“I solved this problem by founding the Imperial Bank of Japan.”
“But, surely!” I exclaimed, “the Imperial Bank of Japan is a bona fide concern? Its shares are regularly quoted on the stock exchanges. It negotiates loans, and carries on the ordinary business of a bank?”
“Certainly. Why not? You forget that Japan is not a rich country. What we lack in gold, we are obliged to make up in ingenuity and devotion. Thanks to this idea of mine, the secret service of Japan pays for itself, and even earns a small profit.”
It gave me something like a cold shock to comprehend the character of this people whom the Russians had so recklessly provoked to draw the sword.
I thought of the intelligence departments of some Western Powers, of the rank corruption that reigned on the Neva, where every secret had its price; of the insane conceit of Berlin, which had forgotten nothing and learned nothing since the days of Moltke; of the luxurious laziness of Pall Mall, where superannuated soldiers dozed in front of their dusty pigeon-holes after apoplectic lunches, and exercised their wits chiefly in framing evasive answers suited to the intelligence of the House of Commons.
And beside these pictures I placed this of the prosperous commercial house, founded by the man before me, a man whose salary would probably be sniffed at by a deputy-assistant controller in the British War Office.
A bank, paying its way, and adding to the revenues of Japan, and yet every member of its staff a tireless spy, ready to go anywhere and risk everything on behalf of his native country!
Mr. Katahashi seemed to ignore the effect produced on my mind by his modest explanation.
“I have told you this,” he resumed, “because if I can succeed in satisfying you that we are both working for the same ends, or at least against the same enemy, I hope it will be agreeable to you to co-operate with me.”
I drew my brows together in anxious thought. In spite of the flattery and deference of the Privy Councillor I could not but feel that I should be the junior partner in any such combination as he proposed, or, rather, I should find myself an instrument in the hands of one whose methods were strange to me.
“Although his imperial majesty was not familiar with your name, you must not suppose that your reputation is not known in the right quarters. I have a very full report on your work in my office. I had intended from the first to engage your services if we required any Western aid; and, as a matter of fact, I was on the eve of sending you a retainer, when I heard I had been anticipated by – ”
“By Lord Bedale,” I put in swiftly.
“By Lord Bedale, certainly,” the Japanese acquiesced with a polite bow and smile.
“After your interview with him, I lost sight of you,” my extraordinary companion went on. “Your wonderful transformation into a Little Englander of the Peace-at-any-Price school threw my agents off the scent. But I heard of your interview with Nicholas II.”
“You did!”
Mr. Katahashi nodded.
“I recognized you in that transaction. I even guessed that you might make an attempt to carry through a message from the Czar. But, knowing the influences arrayed against you, I never expected you to succeed. Your appearance in our Council-Room was a triumph on which I congratulate you warmly.
“And now,” the Mikado’s Privy Councillor continued, “there remain two questions:
“Supposing you are satisfied that the real author of this war is not any one in Russia, but a certain monarch who smokes cigarettes made by the house of Gregorides —
“And that the same ambitious ruler is now weaving his snares to entangle Great Britain, in short your own employer, the – ”
“Marquis of Bedale,” I again slipped in.
Again the same polite but incredulous bow and smile from the Japanese statesman.
“Would you be willing to accept a retainer from us?”
I sat upright, frowning.
The somewhat haughty attitude of the Emperor of Japan still rankled within me.
“I will accept a retainer from his majesty the Mikado,” I announced stiffly. “From no one else.”
Mr. Katahashi looked thoughtful.
“I will see what can be done,” he murmured. “The second question – ”
There was a momentary hesitation in his manner.
“I have just spoken to you of the precept of the great English philosopher.”
“It was, if I remember rightly, that you should employ only Japanese in the service of Japan?”
The Privy Councillor bowed.
“Therefore, you will see, we are obliged to make a proposal which may seem to you unusual – perhaps unreasonable.”
“And this proposal is?” I asked, with undisguised curiosity.
“That you should become a Japanese.”
I threw myself back in my chair, amazed.
“Your Excellency, I am an American citizen.”
“So I have understood.”
“An American citizen is on a level with royalty.”
“That is admitted.”
“Even the Dowager Empress of China, when engaging me in her service, though she raised my ancestors to the rank of marquises, did not ask me to forego my citizenship of the United States.”
“That is not necessary,” the Privy Councillor protested.
“Explain yourself, if you will be so good.”
“A man may be an American citizen, although by birth he is a Frenchman, a German, or even a negro. You yourself are a Pole, I believe.”
I could only bow.
“Now I do not propose that you should relinquish your political allegiance, but only that you should exchange your Polish nationality for a Japanese one.”
“But how, sir?”
“It is very simple. By being adopted into a Japanese family.”
I sat and stared at the Japanese statesman, with his mask-like face and impenetrable eyes. I seemed to be in some strange dream.
Who shall judge the ways of the Asiatic! This daring organizer, a match for the most astute minds of the West, believed that he could only make sure of fidelity by persuading me to go through what seemed the comedy of a mock adoption, a ceremony like the blood brotherhood of an African tribe.
“And suppose I consent, into what family do you purpose to introduce me?”
The Privy Councillor’s look became positively affectionate as he responded:
“If you would honor me by becoming my kinsman?”
I rose to my feet, shaking my head slowly.
“I appreciate the compliment your Excellency pays me. But, as we have just now agreed, an American citizen has no equals except royalty. Let us return to the German Emperor and his designs. If I cannot serve you directly I may be able to do so indirectly.”
The Japanese made no attempt to press his proposal.
Instead he plunged into a discussion of the intrigues which radiated from Berlin.
“In nearly all the international difficulties and disagreements of the last twenty years,” he said, “it is possible to trace the evil influence of Germany.
“To German sympathy, a secret encouragement, was due the wanton invasion of Cape Colony by the Boers. To the Kaiser, and his promises of support, was due the hopeless defiance of the United States by Spain. The same Power tried to drag Great Britain into collision with your Republic over the miserable concerns of Venezuela. For years, Germany has been secretly egging on the French to raise troubles against the English in Egypt. In the same spirit, the Sultan has been abetted, first against England and next against Russia.
“All these schemes have been spoiled by the action of King Edward VII. in establishing cordial relations with France, and even to a certain extent with Russia.
“Now Wilhelm II. has taken advantage of the attraction of France to England, to draw nearer to Russia. He has secured in his interest some of the most influential personages at the Russian Court. The Anglophobe grand dukes, the fire-eaters of the Admiralty, are all his sworn allies.
“But that is not the worst.
“By some means which I have not yet been able to trace, the Kaiser seems to have acquired a peculiar hold over Nicholas II.
“The whole policy of Russia seems to be tinged by this influence. Even where the instigation of Germany is not directly apparent, yet in a hundred ways it is clear that the Russian Government is playing the German game. The cause of all this is a riddle, a riddle which it is for you to solve.”
“For me?”
The words escaped me involuntarily. I had listened with growing uneasiness to the Privy Councillor’s revelations.
“Undoubtedly. You have facilities which no one else possesses. You enjoy the confidence of the Czar. You cannot be suspected of any selfish designs, still less of any hostile feeling against Wilhelm II., who is understood to be almost your personal friend.”
“I never allow personal friendships to influence me in the discharge of my duty.”
“It is because I believe that, that I am talking to you like this,” Mr. Katahashi responded quickly.
“Well!” he added after a short silence, “what do you say?”
“I must have the night to decide.”
The Japanese Privy Councillor rose to say good-by.
After he had gone I sat up late into the night considering how far I could serve my employer in England by entering into the projects of the secret service of Japan.
In the morning, I was still undecided, but on the whole it seemed to me that it would be better to act independently.
I was considering how to convey this decision to the Mikado’s minister, when he again presented himself before me.
His manner was deeply agitated. It was evident that he came to make a communication of the highest importance.
Instead of taking the chair I offered him, he stood regarding me with an expression that seemed one of awe.
“Monsieur V – ,” he said at length, “your conditions are accepted by his imperial majesty.”
“What conditions?” I asked, bewildered for the moment.
“Last night you informed me that an American citizen occupied the same rank as royalty.”
“Well?”
“The Mikado offers to make you a member of the imperial family by adoption, and one of his majesty’s cousins has consented to make you his son!”
CHAPTER XIII
HIS IMPERIAL HIGHNESS
In these days, when princes resign their rank to marry commoners, and queens elope with tutors, it is probable that most Western minds will see nothing out of the way in the condescension of the Japanese ruler in admitting a diplomatic agent to the honor of the imperial cousinship.
But the dynasty of Japan is the most illustrious in the world, excepting only that of Great Britain. Like Edward VII., the Mikado traces his lineage back to pagan gods. From the days of the famous Empress Jimmu, an unbroken line of sacred sovereigns has filled the throne of the Realm of the Rising Sun during more than two thousand years.
Mr. Katahashi was evidently pleased to see that I appreciated to the full the tremendous honor accorded to me.
“An imperial carriage is waiting to convey you to the Palace,” he said. “But it will not be becoming for you to wear that uniform. I have brought you a Japanese dress.”
An attendant came into the room bearing a gorgeous robe of green silk embroidered with golden chrysanthemums.
I put it on like one in a dream. The Privy Councillor with his own hands girt around my waist the two weapons, sacred from time immemorial to the use of the Japanese noble, the sword with which to behead his friend, and the dagger with which to disembowel himself.
Needless to say, I had no expectation that I should ever have occasion to regard these magnificently embellished weapons in any other light than as ornamental badges of rank.
As we rode to the Palace, I could not forbear contrasting this splendid treatment with that which I had been accustomed to receive from some of the European sovereigns to whom I had rendered important services.
Even the German Kaiser, who trusted me more than the head of his own police, who talked to me almost on the footing of an intimate friend, had never offered me so much as the coveted “von” before my name – had not given me even the pretty Red Eagle which is lavished on second-rate generals and lords-in-waiting.
I became well-nigh appalled as I contrasted the sluggish conversation, the hide-bound officialism, the stereotyped and sleepy methods of the Western Powers with the sleepless energy, the daring initiative, the desperate industry and courage of this rejuvenated Eastern race.
What could any of these obsolete European Governments effect against a nation which was really a vast secret society of forty-five millions, directed by a sacred chief, and wielding all the mechanical resources of the West with the almost inhuman subtlety and ruthlessness of the Orient?
“Anything can be done for money.” This maxim, which is forever on the lips of Russian statesmen, no longer sounded true in the meridian of Tokio.
The ruler of Japan had not offered me so much as a yen. Nay, it was clearly expected and intended that I should devote myself to the service of my new country without pay, and with the same single-hearted devotion as Mr. Katahashi himself. The Mikado was going to enroll in his services as an unpaid volunteer the most highly-paid, in other words, the most trusted and feared, secret service agent of two hemispheres.
And it was to cost him? An embroidered garment and two sentences spoken in a private audience!
Such are the methods of Japan!
On our arrival at the Palace we were received by a chamberlain, who conducted us by the private staircase to the Hall of the Imperial Family.
The Hall is an imposing room, hung with portraits of deceased mikados. A single chair, decorated with the emblem of the Rising Sun, stood at the upper end.
Almost as soon as we had taken our places, a door behind the chair was thrown up, and a number of the officers of the household, all wearing the ancient national costume, filed in, and grouped themselves around the imperial chair.
Then a silver bell sounded, and his imperial and sacred majesty, Mutsuhito CXXI., Mikado, walked slowly forward into the Hall, accompanied by his son and heir, the Crown Prince Yoshihito, and an elderly man, attired with great richness, who was, as my guide whispered to me, his imperial highness Prince Yorimo, second cousin to the Emperor, and the man who had consented to be my titular father.
The ceremony was brief but impressive. I could not but be struck by the contrast between the two Mikados – the one whom I had seen yesterday, an alert statesman, wearing Western clothes, and speaking French with hardly a trace of accent, and the one before me now, a solemn, pontifical figure, in his immemorial robes, moving, speaking with the etiquette of a bygone age.
Everything passed in the Japanese language, of which I did not then know a single word.
Mr. Katahashi did his best to provide a running translation, whispering in my ear, and prompting me with the Japanese words which it was necessary for me to pronounce.
As far as I could understand, Prince Yorimo asked permission of the Emperor to adopt a son, as he was childless and desired to have some one who would sacrifice to his own spirit and those of his father and grandfather after he was dead.
The Mikado graciously consenting, I was brought forward, and made to renounce my own family and ancestors, and promise to sacrifice exclusively to those of my new father.
Prince Yorimo next brought forward a robe embroidered with the imperial emblems, the most prominent of which was the Rising Sun. I was divested of the dress lent me by Katahashi, and my adoptive father flung the imperial garment over my shoulders.
The girding on of the samurai weapon followed, and my father addressed me a short exhortation, bidding me hold myself ready at all times to obey the will of the Divine Emperor, even to the point of committing seppuku at his command.
Seppuku is the correct name of the rite known in the West by the vulgar name of hara-kiri, or the “happy despatch.” It is a form of voluntary execution permitted by the ancient laws of Japan to men of noble rank, much as European nobles were allowed to be beheaded instead of being hanged.
I was then permitted to kiss the hand of Prince Yorimo, who formally presented me to the Mikado, whose hand also I had to kiss, kneeling.
That was the whole of the ceremony, at the close of which Mr. Katahashi bade me a temporary farewell, and my princely father carried me off to a banquet in his own mansion.
Tedious and uninteresting as I fear these details must seem to the reader, I have thought it right to record them as an illustration of the spirit of Japan, of that country of which I am proud to be an adopted son.
The moment we had quitted the Hall of the Imperial Family, Prince Yorimo began to talk to me in French.
He proved to be a most fascinating companion. Old enough to remember the feudal age, which was still in full vigor in Japan forty years ago, he had since mastered most of the knowledge of the West.
I soon found that the Prince was by no means disposed to treat the adoption as a mere form. It was evident that the old gentleman had taken a strong fancy to me. He gave me a most affectionate welcome on the threshold of his house, and immediately calling his servants around him, introduced me to them as their future master, and bade them obey me as himself.
I was more touched than I care to say by this kind treatment. My own parents have long been dead; I know nothing of any other relations, if I have any; I have long been a wanderer and an adventurer on the face of the earth, and now, at last, I felt as though I had found a home.
Something of this I tried to convey to his imperial highness.
“My son,” he replied with deep tenderness, “I feel that to me you will be a son indeed. You shall learn the language of our beautiful country, you shall grow used to our national ways. Before long you will let me provide you with a daughter of the Chrysanthemum to be your wife, and my grandchildren shall be Japanese indeed.”
A sound of bells was heard outside.
“My friends are coming to pay the customary congratulation,” the aged prince explained. “As it is necessary that you should have a name suited to your new rank, I ask you to take that of my father, Matsukata.”
A few words of direction were spoken to the steward of the chambers, who went out. Immediately afterward he returned, throwing open the doors widely, and announced:
“The Marquis Yamagata to congratulate his imperial highness Prince Matsukata!”
And the Prime Minister of Japan came toward me.
CHAPTER XIV
THE SUBMARINE MINE
Having told the reader as much as was necessary to enable him to understand my subsequent proceedings, and the real forces at work in the underground struggle which produced the tragedy of the Dogger Bank, I will suppress the remainder of my adventures in Tokio.
When I left the capital of my new country I wore around my neck, under the light shirt of chain mail without which I have never traveled for the last twenty years, a golden locket containing the miniature portrait of the loveliest maiden in the East or in the West.
It was a pledge. When little, tender fingers had fastened it in its place, little moving lips had whispered in my ear, “Till peace is signed!”
I had decided to return to the capital of what was now the country of my enemies, by much the same route as I had left it.
To do so, it was necessary to run the blockade of Port Arthur, or rather to feign to do so, for the Japanese Minister of Marine had been asked by my friend Katahashi to give secret instructions to Admiral Togo on my behalf.
In order to ensure a welcome from the Russian commander, and to dispel any suspicions, I planned to take in a cargo of Welsh steam coal.
Through an agent at Yokohama I chartered a British collier lying at Chi-fu, with a cargo for disposal. Leaving the Japanese port on a steamer bound for Shanghai, I met the collier in mid-ocean, and transferred myself on board her.
As soon as I had taken command, I ordered the skipper to head for Port Arthur.
This was the first intimation to him that he was expected to run the blockade, and at first he refused.
“I’m not afraid – myself,” the sturdy Briton declared, “but I’ve got a mixed crew on board, Germans and Norwegians and Lascars, and all sorts, and I can’t rely on them if we get in a tight place.”
I glanced around at the collection of foreign faces and drew the captain aside. He, at least, was an Englishman, and I therefore trusted him.
“There is no danger, really,” I said. “Admiral Togo has had secret orders to let me through. This cargo is merely a pretext.”
The rough sailor scratched his head.
“Well, maybe you’re telling the truth,” he grunted. “But, dang me, if I can get the hang of it. You might belong to any country almost by the cut of your jib; you say you’ve fixed things up with the blessed Japs, and you’re running a cargo of coal for the blessed Rooshians. It’s queer, mortal queer, that’s all I can say. Howsomdever – ”
I took out a flask of three-star brandy, and passed it to the doubting mariner.
He put it first to his nose, then to his lips.
“Ah! Nothing wrong about that, Mister,” he pronounced, as he handed back the flask.
“It’s a fifty-pound job for yourself, no matter what becomes of the cargo,” I insinuated.
The worthy seaman’s manner underwent a magic change.
“Port your helm!” he yelled out suddenly and sharply to the man at the wheel. “Keep her steady nor’-east by nor’, and a point nor’. Full steam ahead! All lights out! And if one of you lubbers so much as winks an eyelid, by George, I’ll heave him overboard!”
The crew, who had shown a good many signs of uneasiness since my coming over the side, seemed to think this last hint worth attending to. They slunk forward to their duties, leaving the captain and myself to pace the quarter-deck alone.
We steamed swiftly through the darkness till we began to see the search-lights of the Japanese fleet like small white feathers fluttering on the horizon.
“Come up on the bridge,” the skipper advised. “Got a revolver handy?”
I showed him my loaded weapon.
“Right! I ain’t much afraid of the Japs, but we may have trouble with some of that all-sorts crew I’ve got below.”
By and by the white plumes became bigger. All at once a ship lying dark on the water, scarcely a mile away on the weather-bow, spat out a long ribbon of light like an ant-eater’s tongue, and we found ourselves standing in a glare of light as if we were actors in the middle of a stage.
There was a howl from below, and a mixed body of Lascars, headed by one of the Germans, rushed toward the helm.
“Back, you milk-drinking swabs!” the skipper roared. “As I’m a living man, the first one of you that lays a hand on the wheel, I’ll fire into the crowd.
“Hark ye here!” their commander said with rough eloquence. “In the first place, it don’t follow that because you can see a flashlight the chap at t’other end can see you. Second place, no ship that does see us is going to sink us without giving us a round of blank first, by way of notice to heave to. Third place, if we do get a notice, I’m going to stop this ship. And, fourth place, you’ve got five seconds to decide whether you’d rather be taken into Yokohama by a prize crew of Japs, or be shot where you stand by me and this gentleman.”
The crew turned tail. Before five seconds had elapsed, not a head was to be seen above decks, except that of the man at the helm, who happened to be a Dane, to be first mate, and to be more than three-parts drunk.
Needless to say the warning shot was not fired.
We steamed steadily on through the fleet, every vessel of which was probably by this time aware of our presence. The search-lights flashed and fell all around us, but not once did we have to face again that blinking glare which tells the blockade runner that the game is up.
But there was another peril in store on which we had not reckoned. The sea all around Port Arthur had been strewn with Russian mines!
Unconscious of what was coming, we steamed gaily past the last outlying torpedo-boat of Admiral Togo’s squadron.
“Through!” cried my friend the skipper, pointing with a grin of delight at the Port Arthur lights as they came into view around the edge of a dark cliff.
And even as he looked and pointed, there was a terrific wave, a rush, a flare and a report, and I felt myself lifted off my feet into mid-air.
