Banzai! by Parabellum

  _Chapter VIII_

  IN THE BOWELS OF THE EARTH

  It was thought that the earthquake had done away forever with theunderground labyrinth of the Chinese quarter--those thousands of pensinhabited by creatures that shunned the light of day, those mole-holeswhich served as headquarters for a subterranean agitation, themysterious methods of which have never been revealed to the eye of thewhite man. When had the old Chinatown been laid out; when had thosehidden warehouses, those opium dens and hiding-places of the Mongolianproletariat been erected, those dens in which all manner of criminalscelebrated their indescribable orgies and which silently hid all theseevil-doers from the far-reaching arm of the police? When had the newChinatown sprung up? When had the new quarter been provided with anendless network of subterranean passages, so that soon all was just asit had been before the earthquake? No one had paid any attention tothese things. The Mongolian secret societies never paused for a momentin their invisible conspiracy against the ruling whites, and succeededin creating a new underground world, over which the street trafficrolled on obliviously.

  A narrow cellar entrance and greasy, slippery steps led into Hung Wapu'sstore, behind which there was a chop-house, which in turn led into anopium-den. The rooms behind the latter, from which daylight was foreverexcluded, were reserved for still worse things. No policeman would everhave succeeded in raiding these dens of iniquity; he would have foundnothing but empty rooms or bunks filled with snoring Chinese; theabominable stench would soon have driven him out again, but if, by anychance, he had attempted to penetrate further and to explore the wallsfor the purpose of discovering hidden openings, the only result wouldhave been a story in the next day's papers about a "missing" policeman.

  Hung Wapu, whose plump face, with its enormous spectacles, resembledthat of an old fat boarding-house keeper, was standing at the entranceto his cellar-shop late on the evening of May sixth. A disgusting odorand the murmur of many voices reached the street from the cellar. Thepoliceman had just made his rounds, and Hung Wapu looked after him witha cunning grin as his heavy steps died away in the distance.

  The coast was clear for two hours. Hung Wapu went in and locked thedoor, above which a green paper-lantern swung gently to and fro in thesoft night wind. Hung Wapu passed through the store to the chop-house,where several dozen Chinese were squatting on the ground dining onunmentionable Chinese delicacies, which consisted of anything andeverything soft enough to be chewed. No one watching the vacantexpression of these people would have dreamed for a moment that anythingwas wrong; no one observing these chattering, shouting sons of theCelestial Kingdom would have guessed that anything out of the ordinarywas on foot. They kept on eating, and did not even look up when severalJaps stole, one by one, through their midst and disappeared through adoor at the back. The Japs apparently attracted no attention whatsoever,but a keen observer would have noticed that Hung Wapu placed a littlesaki-bowl on a low table for every Japanese visitor that had entered hisshop.

  The Japs all went through a side-door of the opium-den into a largeroom, where they took off their outer clothing and put on uniformsinstead. Then they lay down to sleep either on the mats on the floor oron the bundles of clothing which were stacked on the floor along thewalls of the room.

  Hung Wapu now accompanied one of his Chinese guests up the cellar-stepsto the street, and sitting down on the top step began to chat in a lowvoice with his apparently half-intoxicated countryman. At the same timehe polished about two dozen little saki-bowls with an old rag,afterwards arranging them in long rows on the pavement.

  The animated traffic in the narrow alley gradually died down. One by onemost of the gas-lamps closed their tired eyes, and only the greenpaper-lantern above Hung Wapu's door continued to swing to and fro inthe night-wind, while similar spots of colored light were visible infront of a few of the neighboring houses. Far away a clock struck thehour of midnight, and somewhere else, high up in the air, a bell rangout twelve strokes with a metallic sound. A cool current of air comingfrom the harbor swept through the hot, ill-smelling alley.

  Hung Wapu went on whispering with his companion, and all the time hecontinued to polish his little saki-bowls. After a while the visitorfell asleep against the door-post and snored with all his might. Mistyshadows began to fall slowly and the lights of the street lamps took ona red glow. Suddenly the figure of a drunken man appeared a littledistance away; he was carefully feeling his way along the houses, but assoon as he came in sight of Hung Wapu's cellar, he suddenly seemed tosober up for a minute and made directly for it. "Saki!" he stammered,planting himself in front of Hung Wapu, whereupon the latter made asign. The drunken man, a Japanese, whose face looked ghastly pale in thegreen light from the lantern, stared stupidly at the saki-bowls, whichHung Wapu was trying to shield from the tottering wretch with his arm.

  "Twenty-eight bowls," he stammered to himself, "twenty-eightsaki-bowls----"

  At this moment the sleeping Chinaman awoke and looked at the drunken manwith a silly laugh.

  "Yes, twenty-eight saki-bowls; it's all right--twenty-eight saki-bowls,"repeated the drunken Jap, and reeled on along the houses.

  Hung Wapu seemed to have ended his day's work with the polishing of thetwenty-eight saki-bowls; he piled them up in a heap and disappeared withthem into his cellar, followed with extraordinary agility by the Chinesesleeper. He hurried through the chop-house, the occupants of which wereall fast asleep on their straw mats, passed through the opium-den, andthen, in the third room, divested himself of his Chinese coat. Thesilk-cap with the pigtail attached was flung into a corner, and then,dressed in a khaki uniform, he seated himself at a table and studied amap of the city of San Francisco, making notes in a small book by thelight of a smoky oil lamp.

  The drunken Jap, who had apparently had doubts about entering HungWapu's chop-house, tottered on down the quiet street and made foranother paper-lantern, which hung above another cellar door about tenhouses farther on.

  Here too, curiously enough, he found the Chinese landlord sitting on thetop step. He wanted to push him aside and stumble down the steps, butthe Chinaman stopped him.

  "How much?" stuttered the drunken man.

  "How much?" answered the Chinaman. "How much money will the greatstranger pay for a meal for his illustrious stomach in Si Wafang'smiserable hut? Forty kasch, forty kasch the noble son of the Rising Sunmust pay for a shabby meal in Si Wafang's wretched hut."

  "Forty kasch? I'll bring the forty kasch, most noble Si Wafang. 'I won'tgo home till morning, till daylight does appear,'" bawled the tipsy man,and staggered on down the street, whereupon this landlord alsodisappeared in his cellar, after extinguishing the paper lantern overthe doorway.

  A death-like stillness reigned in the street, and no one imagined thatthe rats were assembling, that the underground passages were full ofthem, and that it only needed a sign to bring the swarming masses to thesurface.

  A cold breeze from the sea swept through the deserted streets and amisty veil enveloped the yellow light of the gas-lamps. The lanternshanging in front of the Chinese cellars were extinguished one by one,and everyone apparently turned in. The fog became thicker and thicker,and covered the pavement with moisture.

  Suddenly the door of Hung Wapu's cellar squeaked; it was openedcautiously and a low clatter came up from below. Thirty dark forms creptslowly up the steps, one after the other, and without a word they begantheir march. Ten houses farther on a similar detachment poured out ofthe other Chinese cellar and joined their ranks.

  The gas-lamps shed a dull, yellowish-red light on the gun-barrels of theJapanese company, which was marching down to the docks.

  Two thousand steps farther on it had become a battalion, which marchedrapidly in the direction of the barracks of the Fifth Regiment ofregulars in the old Presidio. At the next corner the leader of thebattalion unobtrusively saluted a man in uniform who stepped suddenlyout of a doorway. A few Japanese words were exchanged in a low tone.

  "This is an unexpected ally," said the Japanese
colonel, holding out hishand in the dense fog.

  Four o'clock struck from the tower of the Union Ferry Depot, and outfrom the sea, from the Golden Gate, came the bellowing voice of asteamer's whistle. The two officers looked at each other and smiled, andthe troops continued their march.

  "Halloo!" shouted a roundsman to a policeman who had been leaningagainst a lamp-post half asleep. "Halloo, Tom, wake up! Who are thosefellows over there; where the deuce are they going?"

  Tom opened his eyes, and up on the hill, a few blocks away, he couldfaintly distinguish through the thick fog the outline of a group ofrapidly moving soldiers. "I guess they are some of our boys taking partin the naval maneuver. You know, Perry's going to attack us to-day."

  "Well, I didn't know that," replied the roundsman. "They're great boys,all right; up and about at four in the morning." Just then the angrybellow from a steamer's whistle came across the water and abruptly endedthis early morning conversation.

  "I suppose that's Perry now," said Tom. "Well, he can't do much in thisbeastly fog, anyway."

  "So long, Tom," answered the roundsman curtly as he slowly proceeded toresume his interrupted rounds.

  An advance guard of a few men had been sent ahead. They found the sentryat the barrack-gates fast asleep. When he awoke it was to discoverhimself surrounded by a dozen men. He stared at them, still heavy withsleep, and then reached mechanically for his gun; it was gone. He triedto pull himself together, felt something cold pressed against his righttemple, and saw the barrel of a Browning pistol in the hand of the manin front of him.

  "Hands up!" came the command in a low tone, and a few seconds later hewas bound and gagged. As he lay on the ground, he saw a whole battalionof foreign soldiers half in the court-yard before the barracks, andvague thoughts of naval maneuvers and surprises, of Admiral Perry andthe Japs went through his mind, till all at once the notion "Japs"caused him to sit up mentally--weren't these men real Japanese? And ifso, what did it all mean?

  In the meantime double guards had occupied all the men's quarters, inwhich Uncle Sam's soldiers began gradually to wake up. The guns andammunition had long ago passed into the hands of the Japs, and when atlast the reveille from a Japanese bugle woke up the garrison completely,there was nothing to be done but to grind their teeth with rage andsubmit to the inevitable. They had to form in line in the court-yard ateight o'clock, and then, disarmed and escorted by Japanese troops, theyhad to board the ferry-boats and cross over to Angel Island, while thecannon on Fort Point (Winfield Scott) thundered out the last notes ofAmerican resistance in San Francisco.

  * * * * *

  When, shortly after midnight, the guard had been relieved for the lasttime, and only a few sleepy soldiers remained in the sentry-boxes of thecoast batteries of San Francisco, the enemy lay in ambush behind thecoast-line, ready, to the last man, to rise at a given signal and renderthe unsuspecting American troops _hors de combat_ in their sleep. Andthus, before the sentinels had any idea what was going on, they weredisarmed and gagged. Not a single cry or shot was heard to warn thesleeping soldiers. They awoke to find themselves confronted by Japanesebayonets and gun-barrels, and resistance was utterly useless, for theenemy, who seemed to be remarkably well posted, had already takenpossession of the ammunition and arms.

  And where, all this time, was Admiral Perry with his fleet? Nowhere. TheJapanese had made no mistake in relying on the traditional love ofsensation of the American press. The telegram sent on May sixth from LosAngeles to the San Francisco _Evening Standard_ was nothing but aJapanese trick. It notified the _Standard_ that Admiral Perry intendedduring the naval maneuvers (which were actually to take place within thenext fortnight) to gain an entrance through the Golden Gate, and theJapanese felt certain that the editor would not make inquiries at thelast moment as to the veracity of this report, which was not at all inaccord with previous arrangements, but would print it as it was, moreespecially as it was signed by their usual correspondent.

  Thus the Japanese had reason to hope that no immediate suspicions wouldbe aroused by the appearance of warships in the Bay of San Francisco.And so it turned out. The five Japanese armored cruisers and the torpedoflotilla, which were to surprise and destroy the naval station and thedocks, were able to cross the entire bay under cover of the fog withoutbeing recognized and to occupy the docks and the arsenal. Fourmortar-boats threatened Point Bonita and Lime Point, till they bothsurrendered.

  What could the two cruisers _New York_ and _Brooklyn_, lying in dock forrepairs, do without a single ball-cartridge on board? What was the goodof the deck guards using up their cartridges before the red flag ofNippon was hoisted above the Stars and Stripes?

  It is true there was a fight at one spot--out at Winfield Scott.Although the fog proved of great assistance to the Japanese in a hundredcases, the stipulated signal for attack, that is, the whistle of theJapanese auxiliary cruiser _Pelung Maru_, for example, being taken for afog-signal, nevertheless an annoying surprise awaited the enemyelsewhere.

  A steamer headed towards the Golden Gate in the wake of the _PelungMaru_ heard the roar of the sealions, and as this showed how near theywere to the cliffs, the vessel dropped anchor and instead of blowing itswhistle ordered the ship's bell to be rung. This was heard by the_Pelung Maru_ a short distance ahead and interpreted as a sign thatsomething had occurred to disturb the plan of attack. A steamlaunch wastherefore sent out to look for the anchored ship.

  The latter was the German steamer _Siegismund_, whose captain, standingon the bridge, suddenly saw a dripping little launch approaching withits flag trailing behind it in the water. And just as in every cleverlyarranged plan one stupid oversight is apt to occur so it happened now.The launch carried the Japanese flag and the lieutenant at the helmcalled to the _Siegismund_ in Japanese. As they were directly before theguns of the American batteries, the German captain didn't know what tomake of it. He couldn't imagine what the launch from a Japanese warshipcould be doing here at dawn before the Golden Gate fortifications, andthinking that the fact would be likely to be of interest to thecommander of the fort, he sent him the following wireless message: "Havejust met launch of a Japanese warship off Seal-Rocks; what does itmean?"

  This information alarmed the garrison at Winfield Scott, and the men atonce received orders to man the guns. Then they waited breathlessly tosee what would happen next.

  An inquiry sent by wireless to the other stations remained unanswered,because these were already in the hands of the Japanese, whose operatorswere not quick-witted enough to send back a reassuring answer. As thecommander of the fort received no answer, he became suspicious, andthese suspicions were soon justified when a number of soldiers werediscovered trying to force their way into the narrow land entrance ofthe fort. A few shots fired during the first bayonet assault and thebullets landing within the fort showed that it was a serious matter.Besides, a puff of wind dispersed the fog for a few seconds just then,and the shadowy silhouettes of several large ships became visible.Without a moment's hesitation the commander of Winfield Scott orderedthe men to open fire on them from the heavy guns. These were the shotsthat had been heard at the San Francisco Post Office and Tom was quiteright in thinking that he heard the rattle of musketry directlyafterwards.

  But with the small stock of ammunition doled out to the coast defensesin times of peace--there were plenty of blank cartridges for salutes--itwas impossible to hold Winfield Scott. The fort sent out a few dozenshells into the fog pretty blindly, and, as a matter of fact, they hitnothing. Then began the hopeless battle between the garrison and theJapanese machine-guns, and although the shots from the latter werepowerless to affect the walls and the armor-plating, still they workedhavoc among the men. And the ammunition of the Americans disappearedeven more quickly than their men, so that when at ten o'clock twoJapanese regiments undertook to capture the fort by storm, the lastdefender fell with practically the last cartridge. Then the Rising Sunof Dai Nippon was substituted on the flagstaff of Winfield Scott forthe St
ars and Stripes.

  In the city itself small Japanese guards were posted at the railwaystation, the Post Office and the telegraph offices, at the City Hall andat most of the public buildings, and as early as this, on the morning ofMay seventh, troops for the march eastward were being landed at the pierat Oakland. A standing garrison of only five thousand men was left inSan Francisco, and these at once occupied the coast-batteries andprepared them for defense. The same thing was of course done with thedocks and the naval station, with Oakland and all the other townssituated on the bay.

  The sudden appearance of the enemy had in every case had a positivelyparalyzing effect. Among the inhabitants of the coast the terriblefeeling prevailed everywhere that this was the end, that nothing couldbe done against an enemy whose soldiers crept out of every hole andcranny, and even when a few courageous men did unite for the purpose ofdefending their homes, they found no followers. It is a pity that othersdid not show the resolute courage of a Mexican fisherman's wife, whoreached the harbor of San Francisco with a good catch early on Mondaymorning and made fast to the pier close to a Japanese destroyer. Almostimmediately a Japanese petty officer came on board and demanded thecatch for the use of the Japanese army. The woman, a coarse beauty witha fine mustache, planted herself in front of the Jap and shouted: "What,you shrimp, you want our fish, do you?" and seizing a good-sized silverfish lying on the deck, she boxed the astonished warrior's ears rightand left till he fell over backwards into the water and swam quicklyback to the destroyer, snorting like a seal, amidst the laughter of thebystanders.

  The question naturally suggests itself at this point: Why didn't apeople as determined as the Americans rise like one man and, armingthemselves with revolvers and pistols and if it came to the worst withsuch primitive weapons as knives and spokes, attack the various smallJapanese garrisons and free their country from this flood of swarmingyellow ants? The white handbills posted up at every street cornerfurnished the answer to the question.

  The municipal authorities were made responsible to the Japanese militarygovernor, who was clever enough to leave the entire American municipaladministration unaltered, even down to the smallest detail. Even thelocal police remained in office. The whole civil life went on as before,and only the machine-guns in front of the Japanese guard-houses situatedat the various centers of traffic showed who was now ruler in the land.All the officials and the whole city administration were bound by amarvelously clever and effective system.

  In the proclamations issued by the Japanese military governor the citywas threatened, should the slightest sign of resistance occur, with actsof vengeance that positively took one's breath away. Three Japanesecruisers, with their guns constantly loaded and manned and aimeddirectly at the two cities, lay between Oakland and San Francisco. Theyhad orders to show no mercy and to commence a bombardment at the firstsign of trouble. It did not seem to have occurred to any one thatalthough the bombardment of a town like San Francisco by a few dozenguns might indeed have a bad moral effect, it would nevertheless beimpossible to do much harm. But the Japanese had other trump cards uptheir sleeves. The military governor declared that the moment they werecompelled to use the guns, he would cut off all the available supply ofwater and light, by which means all resistance would be broken downwithin twenty-four hours. For this reason all the gas-works andelectric plants were transformed into little forts and protected bycannon and machine-guns. Tens of thousands might try, in vain, to takethem by storm; the city would remain wrapped in darkness, except, as theJapanese general remarked with a polite smile to the Mayor of SanFrancisco, for the bright light of bursting shells.

  In the same way the municipal waterworks in San Francisco and all theother towns occupied by the Japanese were insured against attack. Notone drop of water would the town receive, and what that meant could bebest explained to the Mayor by his wife. And thus, in spite of theiroften ridiculously small numbers, the Japanese troops were safe fromsurprise, for the awful punishment meted out to the town of Stockton,where a bold and quickly organized band of citizens destroyed theJapanese garrison, consisting only of a single company, was not likelyto be disregarded. The entire population of the Pacific Coast was forcedto submit quietly, though boiling with rage, while at the same time alllistened eagerly for the report of cannon from the American army in theeast. But was there such a thing as an American army? Was there anysense in hoping when months must pass before an American army could takethe field?

  * * * * *

  The deception of the _Evening Standard_ by means of the fatal telegramwas preceded by an instructive episode. Indeed, it might well be askedwhether anything that happened in this terrible time could not be tracedback pretty far. In order that the news of the naval maneuvers in the_Evening Standard_ should receive sufficient attention on the criticalday, this paper and consequently the inhabitants of San Francisco hadfor some months past been taught to expect over the signature "OurNaval Correspondent," amazingly correct accounts of the movements of theAmerican fleet and all matters pertaining to the navy.

  Mr. Alfred Stephenson had hard work to keep his head above water aseditor of the _Los Angeles Advertiser_ at Los Angeles. The struggle forexistence gave him considerable cause for worry, and this was due to thefact that Mrs. Olinda Stephenson wished to cut a figure in society, afigure that was not at all compatible with her husband's income. Mr.Stephenson was therefore often called upon to battle with temptation,but for a long time he successfully withstood all offers the acceptanceof which would have lowered him in his own estimation. The consequencewas that financial discussion had become chronic in the Stephensonhousehold, and, like a Minister of Finance, he was compelled to developconsiderable energy in order to diminish the financial demands of theopposition or render them void by having recourse to passive resistance.This constant worry gradually exhausted Mr. Stephenson, however, and thecheck-book, which, to save his face, he always carried with him, wasnothing more than a piece of useless bluff.

  He could therefore scarcely be blamed for eagerly seizing theopportunity offered him one evening at a bar in Los Angeles, when astranger agreed to furnish him regularly with news from the NavyDepartment for the _Evening Standard_. The affair had, of course, to beconducted with the greatest secrecy. The stranger told Stephenson that aclerk in the Navy Department was willing to send him such news for twohundred dollars per annum. The result was astonishing. The articlessigned "Our Naval Correspondent" soon attracted wide attention, and thelarge fees received from San Francisco quite covered the deficits in theStephenson household. Mrs. Olinda was soon rolling in money and thetiresome financial discussions came to a speedy end. From that time onStephenson regularly received secret communications, which were mailedat Pasadena, and as to the origin of which he himself remained incomplete ignorance. But these same messages enabled the _EveningStandard_ in a brief space of time to establish a national reputationfor its naval news, which was at no time officially contradicted.

  The matter did not, of course, pass unnoticed in Washington, for it soonbecame evident that secret dispatches were being misappropriated.Vigorous efforts were made to discover the guilty person in the NavyDepartment, but they all proved vain for the following reason: Among thewireless stations used for maintaining constant communication betweenthe Navy Department at Washington and the various naval ports and navalstations, and the fleet itself when at sea, was the large station onWilson's Peak near the observatory, whose shining tin-roof can be seenplainly from Los Angeles when the sun strikes it. All messages arrivingthere for transmission to San Diego and Mare Island could be readilyintercepted by the wireless apparatus attached inconspicuously to thehuge wind-wheel on an orange plantation between Pasadena and LosAngeles. The uninitiated would have concluded that the wires hadsomething to do with a lightning-rod. The Japanese proprietor of theplantation had simply to read the messages from the Morse key of hisapparatus and forward what he considered advisable to Mr. Stephenson bymail. A few hours later the _Evening Standard_ was
in a position to makea scoop with the dispatches of its infallible naval correspondent.

  Thus Stephenson, without having the slightest suspicion of it, formed awheel in the great chain which prepared the way for the enemy, and sincethe _Evening Standard_ had earned a reputation for publishingabsolutely reliable news in this field, no one for a moment doubted theannouncement of Admiral Perry's attack, although this was the firstspurious message which Stephenson had furnished to his paper.