On the Wednesday morning, the day but one after the opening Conference, the members assembled at the same time and place, with one notable absentee. At the appointed hour for commencing the proceedings the Secretary of State made a momentous announcement.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “I have to announce that Prince Yoshimo, the representative of Japan, has sent me formal notice on behalf of his Government that he desires to withdraw from this Conference.”
There was a little murmur of excitement. Prince Lutrecht rose to his feet.
“Mr. Secretary, and Gentlemen,” he began, “I am not in any way an apologist for the action taken by my distinguished confrere on the instigation of his Government. On the other hand I must point out to you that the charges brought by Lord Yeovil against the honour of a great nation, publicly and before you all, were of a nature to provoke most intense and poignant reprisals. I regret very much that they were made. I foresee from the retirement of the representative of Japan from this Conference—a retirement which I fear may be final—a serious blow to its utility. The item upon the agenda for discussion this morning deals, I see, with a supposed secret naval and military understanding between Russia and my country to the exclusion of other members of the Pact. If it is proposed to interfere in any way with the arrangements which I admit exist between the Russian and German naval forces, for joint practice and manoeuvres, I desire to tell this meeting at once that I offer my strongest protest and shall follow the example of my friend, the Japanese Ambassador, in retiring from participation in the Conference.”
Prince Lutrecht resumed his seat. Lord Yeovil glanced towards the Secretary of State. The latter nodded and rose once more.
“I think,” he announced, “that Lord Yeovil has a reply to make to Prince Lutrecht, but before we proceed with what is the apparent business of this Conference, I desire to make an unofficial announcement to you all, which you will learn when you leave this room, but which it was the President’s wish that you should know of in conjunction with such events as are now taking place. The Japanese Ambassador last night tendered to the Government of the United States a formal demand that all persons of Japanese birth, desiring to do so, shall be permitted to acquire land and American citizenship on an equality with other nations.”
Monsieur Lafayel, the French representative, for a moment, lost his head.
“Mon Dieu!” he exclaimed. “A declaration of war!”
“My distinguished friend technically anticipates,” the Secretary observed. “But the attitude of the United States of America to such a demand is, perhaps, too obvious for any other construction to be placed upon the situation.”
Lord Yeovil rose once more to his feet. He looked around the table before he spoke with the air of one who desires to impress on his mind the memory of a scene destined to become historical. He spoke slowly and with unflurried tone.
“Mr. Secretary and Gentlemen,” he said, “I address you once more in reply chiefly to the remarks of my distinguished friend, Prince Lutrecht. I speak to you, not only as the representative of Great Britain, but as the representative of the Power chosen in rotation for the duty of policing the seas and enforcing the regulations imposed by this Conference. I have to announce to you that I am in possession of absolute proof of the ill-faith of the seceding nation—Japan—from this organisation. I have to-day received cabled information from the Admiral commanding the police forces of the organisation in eastern waters, that he has, in accordance with instructions received, destroyed the four or five battleships built in excess of Japan’s rights and also the nest of flying ships lying in the harbour of Yulensk, and built and armed without the cognisance of this Assembly.”
It is, perhaps, doubtful whether spoken words have, at any time, produced a greater effect upon a gathering of men than these words of Lord Yeovil’s. Amazed and half-incredulous interest was the prevailing note. Lutrecht, however, seemed like a man stricken. Every scrap of colour left his cheeks. His eyes burned like dry fires. His tongue was perpetually moistening his lips. He seemed to be trying to speak, but he made no effort to rise to his feet.
“Further,” Lord Yeovil continued, “and in reply to Prince Lutrecht, I have to inform him that the evidences as to the secret understanding between the naval forces of Germany and Russia are not in accordance with the terms of this Conference, and I have ventured, on behalf of the powers with which I am endowed, to anticipate your permission to act according to our statutes. A small portion of the British fleet has surprised the Russian battleships lying at Archangel and, on behalf of the Conference—not, I beg you will understand, in any way on behalf of Great Britain, but acting simply in the interests of all—has taken possession of those ships and disarmed them, pending a satisfactory settlement. I may add that we found them provisioned and ready to sail to join the German fleet at a rendezvous off the north coast of Ireland.”
Prince Lutrecht rose a little heavily to his feet. All his effrontery had deserted him.
“Mr. Secretary,” he announced, “I have no alternative but to follow the example of His Excellency, the representative of Japan, and sever my allegiance to this Conference.”
“A course which I naturally follow,” the representative of Russia declared, rising in his place.
“It will afford my country the greatest regret,” the chairman said drily, “that this Conference, for the inauguration of which America was responsible, and to whose conventions we have zealously, and it seems at great risk to ourselves, been true, exists no longer. But I may add that it is still more to our sorrow that the circumstances of the breaking up of the Conference point clearly to disloyalty on the part of two of the subscribing nations.”
Prince Lutrecht made one effort.
“Disloyalty, sir?” he repeated, half-turning on his way to the door.
“I regret to have to use that word, Prince,” the Secretary observed gravely. “I shall offer no explanation at this time. If you require one, read the Press of to-night and to-morrow morning. You will find there bad news. This is the last word.”
Lutrecht left the room. The Secretary waited until the door was closed.
“I have no other course, gentlemen,” he continued, “painful though it may be, than to declare that this Conference has come automatically to an end until some further understanding can be arrived at amongst the nations, based upon principles which seem to have been deserted by the representatives of the two seceding Powers. The United States of America must in future guard their own freedom.”
There was a rustling of papers, shuffling of feet, and then every one began to talk at once. The Limitation of Armaments Conference ended, as most similar assemblies had done,—in a mixture of exaltation, confusion, and misunderstanding.
There was a very fateful and wonderful meeting, convened on behalf of his Government by the Secretary of State an hour or so later, and attended by Lord Yeovil, Prince Yoshimo, and Prince Lutrecht. They met in the Secretary’s official room in the White House. No one shook hands, no civilities of any sort were offered. The Secretary himself locked the door.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “I have asked you to meet me because, whatever our feelings may be, the United States of America, more than any other country, hates war, deprecates revenge, and seeks for the truest expression of civilisation. By a series of fortuitous incidents America has become apprised of the hostile intentions of Japan and Germany. Let me remind you, Prince Lutrecht, that, if you persevere, you are without the aid of the Russian navy, and your fleet will be met, before it enters the Atlantic, by the combined navies of France and England, and probably Italy. The fact that, for the moment, America stands outside the Pact has, thanks to the generous instincts of the nations of the world, been ignored by them, in the face of recent discoveries. You, Prince Yoshimo, have lost that superiority of naval forces by means of which you intended to inflict disaster upon our fleet and coasts, and to impose your will upon our people. If your fleet sails it will be met by the American fleet in its entirety, and I imagine that, under the present conditions, the advantage in material would rest slightly with us. The schemes you produced for disorganising the mentality of our country have been discovered and dealt with. Fifty citizens of this country—some of them citizens of repute—are to-day in jail. Five hundred more are under police supervision. The points of danger from New York to San Francisco which it was their duty to attack have been guarded and will be guarded. Now, gentlemen, you have heard what I have to say. Are you going through with your abortive schemes? If so, you can have your papers within half an hour.”
Amazing man of an amazing race. Prince Yoshimo bowed.
“There have been many misunderstandings,” he said. “Japan, too, loves peace. I think, under the circumstances, I can anticipate my Imperial Master’s decision. I desire to withdraw the documents I had the honour to present to the Government of the United States yesterday.”
“And I,” Prince Lutrecht added, “desire to assure you, and through you your Government, that gross exaggeration has been used in describing the attitude and aims of my country. It seems to be the hard fate of Germany to be continually striving for peace and to be always suspected of bellicosity. I offer the fullest pledges of our peaceful intentions. On behalf of my Government I acquiesce in the cessation of the understanding between Russia and ourselves. I declare for peace.”
The Secretary bowed.
“This,” he pronounced, “is not the place or the hour to discuss the future. The Limitation of Armaments Conference has ceased to exist. The Pact, I imagine, must be either dissolved or reconstructed, full account having been taken of the dangerous position in which your two countries, gentlemen, have placed the peace of the world. That, I think, is all we can say at present.”
Prince Lutrecht bowed sombrely. Prince Yoshimo followed his example. They left the room together, undismayed, with little apparent loss of dignity. Lord Yeovil accepted a cigarette and lit it thoughtfully.
“Queer brains, some of these people,” he observed.
The Secretary smiled.
“What about a cocktail and some luncheon?” he suggested. “The Chief would like to see you.”
Lord Yeovil glanced at his watch.
“I am taking a day off,” he announced. “And, by the bye, I shall have to hurry. My daughter is being married to Grant Slattery at one o’clock, and we have a little family party afterwards at the Embassy. Your wife will have received a note by now. I hope we may have the pleasure of seeing you both.”
“I am quite sure that you may count upon us,” the other replied heartily. “Let me offer you at once, however, my best wishes for your daughter’s happiness. Grant Slattery’s a fine fellow. Only a very few of us will ever know how much our country owes to him for his work during the last two years.”
“Not only your country, but the world,” Lord Yeovil acquiesced. “War brings equal disaster to victor and vanquished.”
“A relic of the Middle Ages,” the American statesman declared, “in which the victors sometimes derived an illusionary benefit from the simple fact that international commerce consisted merely of a primitive attempt at barter, and the complication of exchanges was unknown.”
“And yet,” Lord Yeovil sighed, “there will always be wars.”
The End