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.

"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!