_Chapter IV_
ECHOES IN NEW YORK
WALLA WALLA, May 7.
"This morning, at ten o'clock, the station Swallowtown, on the Oregon line, was surprised by bandits. They captured the station in order to hold up the express train to Umatilla. The plot was frustrated by the decisive action of the station official, who jumped on the passing train and warned the passengers. Unfortunately, the robbers succeeded in escaping, but the Umatilla police have started in pursuit. The majority of the bandits are said to have been Japanese."
In these words the attack on Swallowtown was wired to New York, and whenJohn Halifax went to the office of the _New York Daily Telegraph_ atmidnight, to work up the telegrams which had come in during Sunday forthe morning paper, his chief drew his attention in particular to theremark at the end of the message, and asked him to make some referencein his article to the dangers of the Japanese immigration, which seemedto be going on unhindered over the Mexican and Canadian frontiers. JohnHalifax would have preferred to comment editorially on the necessity ofnight rest for newspaper men, but settled down in smothered wrath towrite up the highwaymen who had committed the double crime ofdesecrating the Sabbath and robbing the train.
But scarcely had he begun his article under the large headlines"Japanese Bandits--A Danger no longer Confined to the Frontier, butStalking about in the Heart of the Country,"--he was just on the pointof setting off Tom's brave deed against the rascality of the bandits,when another package of telegrams was laid on the table. He was going topush them irritably aside when his glance fell on the top telegram,which began with the words, "This morning at ten o'clock the station atConnell, Wash., was attacked by robbers, who----"
"Hm!" said John Halifax, "there seems to be some connection here, forthey probably meant to hold up the express at Connell, too." He turnedover a few more telegrams; the next message began: "This morning ateleven o'clock--" and the two following ones: "This morning at twelveo'clock--" They all reported the holding up of trains, which had inalmost every instance been successful. John Halifax got up, and with thebundle of telegrams went over to the map hanging on the wall and markedwith a pencil the places where the various attacks had taken place. Theresult was an irregular line through the State of Washington runningfrom north to south, along which the train robbers, apparently workingin unison, had begun their operations at the same time. Nowhere had itbeen possible to capture them.
John Halifax threw his article into the waste basket and began againwith the headlines, "A Gang of Train-Robbers at Work in Washington," andthen gave a list of the places where the gang had held up the trains. Hewrote a spirited article, which closed with a warning to the police inWashington and Oregon to put an end to this state of affairs as soon aspossible, and if necessary to call upon the militia for aid in catchingthe bandits. While Halifax was writing, the news was communicated fromthe electric bulletin-board to the people hurrying through the streetsat that late hour.
John Halifax read the whole story through once more with considerablesatisfaction, and was pleased to think that the _New York DailyTelegraph_ would treat its readers Monday morning to a thoroughlysensational bit of news. When he had finished, it struck him that allthese attacks had been directed against trains running from west toeast, and that the train held up at Swallowtown was the only one goingin the opposite direction. He intended in conclusion to add a suggestiveremark about this fact, but it slipped out of his mind somehow, and,yawning loudly, he threw his article as it was into the box near hiswriting table, touched a button, and saw the result of his laborsswallowed noiselessly by a small lift. Then the author yawned again,and, going over to his chief, reported that he had finished, wished hima gruff "good morning," and started on his way home.
As he left the newspaper offices he observed the same sight that had methis eyes night after night for many years--a crowd of people standing onthe opposite side of the street, with their heads thrown back, staringup at the white board upon which, in enormous letters, appeared thestory of how Tom, with his bold leap, had saved the train. The lastsentence, explaining that the robbers had been recognized as Japanese,elicited vigorous curses against the "damned Japs."
High up in the air the apparatus noiselessly and untiringly flashedforth one message after the other in big, black letters on the whiteground--telling of one train attack after another. But of that livingmachine in the far West, working with clocklike regularity and slowlyadding one link after the other to the chain, that machine which at thisvery moment had already separated three of the States by an impenetrablewall from the others and had thus blotted out three of the stars on theblue field of the Union flag--of that uncanny machine neither JohnHalifax nor the people loitering opposite the newspaper building inorder to take a last sensation home with them, had the remotest idea.Not till the next morning was the meaning of these first flaming signsto be made clear.
* * * * *
At ten o'clock the telephone bell rang noisily beside John Halifax'sbed. He seized the receiver and swore under his breath on learning thatimportant telegrams required his presence at the office. "There isn'tany reason why Harry Springley shouldn't go on with those oldtrain-robbers," he grumbled; "I don't see what they want of me, but Isuppose the stupid fellow doesn't know what to do, as usual."
An hour later, when he entered the editorial rooms of the _New YorkDaily Telegraph_, he found his colleagues in a great state ofexcitement. Judging by the loud talk going on in the conference room, heconcluded at once that something out of the common must have happened.The editor-in-chief quickly explained to him that an hour ago the news,already disseminated through an "extra," had arrived, that not only wereall messages from the Pacific coast, especially from San Francisco, heldup, but the Canadian wire had furnished the news that a foreign strangesquadron had been observed on Sunday at Port Townsend, and that it hadcontinued its voyage through Puget Sound toward Seattle. In addition thenews came from Walla Walla that since Sunday noon all telegraphiccommunication between Seattle, Tacoma, and Portland had been broken off.Attempts to reach Seattle and Tacoma over the Canadian wire had alsoproved vain while, on the other hand, the report came from Ogden thatno trains from the west, from the direction of San Francisco, hadarrived since Sunday noon, and that the noon express had been attackedthis side of Reno by bandits, some of whom had been distinctlyrecognized as Japanese.
John Halifax recalled the first message of the evening before, in whichthere was a mention of the Japanese. He quickly put the separate newsitems together, and, after having glanced hurriedly at the messages inthe extra, turned to the managing editor and in a low voice, whichsounded strange and hard even to himself, said: "I believe this meanswar!"
The latter slapped him on the back in his brusque fashion, crying: "JohnHalifax, we're not making war on Japan."
"But they're making war on us," answered Halifax.
"Do you mean to imply that the Japanese are surprising us?" asked theeditor, staring at Halifax.
"Exactly, and it makes no difference whether you believe it or not," wasthe reply.
"The Japanese fleet is lying off the Pacific coast, there's no doubtabout that," remarked a reporter.
"And, what's more, they're right in our country," said Halifax, lookingup.
"Who? The fleet?" inquired Harry Springley in a lame effort to be funny.
"No, the enemy," answered Halifax coldly; "the so-called bandits," headded sarcastically.
"But if you really mean it," began the editor again, "then it must be agigantic plot. If you think that the bandits--the Japanese----" he said,correcting himself.
"The Japanese outposts," interposed Halifax.
"Well, yes, the Japanese outposts, if you wish; if they have succeededin destroying all railway connections with the West, then the enemy isno longer off our coast, but----"
A stenographer now rushed into the room with a new message. The editorglanced over it and then handed it to Halifax, who took the paper
inboth hands, and, while all listened attentively, read aloud thefollowing telegram from Denver:
"According to uncertain dispatches, Sunday's attacks on trains were notmade by gangs of robbers, but by detachments of Japanese troops, whohave suddenly and in the most incomprehensible manner sprung up all overthe country. Not only have single stations on the Union Pacific linebeen seized, but whole towns have been occupied by hostile regiments,the inhabitants having been taken so completely by surprise, that noresistance could be offered. The rumor of a battle between the Japaneseships and the coast defences at San Francisco has gained considerablecurrency. The concerted attacks on the various trans-continental lineshave cut off the western States entirely from telegraphic communicationand in addition interrupted all railway traffic."
The telegram shook in John Halifax's hands; he ran his fingers throughhis hair and looked at the editor, who could only repeat the wordsspoken by Halifax a few minutes before: "Gentlemen, I fear this meanswar."
Halifax collected the telegrams and went silently into his room, wherehe dropped into the chair before his desk, and sat staring in front ofhim with his head, full of confused thoughts, resting on his hands."This means war," he repeated softly. Mechanically he took up his penwith the intention of putting his thoughts on paper, but not a line, nota word could he produce under the stress of these whirling sensations.Unable to construct a single sentence, he drew circles and meaninglessfigures on the white paper, scribbled insignificant words, only to crossthem out immediately afterwards, and repeated again and again: "Thismeans war."
Outside in the halls people hurried past; some one seized the door-knob,so he got up and locked himself in. Then he sat down again. The fresh,mild air blew in through the wide open windows, and the dull roar of theimmense crowds in the street, now swelling and now retreating, floatedup to him. His thoughts flew to the far West, and everywhere he couldsee the eager, industrious Asiatics pouring like a yellow flood over hiscountry. He saw Togo's gray ships, with the sun-banner of Nippon,ploughing the waves of the Pacific; he saw the tremendous many-huedpicture of a great international struggle; he saw regiments rush uponeach other and clash on the vast prairies; he saw bayonets flashing inthe sun; and he saw glittering troops of cavalry galloping over thebleak plains. High up in the air, over the two great opposing hosts, hesaw the white smoke of bursting shells. He saw this gigantic drama of aracial war, which caused the very axis of the earth to quiver, unraveledbefore his eyes, and with ardent enthusiasm he seized his pen, at lastmaster of himself once more.
Suddenly his mood of exaltation vanished; it seemed as though the sunhad been extinguished, and cold, dark shadows fell across the brilliantpicture of his imagination, subduing its colors with an ashy light. Hebegan slowly to realize that this did not only mean war, but that it washis war, his country's war--a bitter struggle for which they were butpoorly prepared. At this thought he shivered, and the man who hadweathered many a storm laid his head down on both arms and criedbitterly. The mental shock had been too great, and it was in vain thatthey knocked at and shook his door. It was some time before JohnHalifax recovered his self-possession. Then he lifted his head bravelyand proudly, and going to the door with a firm step, gave directions tothe staff with the calmness of a veteran general.
Banzai! by Parabellum Page 6