Read Ebook: A United States Midshipman in Japan by Stirling Yates Boyer Ralph L Ralph Ludwig Illustrator

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Ebook has 1720 lines and 69849 words, and 35 pages

"There's nothing belligerent in this welcome," Lieutenant Winston exclaimed, as he waved gallantly to the smiling faces below him.

They were soon approaching the residence of the ambassador; farther up the street the bridge, across which lay the sacred grounds of the Emperor's palace, came into view. The crowd here became more dense, and the carriages slowed to a snail's pace. The familiar uniform of the American sailors was seen, dotted here and there among the crowd. Some were in rikishas, while others were on foot; but all were thoroughly enjoying the novel spectacle.

The ambassador's carriage met the naval officers in front of his own gate and led the way toward the stone bridge. Many policemen were lined up on each side of the thoroughfare, intent upon keeping the roadway clear for the numerous state carriages. The little jinrikishas darted here and there between the carriages, making the onlooker almost fearful for the life of their occupants.

"If we were in New York, the traffic squad policeman would be on that fellow's trail," Sydney Monroe cried out as an automobile dashed by them.

The three watched the speeding machine with bated breath. A loud cry from the crowd and then a hoarse murmur of protest, and the machine had come to a stop alongside the next carriage ahead.

Phil's quick eye had seen the whole affair, and indignantly he jumped to the ground to see if the sailorman whose jinrikisha had been so ruthlessly bowled over had received injuries. The Japanese onlookers, quick to resent injustice, had formed a solid wall about the machine, their intention evidently being not to allow the culprits to escape until the police had investigated the damages and injuries.

Phil helped the sailor occupant of the overturned jinrikisha to his feet. He was dazed but unhurt. One of the man's friends had excitedly taken the driver of the machine to task for his recklessness, and the answer was angry and, Phil thought, almost brutal.

"It served him jolly well right. What right have you sailors to block the roadway?"

A toot of the horn and the crowd melted away from in front of the machine. There are few who can stand calmly before an automobile if its engine is whirring and the loud screech of its syren bids you to step aside. But the lad was angry straight through, not only at the man's recklessness, but at his unfeeling answer to the sailor, and further, there was something familiar in the man's voice. Phil therefore stood his ground.

"Please, I'd like your number," he cried out, raising his hand impetuously to stay the machine. The car gave a quick leap, and Phil all but fell to the ground. Then it stopped, and as Phil recovered himself the picture he beheld was a very stirring one. The motor had come to a halt, but not voluntarily; a sailorman was standing on the step, the clutch lever held securely back, while the man in the car had taken off his goggles and was staring angrily at the bold American.

"How dare you lay hands on me!" he cried.

Jack O'Neil, boatswain's mate in the United States navy, might not have heard the angry exclamation, for all the answer he gave. He was awaiting orders from his superior officer.

"I've got him, sir," he said quietly.

"We have his number, sir," another sailor volunteered.

Phil waved his hand to O'Neil; the latter let go the clutch lever, and slid back into the gaping crowd, not however without a parting sally.

"Say, mister, remember next time when you're in a hurry not to run over an American; he is liable to puncture your tire."

The noise of the gears drowned his words, but from his gleeful chuckle O'Neil seemed to have enjoyed his own bit of pleasantry, and after all that was all that was necessary, for a foreigner could not be expected to understand American wit.

The little Japanese police had been hard by, and doubtless enjoyed the businesslike way in which O'Neil handled a delicate situation, but they were carrying out their orders received from no less an authority than the chief of police--to hold themselves aloof from the visiting man-of-war's men, and under no circumstances to make arrests unless for the sailors' own safety.

The little incident was all over in a few moments, and before the occupants of any other carriage could reach the scene to inquire into the cause of the disturbance, Phil was back again in his own carriage, writing the number given him by the sailor in his pocket note-book, to be saved for future reference.

"Not hurt, only jolted a bit," was his explanation to the inquiries of his companions.

"Did you notice beauty in distress on the rear seat of the auto?" Lieutenant Winston's eyes were twinkling. "There were two of them, and, by Jove! I envied you standing there championing the fallen, with their admiring eyes upon you."

He read the surprise in Phil's face. "What, didn't see them! My! it looked to me as if you were playing up to the part. I'll wager that the chap driving will have a bad half hour with them for his recklessness."

Phil decided not to announce his suspicions, for after all he might be mistaken. The man's voice certainly sounded like the one in the next compartment in the train, but then there was a great similarity between English voices to an American ear.

The arrival of the leaders at the gates of the palace grounds cut short further speculation upon the incident.

"On foot from here," they were told by obsequious gentlemen in waiting, and glad to be able to stretch their limbs after the drive, the officers alighted, and were conducted through the Emperor's magnificent gardens to the large pavilion where the f?te was to be held.

For the next half hour the two midshipmen felt that they were peeping at a scene from fairy-land. The grace and color of everything the eye touched upon was pleasing--the foliage of the trees, the profusion of flowers, the delicate perfume impregnating the air. Silks, satins, and gold lace were on every hand. Men whose names were household words for diplomacy and war were where a hand could be reached out to touch them.

"This is as near fame as I'll ever get, probably," Sydney whispered as the well-known features of the prime minister appeared at his elbow, their coat sleeves touching in the crowd.

"Look at Winston over there," Phil returned in the same spirit of fun. "That's as near to a naval hero as he'll be for some time."

So engrossed were the lads in noting the famous Japanese statesmen and celebrities of two foreign wars, whose likenesses had become familiar to them from studies of the history of this wonderful island kingdom, that an elderly gentleman had been striving to speak to them for several moments before they became aware of his presence.

Turning, both midshipmen grasped eagerly the outstretched hand of the American ambassador.

"I have you both here, after all, and I mean to hold on to you if I must imprison you to do it," the Honorable Henry Tillotson exclaimed, shaking their hands warmly and smiling down upon them from his stand on the grassy embankment.

"Nothing would suit us better, eh, Syd?" Phil cried gladly.

A young girl, dressed all in white, stood at the ambassador's side, but he paid her no attention, so delighted was he in welcoming the two lads. She smiled happily upon the scene, while her gloved hand plucked her father's arm gently to remind him of her presence.

The passing crowd glanced admiringly at the group, and especially at the graceful American girl.

The ambassador was still oblivious of her. His kindly face beamed with pleasure, and he was loath to give up the sturdy brown hands within his own.

Then came a sudden pause, and the smile on Mr. Tillotson's face died suddenly away. His thoughts had quickly traveled far off to the Philippine Islands, where he had last seen these young men beside him. He had gone there to bring away the body of an only boy--a son whom he had loved, but who had grieved his father's heart by his wild and erratic life. A soldier's grave had sealed within it his boy and all the bitterness that had been in the father's breast for him. And these young men, barely more than boys, had been important actors in the closing tragedy of that son's life. One of them had led a forlorn hope in an endeavor to save him from the Filipino traitor who had taken his life, and yet there this boy stood--Philip Perry--in the bright sunlight, and he would never see his son again.

But his boy had been a soldier, and had died a soldier's death. The joy of the present must not be marred.

The ambassador was being attentively observed by the young girl at his elbow; she had seen his keen joy upon greeting these two striking young American officers, and then almost immediately had seen the smile fade and his shoulders perceptibly droop, and her womanly instinct was at once alert to help him overcome this burden of sorrow and dead hope.

"Father, I shall have to introduce myself, if you forget your parental duty," she whispered softly in his ear.

This brought the wandering thoughts of the sorrowing man to the scene before him.

He was again his jovial self. His arm went out and about the girlish waist and he drew her gently to his side.

"Why, child, I thought you were with the Kingsleys," he said. "My daughter, Helen," he added proudly.

The midshipmen bowed. Phil felt a deep blush mount to his face as he took her proffered fingers. He had expected to see a child, and here was a grown up young lady. Yet he assured himself that he was not sorry.

"I feel as if I had known you both for years," she said cordially. "We came in a motor," she added to her father's exclamation. "That was how we arrived before you." Phil cast a swift glance of inquiry at her, and the quick look of understanding in Helen Tillotson's face brought again the blush to his cheek. She had been one of the two ladies in the car he had stopped. Then she would know the name of the man who had run down the sailor. "I don't want to go into the receiving tent with the Kingsleys, when I can go in with my own countrymen," Helen continued coaxingly to her father.

"I must present Captain Rodgers and his officers, Helen," the ambassador returned, his face anxious. "I thought you were quite satisfied with the plan. You are very uncertain," he added in some annoyance. "You know how much the Japanese think of etiquette in these formal affairs."

"Why not go in with Mr. Perry and me?" Sydney asked, as he stepped forward eagerly to the girl's side. "We are not important--midshipmen don't count for much with all this rank about." Phil smiled broadly on his companion for so ably saving the situation; the ambassador appeared greatly relieved, while Helen gladly accepted the offered escort.

"They are going in now," she exclaimed, letting go her father's arm as a Japanese aide-de-camp of high naval rank bowed ceremoniously to the ambassador and offered himself as their companion to escort them into the presence of their Majesties.

The two midshipmen experienced that sensation that every one has felt who has marched behind a band as they walked slowly between two lines of Japanese imperial guards, their rifles held rigidly at the "present," while the Emperor's band played the impressive national anthem of Japan. Ahead of them were many notables; the diplomatic corps in their court dress, their breasts emblazoned with jeweled orders and decorations; officers of the army and navy, and with these were the naval and military attach?s from foreign lands. Helen and her midshipmen followed after the military and naval men, while behind them came the court set of Tokyo.

Neither of the lads remembered afterward much of what happened when they were once inside of the spacious receiving tent; its walls hung with flags to represent one great red and white chrysanthemum, emblematic of both the flower and the Mikado's family crest. To Phil the Emperor's face had been a blur, while the Empress he could recall only as a slight figure in black with many sparkling jewels. It was over in a moment, and the three young people found themselves strolling together along one of the beautifully kept garden paths.

"Isn't it marvelous?" Helen exclaimed as she saw the wonder in the lads' faces. "The Japanese are the most artistic people in the world. Every place they touch turns into a fairy-land."

"What strikes me most forcibly," Phil replied enthusiastically, "is how such matter-of-fact, serious people as they are can find time to be so artistic. Now with us in America we find ourselves too busy keeping up with the progress of the day to indulge in art and beauty. We leave that to those who have nothing else to do."

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