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BANZAI!

[Illustration: "That's the Japanese _Satsuma_, Togo's _Satsuma_!"]




BANZAI!


BY

PARABELLUM


LEIPZIG
THEODOR WEICHER, PUBLISHER

NEW YORK
THE BAKER & TAYLOR CO., SALES AGENTS
33 EAST 17TH STREET (UNION SQUARE)




COPYRIGHT, 1908, BY
THEODOR WEICHER


COPYRIGHT, 1908, BY
THE BAKER & TAYLOR CO.
_All rights reserved_


ENTERED AT STATIONERS' HALL, LONDON

Published, January, 1909


THE TROW PRESS, NEW YORK




CONTENTS


PAGE

FOREWORD vii

INTRODUCTION ix

CHAPTER
I. - IN MANILA 1

II. - ON THE HIGH SEAS 34

III. - HOW IT BEGAN 49

IV. - ECHOES IN NEW YORK 61

V. - FATHER AND SON 69

VI. - A NIGHT IN NEW YORK 77

VII. - THE RED SUN OVER THE GOLDEN GATE 96

VIII. - IN THE BOWELS OF THE EARTH 105

IX. - -A FORTY-EIGHT-HOUR BALANCE 121

X. - ADMIRAL PERRY'S FATE 142

XI. - CAPTAIN WINSTANLEY 171

XII. - ARE YOU WINSTANLEY? 185

XIII. - THE REVENGE FOR PORTSMOUTH 192

XIV. - ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WHIRLPOOL 206

XV. - A RAY OF LIGHT 211

XVI. - THROUGH FIRE AND SMOKE 217

XVII. - WHAT HAPPENED AT CORPUS CHRISTI 228

XVIII. - THE BATTLE OF THE BLUE MOUNTAINS 243

XIX. - THE ASSAULT ON HILGARD 272

XX. - -A FRIEND IN NEED 286

XXI. - DARK SHADOWS 295

XXII. - REMEMBER HILGARD 306

XXIII. - IN THE WHITE HOUSE 312




FOREWORD


Every American familiar with the modern international political horizon
must have experienced a feeling of solid satisfaction at the news that a
formidable American fleet was to be dispatched to the waters of the
Pacific, and the cruise of our warships has been followed with intense
interest by every loyal citizen of our Republic. The reasons that
rendered the long and dramatic voyage of our fleet most opportune are
identical with the motives that actuated the publication of this
translation from the German of a work which exhibits a remarkable grasp
of facts coupled with a marvelously vivid power of description. It is no
secret that our ships were sent to the Pacific to minimize the danger of
a conflict with our great commercial rival in the Far East, if not to
avert it altogether, and _Banzai_! it seems to me, should perform a
similar mission. The graphic recital, I take it, is not intended to
incite a feeling of animosity between two nations which have every
reason to maintain friendly relations, but rather to call the attention
of the American people to the present woeful lack of preparedness, and
at the same time to assist in developing a spirit of sound patriotism
that prefers silent action to blatant braggadocio. That the Pacific
Ocean may become, in truth, the Peaceful Ocean, and never resound
to the clash of American arms, is the devout wish of one who
believes - implicitly - with Moltke in the old proverb, _Si vis pacem,
para bellum_ - If you wish for Peace, prepare for War.

P.




INTRODUCTION


As usual, it had begun quite harmlessly and inconspicuously. It is not
my business to tell how it all came to pass, how the way was prepared.
That may be left to the spinners of yarns and to those on the trail of
the sources of history. I shall leave it to them to ascertain when the
idea that there must be a conflict, and that the fruit must be plucked
before it had time to ripen, first took root in the minds of the
Japanese people.

We Americans realize now that we had been living for years like one who
has a presentiment that something dreadful is hanging over him which
will suddenly descend upon his head, and who carries this feeling of
dread about with him with an uneasy conscience, trying to drown it in
the tumult and restlessness of daily life. We realize the situation now,
because we know where we should have fixed our gaze and understand the
task to the accomplishment of which we should have bent our energies,
but we went about like sleep-walkers and refused to see what thousands
of others knew, what thousands saw in astonishment and concern at our
heedlessness.

We might easily have peeped through the curtain that hid the future from
us, for it had plenty of holes, but we passed them by unnoticed. And,
nevertheless, there were many who did peep through. Some, while reading
their paper, let it fall into their lap and stared into space, letting
their thoughts wander far away to a spot whence the subdued clash of
arms and tumult of war reached their soul like the mysterious roll and
roar of the breakers. Others were struck by a chance word overheard in
the rush of the street, which they would remember until it was driven
out by the strenuous struggle that each day brought with it. But the
word itself had not died; it continued to live in the foundation of the
consciousness where our burning thoughts cannot enter, and sometimes in
the night it would be born afresh in the shape of wild squadrons of
cavalry galloping across the short grass of the prairie with noiseless
hoofs. The thunder of cannon could be heard in the air long before the
guns were loaded.

I saw no more than others, and when the grim horrors of the future first
breathed coldly upon me I, too, soon forgot it. It happened at San
Francisco in the spring of 1907. We were standing before a bar, and from
outside came the sounds of an uproar in the street. Two men were being
thrown out of a Japanese restaurant across the way, and the Japanese
proprietor, who was standing in the doorway, kicked the hat of one of
them across the pavement so that it rolled over the street like a
football.

"Well, what do you think of that," cried my friend, Arthur Wilcox, "the
Jap is attacking the white men."

I held him back by the arm, for a tall Irish policeman had already
seized the Jap, who protested loudly and would not submit to arrest. The
policeman took good hold of him, but before he knew it he lay like a log
on the pavement, the Japanese dwarf apparently having thrown him without
the least trouble. A wild brawl followed. Half an hour later only a few
policemen, taking notes, were walking about in the Japanese restaurant,
which had been completely demolished by a frenzied mob. We remained at
the bar for some time afterwards engaged in earnest conversation.

"Our grandchildren," said Arthur, "will have to answer for that little
affair and fight it out some day or other."

"Not our grandchildren, but we ourselves," I answered, not knowing in
the least why I said it.

"We ourselves?" said Wilcox, laughing at me, "not much; look at me, look
at yourself, look at our people, and then look at those dwarfs."

"The Russians said the same thing: Look at the dwarfs."

They all laughed at me and presently I joined in the laugh, but I could
not forget the Irishman as he lay in the grip of the Jap. And quite
suddenly I remembered something which I had almost forgotten. It
happened at Heidelberg, during my student days in Germany; a professor
was telling us how, after the inglorious retreat of the Prussian army
from Valmy, the officers, with young Goethe in their midst, were sitting
round the camp fires discussing the reasons for the defeat. When they
asked Goethe what he thought about it, he answered, as though gifted
with second sight: "At this spot and at this moment a new epoch in the
world's history will begin, and you will all be able to say that you
were present." And in imagination I could see the red glow of the
bivouac fires and the officers of Frederick the Great's famous army, who
could not understand how anyone could have fled before the ragged
recruits of the Revolution. And near them I saw a man of higher caliber
standing on tiptoe to look through the dark curtain into the future.

At the time I soon forgot all these things; I forgot the apparently
insignificant street affray and the icy breath of premonition which
swept over me then, and not until the disaster had occurred did it again
enter my mind. But then when the swords were clashing I realized, for
the first time, that all the incidents we had observed on the dusty
highway of History, and passed by with indifference, had been sure signs
of the coming catastrophe.

PARABELLUM




BANZAI!




_Chapter I_

IN MANILA


"For God's sake, do leave me in peace with your damned yellow monkeys!"
cried Colonel Webster, banging his fist on the table so hard that the
whisky and soda glasses jumped up in a fright, then came down again
irritably and wagged their heads disapprovingly, so that the
amber-colored fluid spilled over the edge and lay on the table in little
pearly puddles.

"As you like, colonel. I shall give up arguing with you," returned
Lieutenant Commander Harryman curtly. "You won't allow yourself to be
warned."

"Warned - that's not the question. But this desire of yours to scent
Japanese intrigues everywhere, to figure out all politics by the
Japanese common denominator, and to see a Japanese spy in every coolie
is becoming a positive mania. No, I can't agree with you there," added
Webster, who seemed to regret the passionate outburst into which his
temperament had betrayed him.

"Really not?" asked Harryman, turning in his comfortable wicker chair
toward Webster and looking at him half encouragingly with twinkling
eyes.

Such discussions were not at all unusual in the Club at Manila, for they
presented the only antidote to the leaden, soul-killing tedium of the
dull monotony of garrison duty. Since the new insurrection on Mindanao
and in the whole southern portion of the archipelago, the question as to
the actual causes of the uprising, or rather the secret authors thereof,
continually gave rise to heated discussions. And when both parties, of
which one ascribed everything to Japanese intrigue and the other found
an explanation in elementary causes, began to liven up, the debate was
apt to wax pretty warm. If these discussions did nothing else, they at
least produced a sort of mental excitement after the heat of the day
which wore out body and mind alike, not even cooling down toward
evening.

The Chinese boy, passing quickly and quietly between the chairs, removed
the traces of the Webster thunderbolt and placed fresh bottles of soda
water on the table, whereupon the officers carefully prepared new
drinks.

"He's a spy, too, I suppose?" asked Webster of Harryman, pointing with
his thumb over his shoulder at the disappearing boy.

"Of course. Did you ever imagine him to be anything else?"

Webster shrugged his shoulders. A dull silence ensued, during which they
tried to recover the lost threads of their thoughts in the drowsy
twilight. Harryman irritably chewed the ends of his mustache. The smoke
from two dozen shag pipes settled like streaks of mist in the sultry air
of the tropical night, which came in at the open windows. Lazily and
with long pauses, conversation was kept up at the separate tables. The
silence was only broken by the creaking of the wicker chairs and the
gurgling and splashing of the soda water, when one of the officers,
after having put it off as long as possible, at last found sufficient
energy to refill his glass. Motionless as seals on the sandhills in the
heat of midday, the officers lolled in their chairs, waiting for the
moment when they could turn in with some show of decency.

"It's awful!" groaned Colonel McCabe. "This damned hole is enough to
make one childish. I shall go crazy soon." And then he cracked his
standing joke of the evening: "My daily morning prayer is: 'Let it soon
be evening, O God; the morrow will come of itself.'" The jest was
greeted with a dutiful grunt of approval from the occupants of the
various chairs.

Lieutenant Parrington, officer in command of the little gunboat
_Mindoro_, which had been captured from the Spaniards some years ago and
since the departure of the cruiser squadron for Mindanao been put in
commission as substitute guardship in the harbor of Manila, entered the
room and dropped into a chair near Harryman; whereupon the Chinese boy,
almost inaudible in his broad felt shoes, suddenly appeared beside him
and set down the bottle with the pain expeller of the tropics before
him.

"Any cable news, Parrington?" asked Colonel McCabe from the other table.

"Not a word," yawned Parrington; "everything is still smashed. We might
just as well be sitting under the receiver of an air pump."

Harryman noticed that the boy stared at Parrington for a moment as if
startled; but he instantly resumed his Mongolian expression of absolute
innocence, and with his customary grin slipped sinuously through the
door.

Harryman experienced an unpleasant feeling of momentary discomfort, but,
not being able to locate his ideas clearly, he irritably gave up the
attempt to arrive at a solution of this instinctive sensation, mumbling
to himself: "This tropical hell is enough to set one crazy."

"No news of the fleet, either?" began Colonel McCabe again.

"Positively nothing, either by wire or wireless. It seems as though the
rest of the world had sunk into a bottomless pit. Not a single word has
reached us from the outer world for six days."

"Do you believe in the seaquake?" struck in Harryman mockingly.

"Why not?" returned the colonel.

Harryman jumped up, walked over to the window with long strides, threw
out the end of his cigarette and lighted a new one. In the bright light
of the flaming match one could see the commander's features twitching
ironically; he was on the warpath again.

"All the same, it's a queer state of affairs. Our home cable snaps
between Guam and here, the Hong-Kong cable won't work, and even our
island wire has been put out of commission; it must have been a pretty
violent catastrophe - " came from another table.

" - All the more violent considering the fact that we noticed nothing of
it on land," said Harryman, thoughtfully blowing out a cloud of smoke
and swinging himself up backward on the window-sill.

"Exactly," rang out a voice; "but how do you account for that?"

"Account for it!" cried Colonel Webster, in a thundering voice. "Our
comrade of the illustrious navy of the United States of America has only
one explanation for everything: his Japanese logarithms, by means of
which he figures out everything. Now we shall hear that this seaquake
can be traced to Japanese villainy, probably brought about by Japanese
divers, or even submarine boats." And the colonel began to laugh
heartily.

Harryman ignored this attempt to resume their recent dispute, and with
head thrown back continued to blow clouds of smoke nervously into the
air.

"But seriously, Harryman," began the colonel again, "can you give any
explanation?"

"No," answered Harryman curtly; "but perhaps you will remember who was
the first to furnish an explanation of the breakdown of the cable. It
was the captain of the Japanese _Kanga Maru_, which has been anchored
since Tuesday beside the _Monadnock_, which I have the honor to
command."

"But, my good Harryman, you have hallucinations," interrupted the
colonel. "The Japanese captain gave the latest Hong-Kong papers to the
Harbor Bureau, and was quite astonished to hear that our cable did not
work - - "

"When he was going to send a cablegram to Hong-Kong," added Harryman
sharply.

"To announce his arrival at Manila," remarked Colonel Webster dryly.

"And the Hong-Kong papers had already published descriptions of the
destruction caused by the seaquake, of the tidal waves, and the
accidents to ships," came from another quarter.

"The news being of especial interest to this archipelago, where we have
the misfortune to be and where we noticed nothing of the whole affair,"
returned Harryman.

"You don't mean to imply," broke in the colonel, "that the news of this
catastrophe is a pure invention - an invention of the English papers in
Hong-Kong?"

"Don't know, I'm sure," said Harryman. "Hong-Kong papers are no
criterion for me." And then he added quietly: "Yes, man is great, and
the newspaper is his prophet."

"But you can't dispute the fact that a seaquake may have taken place,
when you consider the striking results as shown by the cable
interruptions which we have been experiencing for the last six days,"
began Webster again.

"Have we really?" said Harryman. "Are you quite sure of it? So far the
only authority we have for this supposed seaquake is a Japanese
captain - whom, by the way, I am having sharply watched - and a bundle of
worthless Hong-Kong newspapers. And as for the rest of my
hallucinations" - he jumped down from the window-sill and, going up to
Webster, held out a sheet of paper toward him - "I'm in the habit of
using other sources of information than the English-Japanese
fingerposts."

Webster glanced at the paper and then looked at Harryman questioningly.

"What is it? Do you understand it?"

"Yes," snapped Harryman. "These little pictures portray our war of
extermination against the red man. They are terribly exaggerated and
distorted, which was not at all necessary, by the way, for the events of
that war do not add to the fame of our nation. Up here," explained
Harryman, while several officers, among them the colonel, stepped up to
the table, "you see the story of the infected blankets from the fever
hospitals which were sent to the Indians; here the butchery of an Indian
tribe; here, for comparison, the fight on the summit of the volcano of
Ilo-Ilo, where the Tagala were finally driven into the open crater; and
here, at the end, the practical application for the Tagala: 'As the
Americans have destroyed the red man, so will you slowly perish under
the American rule. They have hurled your countrymen into the chasm of
the volcano. This crater will devour you all if you do not turn those
weapons which were once broken by Spanish bondage against your
deliverers of 1898, who have since become your oppressors.'"

"Where did you get the scrawl?" asked the colonel excitedly.

"Do you want me to procure hundreds, thousands like it for you?"
returned Harryman coolly.

The colonel pressed down the ashes in his pipe with his thumb, and asked
indifferently: "You understand Japanese?"

"Tagala also," supplemented Harryman simply.

"And you mean to say that thousands - - ?"

"Millions of these pictures, with Japanese and Malayan text, are being
circulated in the Philippines," said Harryman positively.

"Under our eyes?" asked a lieutenant na√ѓvely.

"Under our eyes," replied Harryman, smiling, "our eyes which carelessly
overlook such things."

Colonel Webster rose and offered Harryman his hand. "I have misjudged
you," he said heartily. "I belong to your party from now on."

"It isn't a question of party," answered Harryman warmly, "or rather
there will soon be only the one party."

"Do you think," asked Colonel McCabe, "that the supposed Japanese plan
of attack on the Philippines, published at the beginning of the year in
the _North China Daily News_, was authentic?"

"That question cannot be answered unless you know who gave the document
to the Shanghai paper, and what object he had in doing so," replied
Harryman.

"How do you mean?"

"Well," continued Harryman, "only two possibilities can exist: the
document was either genuine or false. If genuine, then it was an
indiscretion on the part of a Japanese who betrayed his country to an
English paper - an English paper which no sooner gets possession of this
important document than it immediately proceeds to publish its contents,
thereby getting its ally into a nice pickle. You will at once observe
here three improbabilities: treason, indiscretion, and, finally, England
in the act of tripping her ally. These actions would be incompatible, in
the first place, with the almost hysterical sense of patriotism of the
Japanese; in the second, with their absolute silence and secrecy, and,
in the third place, with the behavior of our English cousin since his
marriage to Madame Chrysanthemum - - "

"The document was therefore not genuine?" asked the colonel.

"Think it over. What was it that the supposed plan of attack set forth?
A Japanese invasion of Manila with the fleet and a landing force of
eighty thousand men, and then, following the example of Cuba, an
insurrection of the natives, which would gradually exhaust our troops,
while the Japanese would calmly settle matters at sea, Roschestwenski's
tracks being regarded as a sufficient scare for our admirals."

"That would no doubt be the best course to pursue in an endeavor to
pocket the Philippines," answered the colonel thoughtfully; "and the
plan would be aided by the widespread and growing opposition at home to
keeping the archipelago and putting more and more millions into the
Asiatic branch business."

"Quite so," continued Harryman quickly, "if Japan wanted nothing else
but the Philippines."

"What on earth does she want in addition?" asked Webster.

"The _mastery of the Pacific_," said Harryman in a decided voice.

"Commercial mastery?" asked Parrington, "or - - "

"No; political, too, and with solid foundations," answered Harryman.

Colonel McCabe had sat down again, and was studying the pamphlet,
Parrington picked at the label on his whisky bottle, and the others
remained silent, but buried in thought. In the next room a clock struck
ten with a hurried, tinkling sound which seemed to break up the uneasy
silence into so many small pieces.

"And if it was not genuine?" began Colonel McCabe again, hoarsely. He
cleared his throat and repeated the question in a low tone of voice:
"And if it was not genuine?"

Harryman shrugged his shoulders.

"Then it would be a trap for us to have us secure our information from
the wrong quarter," said the colonel, answering his own question.

"A trap into which we are rushing at full speed," continued Webster,
laying stress on each word, though his thoughts seemed to be far in
advance of what he was saying.

Harryman nodded and twisted his mustache.

"What did you say?" asked Parrington, jumping up and looking from
Webster to Harryman, neither of whom, however, volunteered a reply. "We
are stumbling into a trap?"

"Two regiments," said Webster, more to himself than to the others. And
then, turning to Harryman, he asked briskly: "When are the transports
expected to arrive?"

"The steamers with two regiments on board left 'Frisco on April 10th,
therefore - he counted the days on his fingers - they should be here by
now."

"No, they were to go straight to Mindanao," said Parrington.

"Straight to Mindanao?" Colonel McCabe meditated silently. Then, as
though waking up suddenly, he went on: "And the cable has not been
working for six days - - "

"Exactly," interrupted Parrington, "we have known nothing, either of
the fleet or of anything else, for the last six days."

"Harryman," said Colonel McCabe seriously, "do you think there is
danger? If it is all a trap, it would be the most stupid thing that we
could do to send our transports unprotected - But that's all nonsense!
This heat positively dries up your thoughts. No, no, it's impossible;
they're hallucinations bred by the fermented vapors of this God-forsaken
country!" He pressed the electric button, and the boy appeared at the
door behind him. "Some soda, Pailung!"

"Parrington, are you coming? I ordered my boat for ten o'clock," said
Harryman.

"As early as this, Harryman?" remonstrated Webster. "You'll be on board
your boat quite soon enough, or do you want to keep a night watch also
on your Japanese of the - What sort of a Maru was it?" he broke off,
because Colonel McCabe pointed angrily at the approaching boy.

"Oh, nonsense!" growled Webster ill-humoredly. "A creature like that
doesn't see or hear a thing."

The colonel glared at Webster, and then noisily mixed his drink.

Harryman and Parrington walked along the quay in silence, their steps
resounding loudly in the stillness of the night. On the other side of
the street fleeting shadows showed at the lighted windows of several
harbor dens, over the entrance to which hung murky lamps and from which
loud voices issued, proving that all was still in full swing there.


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