In the Clutch of the War-God Part 1

In the Clutch of the War-G.o.d.

by Milo Hastings.

PART ONE

In the Clutch of the War-G.o.d

THE TALE OF THE ORIENT'S INVASION OF THE OCCIDENT, AS CHRONICLED IN THE HUMANICULTURE SOCIETY'S "HISTORY OF THE TWENTIETH CENTURY"

By Milo Hastings

FOREWORD: In this strange story of another day, the author has "dipped into the future" and viewed with his mind's eye the ultimate effect of America's self-satisfied complacency, and her persistent refusal to heed the lessons of Oriental progress. I can safely promise the reader who takes up this unique recital of the twentieth century warfare, that his interest will be sustained to the very end by the interesting deductions and the keen insight into the possibilities of the present trend of international affairs exhibited by the author.--Bernarr Macfadden.

"Kindly be prepared to absent yourself at a moment's notice." It was Goyu speaking, blundering, old fool. He was standing in the doorway with his kitchen-ap.r.o.n on, and an iron spoon in his hand.

"What on earth is the matter?" asked Ethel Calvert, tossing aside her French novel in alarm, for such a lack of deference in Goyu meant vastly more than appeared upon the surface.

"I am informed," replied Goyu, gravely, "that there has been an anti-foreign riot and that many are killed."

"And father?" gasped Ethel.

"He was upon the grain boat," said Goyu.

"But where is he now?"

"I do not know," returned Goyu, locking nervously over his shoulder.

"But I fear he has not fared well--the boat was dynamited--that's what started the trouble."

With a gasp Ethel recalled that an hour before she had heard an explosion which she had supposed to be blasting. Faint with fear, she staggered toward a couch and fell forward upon the cushions.

When the girl regained consciousness the house was dark. Slowly she recalled the event that had culminated the uneventful day. She wondered if Goyu had been lying or had gone crazy. The darkness was not rea.s.suring--her father always came home before dark, and his absence now confirmed her fears. She wondered if the old servant had deserted her. He was a poor stick anyway; j.a.panese men who had pride or character no longer worked as domestics in the households of foreigners.

Ethel Calvert was the daughter of an American grain merchant who represented the interests of the North American Grain Exporters a.s.sociation at the seaport of Otaru, in Hokaidi, the North Island of j.a.pan. Three years before her mother had died of homesickness and a broken heart--although the j.a.panese physician had called it tuberculosis, and had prescribed life in a tent! Had they not suffered discomforts enough in that barbarous country without adding insult to injury?

Ethel was bountifully possessed of the qualities of hothouse beauty.

Her jet black hair hung over the snowy skin of her temples in striking contrast. Her form was of a delicate slenderness and her movement easy and graceful with just a little of that languid listlessness considered as a mark of well-bred femininity. She knew that she was beautiful according to the standards of her own people and her isolation from the swirl of the world's social life was to her gall and wormwood.

The Calverts had never really "settled" in j.a.pan, but had merely remained there as homesick Americans indifferent to, or unjustly prejudiced against the j.a.panese life about them. Now, in the year 1958, the growing anti-foreign feeling among the j.a.panese had added to their isolation. Moreover, the j.a.panese bore the grain merchant an especial dislike, for every patriotic j.a.panese was sore at heart over the fact that, after a century of modern progress, j.a.pan was still forced to depend upon foreigners to supplement their food supply.

In fact, they had oft heard Professor Oshima grieve over the statistics of grain importation, as a speculator might mourn his personal losses in the stock market.

For a time Ethel lay still and listened to the faint sound of voices from a neighboring porch. Then the growing horror of the situation came over her with anewed force; if her father was dead, she was not only alone in the world, but stranded in a foreign and an unfriendly country; for there were but few Americans left in the city.

The girl arose and crept nervously into the dining-room. She turned on the electric light; everything seemed in order. She hurried over to Goyu's room, and knocked. There was no answer. Then slowly opening the door, she peered in--the room was empty and disordered.

Plainly the occupant had bundled together his few belongings and flown.

Ethel stole back through the silent house and tremblingly took down the telephone receiver. In vain she called the numbers of the few American families of the city. Last on the list was the American Consulate, and this time she received the curt information that the consul had left the city by aeroplane "with the other foreigners."

The phrase struck terror into her heart. If the European population had flown in such haste as to overlook her, clearly there was danger. A great fear grew upon her. Afraid to remain where she was, she tried to think of ways of escape. She could not steer an aeroplane even if she were able to obtain one. Otaru was far from the common ways of international traffic and the ships lying at anchor in the harbor were freighters, j.a.panese owned and j.a.panese manned.

Ethel looked at her watch--it was nine-twenty. She tiptoed to her room.

An hour later she was in the street dressed in a tailored suit of American make and carrying in her hand-bag a few trinkets and valuables she had found in the house. Pa.s.sing hurriedly through quiet avenues, she was soon in the open country. The road she followed was familiar to her, as she had traveled it many times by auto.

For hours she walked rapidly on. Her unpracticed muscles grew tired and her feet jammed forward in high-heeled shoes were blistered and sore. But fear lent courage and as the first rays of the morning sun peeked over the hill-tops, the refugee reached the outskirts of the city of Sapporo.

Ethel made straightway for the residence of Professor Oshima, the Soil Chemist of the Imperial Agricultural College of Hokiado--a j.a.panese gentleman who had been educated and who had married abroad, and a close friend of her father's. As she reached the door of the Professor's bungalow, she pushed the bell, and sank exhausted upon the stoop.

Some time afterward she half-dreamed and half realized that she found herself neatly tucked between white silk sheets and lying on a floor mattress of a j.a.panese sleeping-porch. A gentle breeze fanned her face through the lattice work and low slanting sunbeams sifting in between the shutters fell in rounded blotches upon the opposite straw matting wall. For a time she lay musing and again fell asleep.

When she next awakened, the room was dimly lighted by a little glowing electric bulb and Madame Oshima was sitting near her. Her hostess greeted her cordially and offered her water and some fresh fruit.

Madame Oshima was fully posted upon the riots and confirmed Ethel's fears as to the fate of her father.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "But have I lost my figure?" inquired the lithe Madame Oshima.]

"You will be safe here for the present," her hostess a.s.sured her.

"Professor Oshima has been called to Tokio; when he returns we will see what can be done concerning your embarking for America."

Madame Oshima was of French descent but had fully adopted j.a.panese customs and ways of thinking.

As soon as Ethel was up and about, her hostess suggested that she exchange her American-made clothing for the j.a.panese costume of the time. But Ethel was inclined to rebel.

"Why," she protested, "if I discarded my corsets I would lose my figure."

"But have I lost my figure?" inquired the lithe Madame Oshima, striking an att.i.tude.

To this Ethel did not reply, but continued, "And I would look like a man," for among the j.a.panese people tight-belted waists and flopping skirts had long since been replaced by the kimo, a single-piece garment worn by both s.e.xes and which fitted the entire body with comfortable snugness.

"And is a man so ill-looking?" asked her companion, smiling.

"Why, no, of course not, only he's different. Why, I couldn't wear a kimo--people would see--my limbs," stammered the properly-bred American girl.

"Why, no, they couldn't," replied Madame Oshima. "Not if you keep your kimo on."

"But they would see my figure."

"Well, I thought you just said that was what you were afraid they wouldn't see."

"But I don't mean that way--they--they could see the shape of my--my legs," said Ethel, blushing crimson.