Chapter 23

"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.

_Chapter XXII_

REMEMBER HILGARD!

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.

_Chapter XXIII_

IN THE WHITE HOUSE

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."

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."

"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 the _Monitor_ and the _Merrimac_ was 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. 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.

"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----"

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.