The States of Washington, Oregon, Nevada, and California were to become Japanese possessions, but at the same time continue as members of the Union. They were to have Japanese garrisons and to permit Japanese immigration; the strength of the garrisons was to be regulated later. In the various State legislatures and in the municipal administration half the members were to be Americans and half Japanese. If these terms were accepted, Japan would relinquish all claim to further immigration of Japanese to the other States of the Union. The United States was to pay Japan a war-indemnity of two billion dollars, in installments, exclusive of the sums previously levied in the Pacific States. San Francisco was to be Japan's naval port on the Pacific coast, and the navy-yard and arsenals located there were to pass into the hands of the Japanese. The Philippines, Hawaii and Guam were to be ceded to Japan.
A universal cry of indignation resounded from the Atlantic to the Rockies in answer to these humiliating terms of peace. To acknowledge defeat and keep the enemy in the country, would be sealing the doom of American honor with a stroke of the pen. No! anything but that! Let us fight on at any price! At thousands of mass meetings the same cry was heard: Let us fight on until the last enemy has been driven out of the country.
But what is public opinion? Nothing more than the naïve feeling of the masses of yesterday, to-day and perhaps the day after to-morrow. The terrible sacrifices claimed by the war had not been without effect. Of course there was no hesitation on the part of the old American citizens nor of the German, Scandinavian and Irish settlers—they would all remain faithful to the Star Spangled Banner. But the others, the thousands and hundreds of thousands of Romanic and Slavonic descent, the Italian and Russian proletariat, and the scum of the peoples of Asia Minor, all these elements, who regarded the United States merely as a promising market for employment and not as a home, were of a different opinion.
And these elements of the population now demanded the reëstablishment of opportunities for profitable employment, insisting upon their rights as naturalized citizens, which had been so readily accorded them. Scarcely had the first storm of indignation passed, when other public meetings began to be held—loud, stormy demonstrations, which usually ended in a grand street row—and to this were added passionate appeals from the Socialist leaders to accept Japan's terms and conclude peace, in order that the idle laborer might once more return to work.
And this feeling spread more and more and gradually became a force in public life and in the press, and unfortunately the agitation was not entirely without effect on those elements of the population whose American citizenship was not yet deeply rooted. However indignant the better elements may have felt at first over this cowardly desertion of the flag, the continual repetition of such arguments evoked faint-hearted considerations of the desirability of peace in ever widening circles.
The fighting of our troops on the plateaus of the Rocky Mountains no longer formed the chief topic of conversation, but rather the proffered terms of peace, which were discussed before the bars, on the street, at meetings, and in the family-circle.
Scarcely a fortnight after the presentation of the Japanese offer of peace, two bitterly hostile parties confronted each other in the Union: the one gathered round the country's flag full of determination and enthusiasm, the other was willing to sacrifice the dollar on the altar of Buddha.
And other forces were also at work. Enthusiastic preachers arose in numerous sects and religious denominations, applying the mysterious revelations of the prophet of Patmos—revelations employed in all ages for the forging of mystic weapons—to the events of the time. In the dim light of evening meetings they spoke of the "beast with the seven heads" to whom was given power "over all kindreds, tongues and nations," and fanatical men and women came after months of infinite misery and hopeless woe to look upon the occupant of the White House as the Antichrist. They conceived it their bounden duty to oppose his will, and quite gradually these evening prayer-meetings began to influence our people to such a degree that the Japanese terms were no longer regarded as insulting, and peace without honor was preferred to a continuance of the fight to the bitter end. Had God really turned the light of his countenance from us?
While the enemy was waiting for an answer to his message, the voices at home became louder and louder in their demands for the conclusion of peace and the acceptance of the enemy's terms. The sound common-sense and the buoyant patriotism of those who had their country's interests close at heart struggled in vain against the selfish doctrine of those who preferred to vegetate peacefully without one brave effort for freedom. Our whole past history, replete with acts of bravery and self-sacrifice, seemed to be disappearing in the horrors of night.
And while the socialist agitators were goading on the starving workmen everywhere to oppose the continuation of the war, while innumerable forces were apparently uniting to retire the God of War, who determines the fate of nations on bloody fields, there remained at least one possibility of clearing the sultry atmosphere: a battle. But how dared we continue the fight before our armies were absolutely prepared to begin the attack, how dared we attempt what would no doubt prove the decisive battle before we were certain of success? The battle of Hilgard furnished an eloquent reply. The War Department said no, it said no with a heavy heart; weeks must pass, weeks must be borne and overcome, before we could assume the offensive once more.
The Japanese terms of peace were therefore declined. At the seat of war skirmishes continued to take place, the soldiers freezing in their thin coats, while restless activity was shown in all the encampments.
Extras were being sold on the streets of Washington, telling of a naval engagement off the Argentine coast. They were eagerly bought and read, but no one believed the news, for we had lost hope and faith. Excited crowds had collected in front of the Army and Navy building in the hope of obtaining more detailed news; but no one could give any information. An automobile suddenly drew up in front of the south side of the long building, before the entrance to the offices of the Committee on Foreign Affairs.
The Secretary of State, who had not been able to get the President by 'phone at the White House but learned that he was somewhere in the naval barracks, had decided to look him up. Scarcely had he entered his car, before he was surrounded by hundreds of people clamoring for verification of the news from Buenos Ayres. He declared again and again that he knew nothing more than what he had just read in the extras, but no one believed him. Several policemen cleared the way in front of the puffing machine, which at last managed to get clear of the crowd, but a few blocks further on the chauffeur was again compelled to stop.
An immense mob was pouring out of a side street, where they had just smashed the windows of the offices of a socialist newspaper, which had supplemented the Argentine dispatch with spiteful comments under the headlines: "Another Patriotic Swindle."
The Secretary of State told the chauffeur to take a different route to the naval barracks, and this order saved his life, for as he bent forward to speak to the chauffeur, the force of an explosion threw him against the front seat. Behind him, on the upper edge of the rear seat, a bomb had exploded with a burst of blinding white light. The secretary, whose coat was torn by some splinters of glass, stood up and showed himself to the multitude.
"Murder, murder," yelled the mob, "down with the assassin." And the secretary saw them seize a degenerate-looking wretch and begin pounding him with their fists. After a little while he was thrown to the ground, but was dragged up again and at last, as the chauffeur was guiding his car backwards through the crowd, the secretary heard a man say:
"Thank God, they've strung him up on a lamp-post!"
The mob had administered quick justice.
Utterly exhausted by this experience, the Secretary of State returned to his home, where he gave orders that the President should be informed at once of what had occurred.
The servant had scarcely left the secretary's study when his wife entered. She threw her arms passionately around his neck and refused to be quieted. "It's all right, Edith, I haven't been scratched."
"But you'll be killed the next time," she sobbed.
"It makes but little difference, Edith, whether I die here on the pavement or out yonder on the battle-field: we must all die at our posts if need be. Death may come to us any day here as well as there, but," and freeing himself from his wife's embrace, he walked to his desk and pointed to a picture of Abraham Lincoln hanging over it, saying, "if I fall as that man fell, there are hundreds who are ready to step into my shoes without the slightest fuss and with the same solemn sense of duty."
A servant entered and announced that the British Ambassador asked to be received by the secretary. "One minute," was the answer, "ask His Excellency to wait one minute."
The sound of many voices could be heard outside. The secretary walked to the window and looked out.
"Look," he said to his wife, "there are some people at least who are glad that the bomb failed to accomplish its purpose." His appearance at the window was a signal for loud cheers from the people on the street. Holding the hand of his faithful wife in his own, he said: "Edith, I know we are on the right road. We can read our destiny only in the stars on our banner. There is only one future for the United States, only one, that beneath the Stars and Stripes, and not a single star must be missing—neither that of Washington, nor that of Oregon, nor that of California. We had a hard fight to establish our independence, and the inheritance of our fathers we must ever cherish as sacred and inviolable. The yellow men have won their place in the world by an inexorable sense of national duty, and we can conquer them only if we employ the same weapons. I know what we have at stake in this war, and I am quite ready to answer to myself and to our people for each life lost on the field of battle. I am only one of many, and if I fall, it will be in the knowledge that I have done my duty. Let the cowardly mob step over my corpse, it won't matter to me nor to my successor if he will only hold our drooping flag with a firm hand. The favor of the people is here to-day and gone to-morrow, and we must not be led astray by it. The blind creatures who inspired that miserable wretch to hurl the bomb regard us, the bearers of responsible posts, with the same feelings as the lions do their tamer when he enters the cage. If he comes out alive, well and good; if he is torn to pieces it makes no difference, for there'll be some one else to take his place the next day. It is my duty to fight against desertion in our own ranks and to shield American citizenship against the foreign elements gathered here who have no fatherland, and to whom the Stars and Stripes have no deeper meaning than a piece of cloth; that is the duty, in the performance of which I shall live or die."
Mad cheers from below induced the secretary to open the window, and immediately the sounds of the "Star Spangled Banner" came floating up from thousands of throats. Suddenly his wife touched his arm saying: "James, here's a telegram."
The secretary turned around and literally tore the telegram out of the servant's hand. He ran his eye over it hurriedly and then drew a deep breath. And with tears in his eyes at the almost incredible news, he said softly to his wife:
"This will deliver us from the dark slough of despair."
Then he returned to the window, but his emotion made it impossible for him to speak; he made a sign with his hand and gradually the noise of the crowd ceased and all became still.
"Fellow Citizens," began the secretary, "I have just this moment received—" Loud cheers interrupted him, but quiet was soon restored, and then in a clear voice he read the following dispatch:
"Bahia Blanca, December 8: The torpedo-destroyerPaul Jonesarrived here this morning with the following message from Admiral Dayton: 'On the 4th of December I found the Japanese cruisersAdzumaandAsamaand three destroyers coaling in the harbor of Port Stanley (Falkland Islands). I demanded of the British authorities that the Japanese ships be forced to leave the harbor at once, as I should otherwise be obliged to attack them in the harbor on the morning of the following day. On the afternoon of the 4th I opened fire on the Japanese ships four miles outside of Port Stanley. After an hour's fighting all five Japanese ships were sunk. On our side the destroyerDalewas sunk. Total loss, 180 men. Damaged cruiserMarylandsent to Buenos Ayres. Sighted the Japanese cruisersIdzumo,Tokiwa,Jakumoand four destroyers at the entrance to the Straits of Magellan on the morning of December 6th. Pursued them with entire fleet. Battle with theIdzumoandTokiwaat noon, in which former was sunk. Battle temporarily suspended on account of appearance of two hostile battleships. Destroyers keeping in touch with the Japanese squadron.'Dayton."
"Bahia Blanca, December 8: The torpedo-destroyerPaul Jonesarrived here this morning with the following message from Admiral Dayton: 'On the 4th of December I found the Japanese cruisersAdzumaandAsamaand three destroyers coaling in the harbor of Port Stanley (Falkland Islands). I demanded of the British authorities that the Japanese ships be forced to leave the harbor at once, as I should otherwise be obliged to attack them in the harbor on the morning of the following day. On the afternoon of the 4th I opened fire on the Japanese ships four miles outside of Port Stanley. After an hour's fighting all five Japanese ships were sunk. On our side the destroyerDalewas sunk. Total loss, 180 men. Damaged cruiserMarylandsent to Buenos Ayres. Sighted the Japanese cruisersIdzumo,Tokiwa,Jakumoand four destroyers at the entrance to the Straits of Magellan on the morning of December 6th. Pursued them with entire fleet. Battle with theIdzumoandTokiwaat noon, in which former was sunk. Battle temporarily suspended on account of appearance of two hostile battleships. Destroyers keeping in touch with the Japanese squadron.'
Dayton."
Perfect silence greeted these words; no one seemed able to believe the news of this American victory: the first joyful tidings after almost nine months of constant adversity. But then the enthusiasm of the people broke loose in a perfect hurricane that swept everything before it. In the rear the crowd began to thin out rapidly, for everybody was anxious to spread the glad tidings of victory, but their places were soon taken by others pouring in from all sides to hear the telegram read once more.
And now on the opposite side of 17th Street the American flag suddenly ran up the bare flagstaff on the roof of the Winders Building, unfurling with a rustle in the fresh breeze. The secretary pointed up to it, and at once the jubilant crowd joined once more in the air of the "Star Spangled Banner."
"This is a day," said the secretary, taking his wife's hand, "which our country will never forget. But now I must get to work and then I'm off to the President."
As his wife left the room, he rang the bell and asked the servant who appeared in answer to his summons to show in the British Ambassador.
The man disappeared noiselessly, and the next moment the ambassador entered.
"I must ask Your Excellency's pardon for having kept you waiting," said the secretary, advancing a few steps to meet him. "To what do I owe the honor of this visit——"
"I have come to reply to the protest lodged against us by the United States government for permitting the Japanese to use the harbor of Esquimault as a station for their ships. The British government fully recognizes the justice of the protest, and will see to it that in future only damages that affect a ship's seaworthiness are repaired at Esquimault, and that no other ships are allowed to enter the harbor. The British government is desirous of observing the strictest neutrality and is determined to employ every means in its power to maintain it."
"I thank Your Excellency and thoroughly appreciate the efforts of your government, but regret exceedingly that they are made somewhat late in the day. I am convinced the English government would not consider it within the bounds of strict neutrality for a Japanese squadron to employ an English port as its base of operations——"
"Certainly not," said the ambassador emphatically, "and I am certain such a thing has never happened."
"Indeed?" answered the secretary seriously, "our latest dispatches tell a different story. May I ask Your Excellency to glance over this telegram?"
He handed the telegram from Bahia Blanca to the ambassador, who read it and handed it back.
The two men regarded each other in silence for a few moments. Then the ambassador lowered his eyes, saying, "I have no instructions with regard to this case. It really comes as a great surprise to me," he added, "a very great surprise," and then seizing the secretary's hand he shook it heartily, saying: "Allow me to extend my private but most sincere congratulations on this success of your arms."
"Thank you, Your Excellency. The United States have learned during the past few months to distinguish between correct and friendly relations with other powers. The English government has taken a warm interest in the military successes of its Japanese ally, as is apparently stipulated in their agreement. We are sorry to have been obliged to upset some of England's calculations by turning Japanese ships out of an English harbor. If we succeed in gaining the upper hand, we may perhaps look forward to similar favors being shown us by the English government as have thus far been extended to victorious Japan?"
"That would depend," said the ambassador rather dubiously, "on the extent to which such friendly relations would interfere with our conceptions of neutrality."
At this moment the President was announced and the ambassador took his leave.
Just as in the war between Russia and Japan, the paper strategists found comfort in the thought that the Japanese successes on American soil were only temporary and that their victorious career would soon come to an end. The supposition that Japan had no money to carry on the war was soon seen to lack all real foundation. Thus far the war had cost Japan not even two hundred millions, for it was not Japan, but the Pacific States that had borne the brunt of the expense. Japan had already levied in the States occupied by her troops a sum larger by far than the total amount of the indemnity which they had hoped to collect at Portsmouth several years before.
The overwhelming defeat of the Army of the North at Hilgard had taken the wind out of a great many sails. The terrible catastrophe even succeeded in stirring up the nations of the Old World, who had been watching developments at a safe distance, to a proper realization of the seriousness and proximity of the yellow peril.
Even England began to edge quietly away from Japan, this change in British policy being at once recognized in Tokio when, at Canada's request, England refused to allow Japanese ships to continue to use the docks and coal depots at Esquimault. Later, when after the victories of the American fleet off Port Stanley and near the Straits of Magellan, the governor of the Falkland Islands was made the scape-goat and banished—he had at first intended exposing the cabinet of St. James by publishing the instructions received from them in July, but finally thought better of it—and when the governors of all the British colonies were ordered to observe strict neutrality, Japan interpreted this action correctly. But she was prepared for this emergency, and now came the retribution for having fooled the Japanese nation with hopes of a permanent alliance. Japan pressed a button, and Great Britain was made to realize the danger of playing with the destiny of a nation.
Apparently without the slightest connection with the war in America, an insurrection suddenly broke out in Bengal, at the foot of the Himalayas and on the plateaus of Deccan, which threatened to shake the very foundations of British sovereignty. It was as much as England could do to dispatch enough troops to India in time to stop the flood from bursting all the dams. At the same time an insurrection broke out in French Indo-China, and while England and France were sending transport-ships, escorted by cruisers, to the Far East, great upheavals took place in all parts of Africa. The Europeans had their hands full in dozens of different directions: garrisons and naval stations required reënforcements, and all had to be on guard constantly in order to avoid a surprise.
These were Japan's last resources for preventing the white races from coming to the aid of the United States.
Remember Hilgard! This was the shibboleth with which Congress passed the bill providing for the creation of a standing militia-army and making the military training of every American citizen a national duty. And how willingly they all responded to their country's call—every one realized that the final decision was approaching.
Remember Hilgard! That was the war-cry, and that was the thought which trembled in every heart and proved to the world that when the American nation once comes to its senses, it is utterly irresistible.
What did we care for the theories of diplomats about international law and neutrality; they were swept away like cobwebs. Just as Japan during the Russian war had been provided with arms and equipment from the East, because the crippling of the Russian fleet had left the road to the Japanese harbors open and complaints were consequently not to be feared, so German steamers especially now brought to our Atlantic ports war-materials and weapons that had been manufactured in Germany for the new American armies, since the American factories could not possibly supply the enormous demand within such a short period.
Remember Hilgard! were the words which accompanied every command at drill and in the encampments where our new army was being trained. The regiments waited impatiently for the moment when they would be led against the enemy, but we dared not again make the mistake of leading an unprepared army against such an experienced foe. Week after week, month after month passed, before we could begin our march in the winter snow.
The Pacific Army, which advanced in January to attack the Japanese position on the high plateaus of the Rocky Mountains towards Granger, numbered more than a third of a million. After three days of severe fighting, this important stronghold of the Japanese center was captured and the enemy forced to retreat.
Great rejoicing rang through the whole land. A complete victory at last! Fourteen Japanese guns were captured by the two Missouri regiments after four assaults and with the loss of half their men. The guns were dragged in triumph through the States, and the slightly wounded soldiers on the ammunition-carts declared, after the triumphal entry into St. Louis, that the tumultuous embraces and thousands of handclasps from the enthusiastic crowds had used them up more than the three days' battle.
The capture of Granger had interrupted the communication between the Union Pacific Railroad and the Oregon Short Line branching off to the northwest; but this didn't bother the enemy much, for he simply sent his transports over the line from Pocatello to the South via Ogden, so that when the commander-in-chief of the Pacific Army renewed the attack on the Japanese positions, he found them stronger than he had anticipated.
The attack on Fort Bridger began on the second of February, but the enemy's position on the mountain heights remained unshaken. Several captive balloons and two motor air-ships (one of which was destroyed, shortly after its ascent, by hostile shots) brought the information that the Japanese artillery and entrenchments on the face of the mountain formed an almost impregnable position. Thus while the people were still rejoicing over the latest victory, the Pacific Army was in a position where each step forward was sure to be accompanied by a severe loss of life.
Six fresh divisions from different encampments arrived on the field of battle on the fourth and fifth of February. They received orders to attack the seemingly weak positions of the enemy near Bell's Pass, and then to cross the snow-covered pass and fall upon the left flank of the Japanese center. All manner of obstacles interfered with the advance, which was at last begun. Whole companies had to be harnessed to the guns; but they pressed forward somehow. The small detachments of Japanese cavalry defending the pass were compelled to retreat, and the pass itself was taken by a night assault. Frost now set in, and the guns and baggage wagons were drawn up the mountain paths by means of ropes. The men suffered terribly from the cold, but the knowledge that they were making progress prevented them from grumbling.
On the seventh of February, just as Fisher's division, the first of General Elliott's army to pass Bell's Pass, had reached the valley of the Bear River preparatory to marching southward, via Almy and Evanston, in the rear of the Japanese positions, cavalry scouts, who had been patrolling downstream as far as Georgetown, reported that large bodies of hostile troops were approaching from the North. General Elliott ordered Fisher's division to continue its advance on Almy, and also dispatched Hardy's and Livingstone's divisions to the South, while Wilson's division remained behind to guard the pass, and the divisions of Milton and Stranger were sent to the North to stop the advance of the enemy's reënforcements. Milton's division was to advance along the left bank of the Bear River and to occupy the passes in the Bear River Range, in order to prevent the enemy from making a diversion via Logan. Mounted engineers destroyed the tracks at several spots in front of and behind Logan.
It will be seen, therefore, that General Elliott's six divisions were all stationed in the narrow Bear River Valley between the two hostile armies: Fisher's, Hardy's and Livingstone's divisions were headed South to fall upon the left wing of the enemy's main army, commanded by Marshal Oyama; while Milton's and Stranger's divisions were marching to the North, and came upon the enemy, who was on his way from Pocatello, at Georgetown. General Elliott therefore had to conduct a battle in two directions: In the South he had to assume the offensive against Oyama's wing as quickly and energetically as possible, whereas at Georgetown he would be on the defensive. Bell's Pass lay almost exactly between the two lines, and there General Elliott had posted only the reserves, consisting of the three weak brigades belonging to Wilson's division. If the Japanese succeeded in gaining a decisive victory at Georgetown, General Elliott's whole army would be in a position of the utmost danger.
On the streets of Washington there was a wild scramble for the extras containing the latest news from the front. The people stood for hours in front of the newspaper offices, but definite news was so long in coming, that despair once more seized their hearts and they again became sceptical of ultimate victory.
Seven long anxious days of waiting! Were we fighting against supernatural forces, which no human heroism could overcome?
A telegraph instrument had been set up next to the President's study in the White House so that all news from the front might reach him without delay. On a table lay a large map of the battle-field where the fighting was now going on, and his private secretary had marked the positions of the American troops with little wooden blocks and colored flags.
Suddenly the instrument began to click, a fresh report from the general staff of the Pacific Army appeared on the tape:
"Fort Bridger, Feb. 8, 6 p.m. Our captive balloon reports that the enemy seems to be shifting his troops on the left flank. Two Japanese battalions have abandoned their positions, which were at once occupied by a line of skirmishers from the 86th Regiment supported by two machine-guns. An assault of the second battalion of the 64th Regiment on the Japanese infantry position was repulsed, as the enemy quite unexpectedly brought several masked machine-guns into action. The firing continues, and General Elliott reports that the battle with the hostile forces advancing along the Bear River Valley began at 3 p.m. south of Georgetown. As the enemy has appeared in unexpectedly large numbers, two brigades of Wood's division have been sent from Bell's Pass to the North.Major General Illing."
"Fort Bridger, Feb. 8, 6 p.m. Our captive balloon reports that the enemy seems to be shifting his troops on the left flank. Two Japanese battalions have abandoned their positions, which were at once occupied by a line of skirmishers from the 86th Regiment supported by two machine-guns. An assault of the second battalion of the 64th Regiment on the Japanese infantry position was repulsed, as the enemy quite unexpectedly brought several masked machine-guns into action. The firing continues, and General Elliott reports that the battle with the hostile forces advancing along the Bear River Valley began at 3 p.m. south of Georgetown. As the enemy has appeared in unexpectedly large numbers, two brigades of Wood's division have been sent from Bell's Pass to the North.
Major General Illing."
The private secretary changed the position of several blocks on the map, moving the flags at Bell's Pass and pushing two little blue flags in the direction of Georgetown. Then he took the report to the President.
At midnight the report came that the stubborn resistance of the enemy at Georgetown had made it advisable to send Wilson's last brigade from Bell's Pass to the North.
"Our last reserves," said the President, looking at the map; "we're playing a venturesome game." Then he glanced at his secretary and saw that the latter was utterly exhausted. And no wonder, for he hadn't slept a wink in three nights. "Go and take a nap, Johnson," said the President; "I'll stay up, as I have some work to finish. Take a nap, Johnson, I don't need you just now."
"What about the instrument, sir?" asked the secretary.
"I can hear everything in the next room. I'll have no peace anyhow till it is all over. Besides, the Secretary of War is coming over, so I'll get along all right."
The President sat down at his desk and affixed his signature to a number of documents. Half an hour later the Secretary of War was announced.
"Sit down, Harry," said the President, pointing to a chair, "I'll be ready in five minutes." And while the President was finishing his work, the Secretary of War settled down in his chair and took up a book. But the next moment he laid it down again and took up a paper instead; then he took up another one and read a few lines mechanically, stopping every now and then to stare vacantly over the edge of the paper into space. At last he jumped up and began pacing slowly up and down. Then he went into the telegraph-room, and glanced over the report, a copy of which he had received half an hour ago. Then he examined the various positions on the map, placing some of the blocks more accurately.
Then a bell rang and steps could be heard in the hall. The door of the adjacent room opened and shut, and he heard the President fold up the documents and say: "Take these with you, they are all signed. Tomorrow morning—oh, I forgot, it's morning now—the ninth of February."
Then some one went out and closed the door and the President was alone again. The next moment he joined the Secretary of War in the telegraph-room.
"Harry," he said in a low voice, "our destiny will be decided within the next few hours. I sent Johnson off to bed; he needed some sleep. Besides, we want to be alone when the fate of our country is decided."
The Secretary of War walked up and down the room with his hands in his pockets, puffing away at a cigar. Both men avoided looking at each other; neither wished the other to see how nervous he was. Both were listening intently for the sound of the telegraph-bell.
"A message arrived from Fort Bridger about ten o'clock," said the President after a long pause, "to the effect that our captive balloons reported a change in the positions of the enemy's left wing. This may mean——"
"Yes, it may mean—" repeated the Secretary of War mechanically.
Then they both became silent once more, puffing vigorously at their cigars.
"Suppose it's all in vain again, suppose the enemy—" began the Secretary of War, when he was interrupted by the ringing of the bell in the next room.
The message ran:
"Bell's Pass, Feb. 9, 12.15 a.m. Milton's division has succeeded in wresting several important positions from the enemy after a night of severe fighting. Unimportant reverses suffered by Stranger's division more than offset with the aid of reënforcements from Bell's Pass.Colonel Tarditt."
"Bell's Pass, Feb. 9, 12.15 a.m. Milton's division has succeeded in wresting several important positions from the enemy after a night of severe fighting. Unimportant reverses suffered by Stranger's division more than offset with the aid of reënforcements from Bell's Pass.
Colonel Tarditt."
"If they can only hold Georgetown," said the Secretary of War, "our last reserves have gone there now."
"God grant they may."
Then they both went back to the study. The President remained standing in front of the portrait of Lincoln hanging on the wall.
"He went through just such hours as these," he said quietly, "just such hours, and perhaps in this very room, when the battle between theMonitorand theMerrimacwas being fought at Hampton Roads, and news was being sent to him hour by hour. Oh, Abraham Lincoln, if you were only here to-day to deliver your message over the length and breadth of our land."
The Secretary of War looked hard at the President as he answered: "Yes, we have need of men, but we have men, too, some perhaps who are even greater than Lincoln."
The President shook his head sadly, saying: "I don't know, we've done everything we could, we've done our duty, yet perhaps we might have made even greater efforts. I'm so nervous over the outcome of this battle; it seems to me we are facing the enemy without weapons, or at best with very blunt ones."
Again the bell rang and the President moved towards the door, but stopped halfway and said: "You better go and see what it is, Harry."
"Fort Bridger, Feb. 8, 11.50 p.m. From Fisher's division the report comes via Bell's Pass that two of his regiments have driven the enemy from their positions with the aid of searchlights, and that they are now in hot pursuit.
"Fort Bridger, Feb. 8, 11.50 p.m. From Fisher's division the report comes via Bell's Pass that two of his regiments have driven the enemy from their positions with the aid of searchlights, and that they are now in hot pursuit.
Major General Illing."
Without saying a word the Secretary of War moved the blocks representing Fisher's division further South. Then he remarked quietly: "It doesn't make much difference what happens at Georgetown, the decision rests right here now and the next hour may decide it all," and he put his finger on the spot in the mountains occupied by the enemy's left wing. "If an attack on the enemy's front should make a gap——"
He didn't complete the sentence, for the President's hand rested heavily on his shoulder. "Yes, Harry," he said, "if—that's what we've been saying for nine months. If—and our If has always been followed by a But—the enemy's But."
He threw himself into a chair and shaded his tired eyes with his hand, while the Secretary of War walked incessantly up and down, puffing on a fresh cigar.—
The night was almost over.—The shrill little bell rang again, causing the President to start violently. Slowly, inch by inch, the white strip of paper was rolled off, and stooping together over the ticking instrument, the two men watched one letter, one word, one sentence after another appear, until at last it was all there:
"Fort Bridger, Feb. 9, 1.15 a.m. A returning motor air-ship reports a furious artillery fight in the rear of the enemy's left wing. Have just issued orders for a general attack on the hostile positions on the heights. Cannonade raging all along the line. Reports from Bell's Pass state that enemy is retreating from Georgetown. Twelve of the enemy's guns captured.
"Fort Bridger, Feb. 9, 1.15 a.m. A returning motor air-ship reports a furious artillery fight in the rear of the enemy's left wing. Have just issued orders for a general attack on the hostile positions on the heights. Cannonade raging all along the line. Reports from Bell's Pass state that enemy is retreating from Georgetown. Twelve of the enemy's guns captured.
"Major General Illing."
"Harry!" cried the President, seizing his friend's hand, "suppose this means victory!"
"It does, it must," was the answer. "Look here," he said, as he rearranged the blocks on the map, "the whole pressure of General Elliott's three divisions is concentrated on the enemy's left wing. All that's necessary is a determined attack——"
"On the entrenchments in the dark?" broke in the President, "when the men are so apt to lose touch with their leaders, when they're shooting at random, when a mere chance may wrest away the victory and give it to the enemy?"
The Secretary of War shook his head, saying: "The fate of battles rests in the hands of God; we must have faith in our troops."
He walked around the table with long strides, while the President compared the positions of the armies on the map with the contents of the last telegram.
"Harry," he said, looking up, "do you remember the speech I made at Harvard years ago on the unity of nations? That was my first speech, and who would have thought that we should now be sitting together in this room? It's strange how it all comes back to me now. Even then, as a young man, I was deeply interested in the development of the idea of German national unity as expressed in German poetry; and much that I read then has become full of meaning for us, too, especially in these latter days. One of those German songs is ringing in my ears to-night. Oh, if it could only come true, if our brave men over there storming the rocky heights could only make it come true—" At this moment the telegraph-bell again rang sharply:
"Fort Bridger, Feb. 9, 2.36 a.m. With enormous losses the brigades of Lennox and Malmberg have stormed the positions occupied by the artillery on the enemy's left wing, and have captured numerous guns. The thunder of cannon coming from the valley can be distinctly heard here on the heights. Fisher's division has signaled that they have successfully driven back the enemy. The Japanese are beginning to retreat all along the line. Our troops——"
"Fort Bridger, Feb. 9, 2.36 a.m. With enormous losses the brigades of Lennox and Malmberg have stormed the positions occupied by the artillery on the enemy's left wing, and have captured numerous guns. The thunder of cannon coming from the valley can be distinctly heard here on the heights. Fisher's division has signaled that they have successfully driven back the enemy. The Japanese are beginning to retreat all along the line. Our troops——"
The President could read no further, for the words were dancing before his eyes. This stern man, whom nothing could bend or break, now had tears in his eyes as he folded his hands over the telegraph instrument, from which the tape continued to come forth, and said in a deeply moved voice: "Harry, this hour is greater than the Fourth of July. And now, Harry, I remember it, that song of the German poet; may it become our prayer of thanksgiving:"
"From tower to tower let the bells be rung,Throughout our land let our joy be sung!Light every beacon far and near,To show that God hath helped us here!Praise be to God on High!"
Then the President stepped over to the window and pushing aside the curtains, opened it and looked out into the cold winter morning for a long time.
"Harry," he called presently, "doesn't it seem as though the bells were ringing? Thus far no one knows the glad tidings but you and I; but very soon they'll awake to pæans of victory and then our flag will wave proudly once more and we'll have no trouble in winning back the missing stars."
It was a moment of the highest national exaltation, such as a nation experiences only once in a hundred years.
A solitary policeman was patrolling up and down before the White House, and he started violently as he heard a voice above him calling out:
"Run as hard as you can and call out on all the streets: The enemy is defeated, our troops have conquered, the Japanese army is in full retreat! Knock at the doors and windows and shout into every home: we have won, the enemy is retreating."
The policeman hurried off, leaving big black footprints in the white snow, and he could be heard yelling out: "Victory, victory, we've beaten the Japs!" as he ran.
People began to collect in the streets and a coachman jumped down from his box and ran towards the White House, looking up at its lighted windows.
"Leave your carriage here," shouted the President, "and run as hard as you can and tell everybody you meet that we have won and that the Japanese are in full retreat! Our country will be free once more!"
Shouts were heard in the distance, and the noise of loud knocking. And then the President closed the window and came back into the room. But when the Secretary of War wanted to read the balance of the message, he said: "Don't, Harry; I couldn't listen to another word now, but please rouse everybody in the house."
Then bells rang in the halls and people were heard to stir in the rooms. There was a joyous awakening in the quiet capital that ninth day of February, the day that dispelled the darkness and the gloom.
That day marked the beginning of the end.The yellow peril had been averted!