Chapter XVII

WHAT HAPPENED AT CORPUS CHRISTI

The attitude of the European press left no room for doubt as to the honest indignation of the Old World at the treacherous attack on our country. But what good could this scathing denunciation of the Japanese policy do us? A newspaper article wouldn't hurt a single Japanese soldier, and what good could all the resolutions passed at enthusiastic public meetings in Germany and France do us, or the daily cablegrams giving us the assurance of their sympathy and good-will?

These expressions of public opinion did, however, prove that the Old World realized at last that the yellow danger was of universal interest, that it was not merely forcing a single country to the wall, casually as it were, but that it was of deep and immediate concern to every European nation without exception. They began to look beyond the wisdom of the pulpit orators who preached about the wonderful growth of culture in Japan, and to recognize that if the United States did not succeed in conquering Japan and driving the enemy out of the country, the victorious Japanese would not hesitate a moment to take the next step and knock loudly and peremptorily at Europe's door, and this would put an end once and for all to every single European colonial empire.

But while European authorities on international law were busily parading their paper wisdom, and wondering how a war without a declaration of war and without a diplomatic prelude could fit into the political scheme of the world's history, at least one real item of assistance was at hand.

The American press, it is true, still suffered from the delusion that our militia—consisting of hundreds of thousands of men—and our volunteers would be prepared to take the field in three or four weeks, but the indescribable confusion existing in all the military camps told a different story. What was needed most were capable officers. The sad experiences of the Spanish-American campaign were repeated, only on a greatly magnified scale. We possessed splendid material in the matter of men and plenty of good-will, but we lacked completely the practical experience necessary for adapting the military apparatus of our small force of regular soldiers to the requirements of a great national army. We felt that we could with the aid of money and common-sense transform a large group of able-bodied men accustomed to healthy exercise into a serviceable and even a victorious army, but we made a great mistake. The commissariat and sanitary service and especially the military train-corps would have to be created out of nothing. When in June the governor of one State reported that his infantry regiment was formed and only waiting for rifles, uniforms and the necessary military wagons, and when another declared that his two regiments of cavalry and six batteries were ready to leave for the front as soon as horses, guns, ammunition-carts and harness could be procured, it showed with horrible distinctness how utterly ridiculous our methods of mobilization were.

The London diplomats went around like whipped curs, for all the early enthusiasm for the Japanese alliance disappeared as soon as the English merchants began to have such unpleasant experiences with the unscrupulousness of the Japanese in business matters. As a matter of fact the alliance had fulfilled its object as soon as Japan had fought England's war with Russia for her. But the cabinet of St. James adhered to the treaty, because they feared that if they let go of the hawser, a word from Tokio would incite India to revolt. The soil there had for years been prepared for this very contingency, and London, therefore, turned a deaf ear to the indignation expressed by the rest of the world at Japan's treacherous violation of peace.

At last at the end of July the transportation of troops to the West began. But when the police kept a sharp lookout for Japanese or Chinese spies at the stations where the troops were boarding the trains, they were looking in the wrong place, for the enemy was smart enough not to expose himself unnecessarily or to send spies who, as Mongolians, would at once have fallen victims to the rage of the people if seen anywhere near the camps.

Besides, such a system of espionage was rendered unnecessary by the American press, which, instead of benefiting by past experience, took good care to keep the Japanese well informed concerning the military measures of the government, and even discussed the organization of the army and the possibilities of the strategical advance in a way that seemed particularly reprehensible in the light of the fearful reverses of the last few months. The government warnings were disregarded especially by the large dailies, who seemed to find it absolutely impossible to regard the events of the day in any other light than that of sensational news to be eagerly competed for.

This competition for news from the seat of war and from the camps had first to lead to a real catastrophe, before strict discipline could be enforced in this respect. A few patriotic editors, to be sure, refused to make use of the material offered them; but the cable dispatches sent to Europe, the news forwarded triumphantly as a proof that the Americans were now in a position "to toss the yellow monkeys into the Pacific," quite sufficed to enable the Japanese to adopt preventive measures in time.

While the American Army of the North was advancing on Nogi's forces in the Blue Mountains, the Army of the South was to attack the Japanese position in Arizona by way of Texas. For this purpose the three brigades stationed in the mountains of New Mexico were to be reënforced by the troops from Cuba and Porto Rico and the two Florida regiments. All of these forces were to be transported to Corpus Christi by water, as it was hoped in this way to keep the movement concealed from the enemy, in order that the attack in the South might come as far as possible in the nature of a surprise, and thus prevent the sending of reënforcements to the North where, at the foot of the Blue Mountains, the main battle was to be fought. But unfortunately our plan of attack did not remain secret. Before a single soldier had set foot on the transport ships which had been lying for weeks in the harbors of Havana and Tampa, the Japanese news bureaus in Kingston (Jamaica) and Havana had been fully informed as to where the blow was to fall, partly by West Indian half-breed spies and partly by the obliging American press. One regiment of cavalry had already arrived at Corpus Christi from Tampa on July 30th, and the Cuban troops were expected on the following day.

Two American naval officers were standing on the small gallery of the white light-house situated at the extreme end of the narrow tongue of land lying before the lagoon of Corpus Christi, gazing through their glasses at the boundless expanse of blue water glittering with myriads of spots in the rays of the midday sun. Out in the roads lay seven large freight steamers whose cargoes of horses and baggage, belonging to the 2d Florida Cavalry Regiment, were being transferred to lighters. A small tug, throwing up two glittering streaks of spray with its broad bow, was towing three barges through the narrow opening of the lagoon to Corpus Christi, whose docks showed signs of unusual bustle. Short-winded engines were pulling long freight-trains over the tracks that ran along the docks, ringing their bells uninterruptedly. From the camps outside the town the low murmur of drums and long bugle-calls could be heard through the drowsy noon heat. A long gray snake, spotted with the dull glitter of bright metal, wound its way between the white tents: a detachment of troops marching to the station. Beyond the town one could follow the silver rails through the green plantations for miles, as plainly as on a map, until they finally disappeared on the horizon.

Now the whistle of the tug sounded shrilly, blowing scattered flakes of white steam into the air. The quick, clear tolling of church-bells rang over the roofs of the bright houses of the city. It was twelve o'clock and the sun's rays were scorching hot.

One of the naval officers pulled out his watch to see if it were correct, and then said: "Shall we go down and get something to eat first, Ben?"

"The steamers from Havana ought really to be in sight by this time," answered Ben Wood; "they left on the twenty-sixth."

"Well, yes, on the twenty-sixth. But some of those transport-ships palmed off on us are the limit and can't even make ten knots an hour. Their rickety engines set the pace for the fleet, and unless the Olympia wishes to abandon the shaky old hulks to their fate, she must keep step with them."

Lieutenant Gibson Spencer swept the horizon once more with his marine-glass and stopped searchingly at one spot. "If that's not the Flying Dutchman, they're ships," he remarked, "probably our ships."

The light-house keeper, a slender Mexican, came on the gallery, saying: "Ships are coming over there, sir," as he pointed in the direction which Spencer had indicated. Lieutenant Ben Wood stepped to the stationary telescope in the light-room below the place for the lamps, and started to adjust the screws, but the heat of the metal, which had become red-hot beneath the burning rays of the sun, made him start: "Hot hole," he swore under his breath.

Lieutenant Spencer conversed a moment with the keeper and then looked again through his glass at Corpus Christi, where the tug was just making fast to the pier. The third barge knocked violently against the piles, so that a whole shower of splinters fell into the water.

"Gibson," cried Lieutenant Wood suddenly from his place in the light-room, his voice sounding muffled on account of the small space, "those are not our ships."

Spencer looked through the telescope and arrived at the same conclusion. "No," he said; "we have no ships like that, but they're coming nearer and we'll soon be able to make out what they are!"

"Those ships certainly don't belong to our fleet," he repeated after another long look at the vessels slowly growing larger on the horizon. They had two enormous funnels and only one mast and even the arched roofs of their turrets could now be clearly distinguished.

"If I didn't know that our English friends owned the only ships of that caliber, and that our own are unhappily still in process of equipment at Newport News, I should say that those were two Dreadnoughts."

"I guess you've had a sunstroke," rang out the answer.

"Sunstroke or no sunstroke, those are two Dreadnoughts."

"But where can they come from?"

The three men examined the horizon in silence, till Lieutenant Wood suddenly broke it by exclaiming: "There, do you see, to the left, just appearing on the horizon, that's our transport fleet—eight—ten ships; the one in front is probably the Olympia."

"Twelve ships," counted the keeper,"and if I may be allowed to say so, the two in front are battleships."

"There they are then," said Ben Wood, "and now we'll get something to eat in a jiffy, for we'll have our work cut out for us in an hour!"

"Where shall we eat?" asked Spencer, "I'll gladly dispense with the grub at Signor Morrosini's to-day."

"I'll tell you what," said the other, "we'll go across to one of the transport-steamers; or, better still, we'll go to the captain of the Marietta—we'll be sure to get something decent to eat there."

"Right you are!" said Spencer, peering down over the edge of the railing. "Our cutter is down there," he added.

At the foot of the light-house lay a small, white cutter with its brass appointments glittering in the sunlight. Her crew, consisting of three men, had crept into the little cabin, while the black stoker was resting on a bench near the boiler.

"Ho, Dodge!" shouted Spencer, "get up steam. We're going over to the transport-ships in ten minutes."

The firemen threw several shovels of coal into the furnace, whereupon a cloud of smoke poured out of the funnel straight up along the light-house. Lieutenant Wood telephoned over to Corpus Christi that the transports with the troops on board had been sighted and that they would probably arrive in the roads in about two hours.

"We're going over to one of the transport-ships meanwhile," he added, "and will await the arrival of the squadron out there."

While Lieutenant Spencer was climbing down the narrow staircase, Lieutenant Wood once more examined the horizon and suddenly started. The thunder of a shot boomed across the water. Boom—came the sound of another one!

The lieutenant clapped his marine-glasses to his eyes. Yes, there were two Dreadnoughts out there, evidently saluting. But why at such a distance?

"Gibson," he called down the staircase.

"Come on, Ben!" came the impatient answer from below.

"I can't, I wish you'd come up again for a minute, I'm sure something's wrong!"

The gun-shots were booming loudly across the water as Lieutenant Spencer reached the gallery, covered with perspiration.

"I suppose they're saluting," exclaimed Spencer somewhat uncertainly.

Ben Wood said nothing, but with a quick jerk turned the telescope to the right and began examining the transport-ships.

"Heavens," he shouted, "they mean business. I can see shells splashing into the water in front of the Olympia—no, there in the middle—away back there, too— One of the transports listed. What can it mean? Can they be Japanese?"

Again the roar of guns rolled across the quiet waters.

"Now the Olympia is beginning to shoot," cried Ben Wood. "Oh, that shot struck the turret. Great, that must have done some good work! But what in Heaven's name are we going to do?"

Lieutenant Spencer answered by pushing the light-house keeper, who was in abject fear, aside, and rushing to the telephone. Trembling with excitement, he stamped his foot and swore loudly when no notice was taken of his ring.

"All asleep over there as usual! Ah, at last!"

"Halloo! what's up?"

"This is the light-house. Notify the commander at Corpus Christi at once that the Japanese are in the roads and are attacking the transports."

Over in Corpus Christi people began to collect on the piers, the bells stopped ringing, but the sound of bugles could still be heard coming from the encampments.

Now the light-house telephone rang madly and Spencer seized the receiver. "They are, I tell you. Can't you hear the shots?" he shouted into the instrument. "There are two large Japanese ships out in the roads shooting at the Olympia and the transports. Impossible or not, it's a fact!"

Suddenly a thick column of smoke began to ascend from the funnel of the little American gunboat Marietta, which was lying among the transports out in the roads. The whistles and bugle-calls could be heard distinctly, and the crew could be seen on deck busy at the guns. The steam-winch rattled and began to haul up the anchor, while the water whirled at the stern as the vessel made a turn. Even before the anchor appeared at the surface the gunboat had put to sea with her course set towards the ships on the horizon, which were enveloped in clouds of black smoke.

"There's nothing for us to do," said Spencer despairingly, "but stand here helplessly and look on. There isn't a single torpedo-boat, not a single submarine here! For Heaven's sake, Ben, tell us what's happening out there!"

"It's awful!" answered Wood; "two of the transport-ships are in flames, two seem to have been sunk, and some of those further back have listed badly. The Olympia is heading straight for the enemy, but she seems to be damaged and is burning aft. There are two more cruisers in the background, but they are hidden by the smoke from the burning steamers; I can't see them any more."

"Where on earth have the Japanese ships come from? I thought their whole fleet was stationed in the Pacific. Not one of their ships has ever come around Cape Horn or through the Straits of Magellan; if they had, our cruisers off the Argentine coast would have seen them. And besides it would be utter madness to send just two battleships to the Atlantic. But where else can they have come from?"

"There's no use asking where they come from," cried Wood excitedly, "the chief point is, they're there!"

He gave up his place at the telescope to his comrade, thought for a moment, and then went to the telephone.

His orders into town were short and decisive: "Send all the tugs out to sea immediately. Have them hoist the ambulance-flag and try to rescue the men of the transports."

"And you, Spencer," he continued, "take the cutter and hurry over to the transport-steamers in the roads and have them hoist the Red Cross flag and get to sea as quickly as possible to help in the work of rescue. That's the only thing left for us to do. I'll take command of the President Cleveland and you take charge of the Swedish steamer Olsen. And now let's get to work! Signor Alvares can play the rôle of idle onlooker better than we can. Our place is out there!"

Both officers rushed down the stairs and jumped into the cutter, which steamed off at full speed and took them to their ships.

Three-quarters of an hour later the tug mentioned in the beginning of the chapter appeared again at the entrance to the lagoon. Several men could be seen in the stern holding a large white sheet upon which a man was painting a large red cross, and when the symbol of human love and assistance was finished, the sheet was hoisted at the flagstaff. Two other tugs followed the example of the first one.

But could the enemy have taken the three little tugs for torpedo-boats? It seemed so, for suddenly a shell, which touched the surface of the water twice, whizzed past and hit the first steamer amidships just below the funnel. And while the little vessel was still enveloped by the black smoke caused by the bursting of the shell, her bow and stern rose high out of the water and she sank immediately, torn in two. The thunder of the shot sounded far over the water and found an echo among the houses at Corpus Christi.

"Now they're even shooting at the ambulance flag," roared Ben Wood, who was rushing about on the deck of the President Cleveland and exhorting the crew to hoist the anchor as fast as possible so as to get out to the field of battle. But as the boiler-fires were low, this seemed to take an eternity.

At last, about three o'clock in the afternoon, they succeeded in reaching a spot where a few hundred men were clinging to the floating wreckage. The rest had been attended to by the enemy's shots, the sea and the sharks.

The enemy had wasted only a few shots on the transport-steamers, as a single well-aimed explosive shell was quite sufficient to entirely destroy one of the merchant-vessels, and the battle with the Olympia had lasted only a very short time, as the distance had evidently been too great to enable the American shots to reach the enemy. That was the end of the Olympia, Admiral Dewey's flag-ship at Cavite! The two smaller cruisers had been shot to pieces just as rapidly.

The results of this unexpected setback were terribly disheartening, since all idea of a flank attack on the Japanese positions in the South had to be abandoned.

But where had the two Dreadnoughts come from? They had not been seen by a living soul until they had appeared in the roads of Corpus Christi. They had risen from the sea for a few hours, like an incarnation of the ghostly rumors of flying squadrons of Japanese cruisers, and they had disappeared from the field of action just as suddenly as they had come. If it had not been for the cruel reality of the destruction of the transport fleet, no one would soon have believed in the existence of these phantom ships. But the frenzied fear of the inhabitants of the coast-towns cannot well take the form of iron and steel, and nightmares, no matter how vivid, cannot produce ships whose shells sweep an American squadron off the face of the sea.

It had been known for years that two monster ships of the Dreadnought type were being built for Brazil in the English shipyards. No one knew where Brazil was going to get the money to pay for the battleships or what the Brazilian fleet wanted with such huge ships, but they continued to be built. It was generally supposed that England was building them as a sort of reserve for her own fleet; but once again was public opinion mistaken. Only those who years before had raised a warning protest and been ridiculed for seeing ghosts, proved to be right. They had prophesied long ago that these ships were not intended for England, but for her ally, Japan.

The vessels were finished by the end of June and during the last days of the month the Brazilian flag was openly hoisted on board the San Paulo and Minas Geraes, as they were called, the English shipbuilders having indignantly refused to sell them to the United States on the plea of feeling bound to observe strict neutrality. The two armored battleships started on their voyage across the Atlantic with Brazilian crews on board; but when they arrived at a spot in the wide ocean where no spectators were to be feared, they were met by six transport-steamers conveying the Japanese crews for the two warships, no others than the thousand Japs who had been landed at Rio de Janeiro as coolies for the Brazilian coffee plantations in the summer of 1908. They had been followed in November by four hundred more.

We were greatly puzzled at the time over this striking exception to the Japanese political programme of concentrating streams of immigrants on our Pacific coasts. Without a word of warning a thousand Japanese coolies were shipped to Brazil, where they accepted starvation wages greatly to the disgust and indignation of the German and Italian workmen—not to speak of the lazy Brazilians themselves. This isolated advance of the Japs into Brazil struck observers as a dissipation of energy, but the Government in Tokio continued to carry out its plans, undisturbed by our expressions of astonishment. Silently, but no less surely, the diligent hands of the coolies and the industrious spirit of Japanese merchants in Brazil created funds with which the two warships were paid at least in part. The public interpreted it as an act of commendable patriotism when, in June, the one thousand four hundred Japs turned their backs on their new home, in order to defend their country's flag. They left Rio in six transport-steamers.

Brazil thereupon sold her two battleships to a Greek inn-keeper at Santos, named Petrokakos, and he turned them over to the merchant Pietro Alvares Cortes di Mendoza at Bahia. This noble Don was on board one of the transport-steamers with the Japanese "volunteers," and on board this Glasgow steamer, the Kirkwall, the bill of sale was signed on July 14th, by the terms of which the "armed steamers" Kure and Sasebo passed into the possession of Japan. The Brazilian crews and some English engineers went on board the transports and were landed quietly two weeks later at various Brazilian ports.

These one thousand four hundred Japanese plantation-laborers, traders, artisans, and engineers—in reality they were trained men belonging to the naval reserve—at once took over the management of the two mighty ships, and set out immediately in the direction of the West Indies. At Kingston (Jamaica) a friendly steamer supplied them with the latest news of the departure of the American transports from Cuba, and the latter met their fate, as we saw, in the roads of Corpus Christi.

A terrible panic seized all our cities on the Gulf of Mexico and the Atlantic coast, as the Japanese monsters were heard from, now here, now there. For example, several shells exploded suddenly in the middle of the night in the harbor of Galveston when not a warship had been observed in the neighborhood, and again several American merchant-vessels were sent to the bottom by the mysterious ships, which began constantly to assume more gigantic proportions in the reports of the sailors. At last a squadron was dispatched from Newport News to seek and destroy the enemy, whereupon the phantom-ships disappeared as suddenly as they had come. Not until Admiral Dayton ferreted out the Japanese cruisers at the Falkland Islands did our sailors again set eyes on the two battleships.