THE country was ringing with the hateful news of the Kamrahn Bay
incident. When a French name was mentioned, Japanese faces looked dark
and bitter. Foreigners in Japan talked more about the matter than did
the Japanese themselves, however, for they were silent and thought much.
Nevertheless, this incident and others pierced deeply. Women, smiling
strangely, told their little sons the story, and they repeated after
their mothers the words: “We Japanese never forget!” In the higher
classes of the schools the teachers quietly instructed their pupils of
the unfriendly act of a “friendly” nation. The story-tellers in their
halls enlarged upon the theme, and told the story over and over again,
with greater exaggeration each time. By-and-by the news reached the ears
of the Kurukawa family. Billy and Taro held a council of war.
“How to be revenged?” that was the question.
They marched up and down the little garden-path discussing the subject
from every stand-point. By some unfortunate coincidence the little
French boy from the neighboring street happened to pass the Kurukawa
house at the fateful moment when this fierce debate was in progress. In
one of those flashes that often come, even to children, Billy and Taro
simultaneously recognized in him the object for just vengeance. With a
bound Taro sprang through the garden-gate and seized the helpless and
unsuspecting French boy, whom he dragged down the path. Then Taro sat
upon him. Billy was jumping about wildly, throwing out his fists, and
pretending to spit upon them. Taro, however, was quite calm.
“We kinnod,” said he, proudly, “_both_ beat thad French boy. That’s nod
fair.”
Billy’s jaw dropped. Then his face brightened.
“Say, Japan doesn’t want to fight France _yet_. You leave him to _me_.
They interfered in what wasn’t their affair, and now America’s going to
do the same.”
Taro shook his head.
“You be England,” said he, wisely; “she our honorable ally.”
“I am English, then,” shrieked Billy; “all our people come from England
originally. Mamma said so. Let him up.”
Taro reluctantly arose, permitting the crushed young Frenchman to do
likewise. He was a little fellow, though past his fourteenth year. His
eyes were very black and furtive, and he had a tiny little mouth that
would not keep closed. Actually his face was smiling. He spoke Japanese
with only slight hesitancy. His polite suggestion was that they should
go to his father to borrow swords with which to fight a decent duel. The
boys received this suggestion with shouts of derision. Then the little
Frenchman declared he would not fight at all, and crossing his arms over
his chest, told them they could murder him if they wished.
Billy surveyed him contemptuously.
“Say, what’s your name, anyhow?” he queried, after a moment.
“Alphonse Napoleon Tascherean.”
“Well, what do you think of that Kamrahn Bay matter?” continued Billy,
curious to know the boy’s views; but Alphonse only shrugged expressive
shoulders and smiled a little, subtle, sneering smile.
“D’ye remember how Taro licked you last fall?”
The French boy turned darkly red. His hands were in his pocket, and one
of them suddenly flashed out. He had a knife.
“I no longer am afraid of heem,” he said, contemptuously. “I will cut
him up—so! if he touch me once again!”
“You will?” cried Billy. “You think _we’re_ afraid of your old knife?
Get it, Taro.”
Taro did get it, though he had a scratch on his hand to show how
dangerous the undertaking was. Then the French boy’s assured manner
vanished as if by magic. Quite piteously he began to cry. At the top of
his voice he shouted aloud for “Pa-pa! Pa-pa!”
“We’re not going to hurt you after all,” said Billy, after a moment.
“We’ll make you do something you’ll remember. Taro, help me tie his
hands first.”
They secured him firmly.
“Now,” ordered Billy, “you run to the house and get that old French flag
you and I have been using as a mark for firing at for some time, and get
a Jap flag, too.”
Taro was gone but a moment, and then returned with the desired flags.
These Billy took and held before the French boy.
“Now, you,” said he, “if you don’t want to stay tied up here all night,
you just do what we tell you. Kiss that sun flag—right in the centre.
That’s the thing! What!—Ah, you will, you divil,” for the French boy put
his lips against the flag but a second, and then withdrew them to spit
at it.
Taro had turned livid. In a flash he had seized the flag and was ramming
it fiercely into the mouth of the French boy. Billy fought Taro back.
“Here, Taro! That’s not fair! He’s tied!”
He drew forth the flag. The dye ran down in livid streams on Alphonse’s
chin. He fought vainly to free his arms.
“Now, you,” said Billy, “we’ll let you free if you’ll fight either one
of us alone. But if you won’t, you’d better do what we tell you. If you
don’t—”
Taro had quietly stripped himself to the waist prepared for battle. He
was younger by several years than the French boy, but the latter had
already felt the taste of the little Japanese’s strength. When he
encountered that bloody purpose in the eye of Taro he trembled visibly.
“I will do what you ask,” he decided, suddenly.
“Good!” cried Billy. “_You_ believe in spitting, eh? Well, now you just
spit good and plenty at _that_!” He thrust the French flag before
Alphonse, who spat at his country’s flag. Then shrugging his shoulders,
he swore as little boys of some nationalities do not.
Fifteen times he was forced to bow to the Japanese flag, touching each
time the ground with his head. Finally he cried as instructed at the top
of his voice:
“Vive la Nippon! Banzai!”
He went home a very much wilted and bedraggled little Frenchman, but he
did not tell his papa or mamma of the flag incident.
When his father read with apparent exultation further news of Kamrahn
Bay, Alphonse raised his little thin shoulders and eyebrows to venture
the astonishing remark:
“Was it _wise_ of France, pa-pa?”
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