booth where Sydney had enthusiastically pounced upon
the Japanese lieutenant, and the two were demonstrative over this
unlooked-for meeting.
“Less than two years ago, Taki, you were only a midshipman, and now you
have two gold stripes on your sleeve!” Sydney exclaimed in wonder.
“That’s promotion for you!”
“It is a high compliment to your academy at Annapolis,” Takishima
replied, smiling blandly. “You and Perry would now be lieutenants if
you were in our navy.”
“Oh, that would be impossible,” Phil laughed gayly. “Imagine our giving
orders to your sailors.”
“Do you remember how you tacked ship in the ‘Severn’ on the practice
cruise?” Sydney asked reminiscently, his happy face all smiles at the
recollection. “You were so rattled you had forgotten your English, but
you sang out your orders in Japanese at the right time and she went
about beautifully. You knew the time, but didn’t remember the words,
eh, Taki?”
Takishima was not the slightest bit hurt at this playful jibe. His
answer showed that only too plainly.
“Do you remember Lieutenant-Commander Hesler?” he exclaimed happily.
“Well, I tried to imitate the sound of his orders and I don’t know what
I said. I think most of it was Japanese, but I was not so frightened
that I forgot when the orders should be given.”
“Did you see anything of the war?” Phil asked the question suddenly.
“I was in the big battle with Admiral Kamikura; on his staff,”
Takishima answered proudly.
The two midshipmen gazed with envious eyes at their classmate. They
now regarded him in a different light. He was no longer the unassuming
little midshipman they had known at the naval academy; inoffensive,
good natured, ever willing to play a practical joke and never hurt
when one was played upon him. This diminutive youngster, probably a
year younger than they, had taken part in, seen with his own eyes, the
greatest modern naval engagement of the century. He had seen great
battle-ships in action, had experienced the horror of high explosive
shells bursting near him. He had seen many men killed and battle-ships
sink beneath the seas, carrying their doomed crews with them.
“There was one point on which you were touchy, Taki, and I could never
understand why,” Sydney said, and immediately looked as if he would
have liked to withdraw the question, for he saw a cloud of annoyance
pass over Takishima’s face.
“At being called a ‘Jap’?” Takishima asked. His face was quite sober as
he made his inquiry, and received Sydney’s nod.
“Would you like me to call you a Yankee?” The question was asked almost
fiercely. “Well, that’s why I didn’t like being called a Jap. I don’t
know why, and neither do you, but you see we both object to the words
being used to us by people of another race.”
“I’ll try to remember, Taki,” Sydney agreed in conciliation, “but we
Americans are so prone to abbreviate everything. We don’t mean to
belittle you when we speak of your people as ‘Japs.’”
Mr. Impey, although silent, had not missed a word. He was carefully
studying the characters of this little scene. How might he use them
in the plans that he had been carefully formulating in his scheming
brain? Trained to diplomacy, he quickly perceived the relationship
existing between these naval men. Their training had been along
parallel lines, but one had gone back to his own people and had been
entrusted with duties high above the grasp of his classmates in naval
school days. The Americans impressed Impey as irresponsible boys, while
the young Japanese seemed deeper, more thoughtful and calculating.
Impey could see that each in time of peril would not shirk danger; but
the Americans would be rash, while the Japanese lieutenant would be
cautious and calculating.
“And you,” Takishima asked quickly, to change the subject; “you have
seen service?”
The lads nodded their heads, while Phil answered in an apologetic voice.
“In the Philippines, in China and South America, but nothing like your
experiences. You must tell us about it some time.”
“There isn’t much to tell,” Takishima replied truthfully. “I was very
much frightened at first, but afterward I became so excited I forgot my
fear.
“Yet I don’t remember a thing that happened,” he went on. “I tried to
afterward when the admiral directed me to write a report. All I could
say was we opened fire at the enemy and they fired back at us.”
Sydney and Phil both laughed at Takishima’s droll way of putting things.
Suddenly Takishima rose to go.
“Don’t let me disturb you,” he begged politely. “My admiral, on whose
staff I am, has already gone, so I must follow.” He shook hands
affectionately with his classmates. “I am sure you and Mr. Impey
will have plenty to talk about,” he added. “Mr. Impey is very much
interested in war-ships.”
Phil believed he detected that Impey started imperceptibly at
Takishima’s words; but nothing he had said seemed to Phil to be of
significance. He welcomed an opportunity to talk with this man and
perhaps surprise him into that which would betray him. They watched
Takishima walk briskly away, his small dirk, the Samurai emblem of
honor, jingling at his side.
“Nice chap that,” Impey said quietly. “He’s the Minister of Marine’s
right hand aide.”
They had all risen to bid Takishima good-bye, and now found themselves
once more on the gravel walk of the path.
“Come,” Impey exclaimed as he led the way. “It’s not often we
barbarians get a glimpse within the royal enclosure, so we must make
the most of it while we can.”
Robert Impey knew when to be silent. While the midshipmen were
conversing with their classmate he had listened discreetly; but now he
displayed the conversational art which had lifted him from an humble
accountant in a Chinese bank to a position of wealth and influence.
What his position was Phil and Sydney as yet had no knowledge.
He described to them the objects of artistic interest about them, and
after a quarter of an hour’s intimate talk even Phil had almost changed
his mind and felt that such a delightful personage could hardly be a
two-faced rogue.
They had exhausted the beauties of nature but were still strolling
through the gardens when a group of Japanese army and naval officers
came suddenly around a turn in the path. The midshipmen’s eyes noted
their erect carriages, their breasts covered with medals, commemorating
deeds of valor accomplished in two wars. The Americans saluted, and
their brothers in service stepped aside politely, bowing low in their
own fashion. Impey doffed his silk hat, and greeted one of their number
by name, advancing to take his outstretched hand. In a second the group
had passed onward.
“That was Captain Inaba, one of the brightest men in the Japanese
navy,” he added as he joined the midshipmen, who had strolled ahead
slowly during the short interruption. “He is the man your navy will
have to be careful of in case of war. I dare say he has fought it all
out and could tell you just where the battles will be and who will win.”
“You talk as if war were an accomplished fact,” Phil blurted out; the
idea of the identity of Impey with the “man in the next compartment”
was again strong in his mind. “I see no reason why my country and Japan
should go to war. Certainly we don’t want a war with anybody, least of
all Japan, whom we have helped to become one of the great world powers.”
An expression of cunning came into Impey’s face, which was unseen by
the two lads, while he began to explain earnestly.
“Japan is an enigma to you Western men. Her diplomats have not a
selfish drop of blood in their bodies. Every thought is for the empire.
At this very moment the history of Japan for the next twenty years has
been tentatively written by men like Captain Inaba, whom we have just
passed. Every step has probably been considered and solved by their
tacticians. Is war with America then such an impossibility?”
“War with my country would be more of an impossibility than it is,”
Phil exclaimed angrily, “if those who are intriguing behind her back
would only come out in the open to do their talking.” He glared fixedly
at Impey.
“Your own countrymen at home are doing most of the harm,” Impey replied
with an expressive shrug. “Your labor party is alienating what good
feeling Japan has had for America.”
“That has been adjusted,” Sydney said, up to now content only to
listen, “and the immigration question has been made a national one.”
“Yes, but the friction stirred up by the labor unions on the Pacific
coast between your countrymen and Japanese immigrants has been echoed
in every part of Japan.”
“And there are those here in Japan of neither nationality who take
great pleasure in fanning the blaze of misunderstanding,” Phil
exclaimed pointedly; but Impey appeared perfectly serene under this
direct insinuation.
“I know that our newspapers have often harped on a probable war with
Japan,” Phil continued more quietly, “but it’s ridiculous.” To the
youngster it seemed almost ungentlemanly to talk so belligerently while
they were the guests of the Japanese nation. “The United States have a
very much larger fleet than Japan can maintain, and besides, she knows
that if a war should occur Japan must provoke it.”
“Your country has been at peace for over fifty years,” Impey replied,
“for the war with Spain was too insignificant to count, and a wise man
once said that ‘a war every fifty years was an excellent tonic for a
nation, if it wished to avoid becoming commercial and effeminate.’”
“Our nation will not provoke war,” Phil insisted. “There’d be no
object in it. Japan is too far away for us to quarrel with.”
“Then you believe that nothing would induce the United States to go
to war with Japan?” Impey asked. “Even if Japan should suddenly buy
China’s new navy, for instance.”
Both midshipmen gasped in surprise.
“Where is it?” they both asked excitedly.
“On its way from Europe to China,” Impey returned, smiling blandly,
“with Chinese crews and in command of Admiral Ting. You see you are not
too well up on what is going on in the world,” he added pointedly.
“Can you tell me the reason of the presence of your fleet in Manila
Bay?” he asked.
“Of course,” Phil replied quickly. “It came out on a practice cruise
and will return within a month.”
Impey shrugged his shoulders, a knowing smile on his face that angered
Phil greatly. “If Japan means to buy these ships--then look out; for if
she does--it means war.”
Further talk on this dangerous topic was cut short by the discovery
that the American party had driven away. The midshipmen were much
chagrined to find that no carriage had been left behind for them. The
Kingsleys had left a note for Mr. Impey saying that they had gone on
with the ambassador and the American officers to the embassy.
“Come with me in the machine. I can set you down anywhere you say,”
Impey suggested as he cranked up his waiting machine. “From this note I
fear I am not included in your ambassador’s invitation,” he added.
Phil hesitated; he was still angry at himself for allowing Impey to
discuss with him the relations between America and Japan. He felt that
it were better to have nothing to do with this man, who was apparently
leading a dual life in Tokyo--one minute advising a Japanese nobleman
that America was insincere, and the next, assuring the Americans that
Japan was unfriendly.
Sydney appeared to have no feeling in the matter, for he was already in
the rear seat. Phil followed, the consoling thought in his mind that
Impey might bear careful watching too and that this was the best way to
do it.
Impey threw in the clutch, and the machine glided along the macadam
roadway.
“To the American Embassy, I suppose?” he questioned over his shoulder
as they turned into a narrower street. The speed did not slacken, but
the horn was being sounded in warning to the startled holiday crowds
that filled the street ahead of them.
Phil managed to answer in the affirmative, but his voice was lost in
the wail of the syren.
The crowd ahead had quickly cleared the road, while Impey, seeing the
way clear, was soon tearing at full speed down the street. The official
buildings of the empire flashed past on either hand.
Opposite the navy building a great crowd had collected to do honor to
one of Japan’s naval heroes.
“Hadn’t you better slow up?” Sydney asked apprehensively, as he
realized the density of the crowd, but the driver of the machine gave
no heed to the anxious voice behind him. The masterful way in which
he guided the great car in and out among carriages, rikishas and
pedestrians won the admiration of the midshipmen in spite of their
dread of an accident.
“He certainly can handle her,” Phil exclaimed, “but it raises my hair
to see the close shaves he makes.”
Just ahead a figure in uniform was running at the side of the roadway.
It was plain that he was an official messenger, and carrying government
despatches.
Phil gave a warning shout. It seemed to the lad that the machine was
bearing down directly upon him--too dangerously close for comfort.
“Why doesn’t he sheer off?” Phil gasped. “That man must be deaf.”
Everything happened so quickly that no appreciable time had elapsed
between the sighting of the messenger ahead and the sudden stop made by
the car just as the man tried to cross in front of it.
Tingling with nervousness, the midshipmen had cried out repeatedly at
Impey’s recklessness, but he turned a deaf ear. The pedestrians could
all be depended upon to jump away at the first sound of the horn.
Impey doubtless thought the messenger ahead would do the same; but
unfortunately for his calculations the man was stone deaf, a pensioned
sailor, whose hearing had been ruined in an explosion on shipboard. As
the car approached, he was first conscious of its presence, but not its
direction, from the information received in the faces of people about
him. He suddenly stopped in his tracks bewildered. Even now all would
have been well had he not done just the one thing that could lead to
disaster.
“Stop her!” both lads cried in horror, but even then they realized it
was too late.
With faces blanched with terror the three men sat rooted to their
seats. They had seen the poor man fall directly in front of the
speeding machine in a wild attempt to save himself from an unknown
danger.
A cry had risen from the hundreds of bystanders. It held an ill-omened
note of menace. The faces were no longer smiling, but wore a look of
horror and righteous anger. The machine was completely surrounded. Phil
would have leaped from the car to help the injured man, but he was met
with open opposition and was forced back into his seat.
Aghast, the midshipmen saw Impey in the grasp of nearly a dozen
threatening Japanese. His hands still clutched the steering wheel, and
in a second his perfectly-fitting frock-coat was torn from his body.
His face was white with fear, and his eyes, turned toward them, had a
dumb animal appeal. To be hauled from his seat meant instant death at
the hands of the outraged mob.
The car was given a sudden lurch by the efforts of several score of
men who had lifted the forward end from the ground. With a shudder of
horror they saw the form of the injured one carried away from under the
cruel wheels.
Impey yet clutched his steering wheel and fought off the mob with
a strength born of desperation. The two lads were upon their feet,
expecting any moment to find themselves attacked by the Japanese, for
a mob has no reasoning power, and with it the uniform of an American
naval officer would have no significance.
However, there was no time to speculate upon their own dangerous
position. Impey’s peril was imminently before their startled eyes.
He must be saved, even if in the attempt they drew down the wrath of
the mob upon their own heads. They could not see him dragged to death
without making an effort in his defense.
“Help me,” Impey cried piteously.
The appeal was not unanswered. The two midshipmen cleared the front
seat in a bound, and laid firm hands upon the trembling body of the
terrified man.
“Hold him tight, Phil,” Sydney exclaimed as he threw himself upon those
who were attempting to drag Impey from his seat. Sydney’s face was
determined, only no anger was displayed, and he relied alone upon his
strength to break the holds of the mob. The surprised Japanese gave
way. They saw the lad’s uniform and the authoritative manner of his
movements, not as an enemy but rather as a peacemaker. They withdrew
before him, and waited as if making up their minds what to do.
A European, past middle age, suddenly pushed his way to Sydney’s side,
just as he had stooped to pick up a long white envelope which had
caught his eye as it lay on the ground nearly under the fore wheels of
the car.
“That’s mine,” the newcomer exclaimed eagerly, snatching it from
Sydney’s hand and thrusting it into his pocket.
“Can I help you, Mr. Impey?” he asked deferentially. Impey drew him
into the car beside him, and then almost collapsed in his arms. Sydney
still held the crowd at bay, when he was startled to see it of a sudden
surge toward him. A fear came into his heart as he thought of how it
would appear for him in uniform to be fighting a Japanese mob. Phil
from his position of vantage had understood the movement, and jumped
to the ground by his friend’s side just as the crowd parted and two
American sailors shot through, bringing up almost in the arms of the
midshipmen.