In the Clutch of the War-God

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, Japanese owned and Japanese 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. Passing 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 Japanese 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 Japanese 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.

"You will be safe here for the present," her hostess assured 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 Japanese 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 Japanese 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 attitude.

To this Ethel did not reply, but continued, "And I would look like a man," for among the Japanese people tight-belted waists and flopping skirts had long since been replaced by the kimo, a single-piece garment worn by both sexes 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.

"Are you ashamed that your body has such vulgar parts?" returned the older woman.

"No, of course not," said Ethel, choking back her embarrassment. "But it's wicked for a girl to let men know such things."

"Oh, they all know it," replied Madame Oshima, "they learn it in school."

At this the highly strung Ethel burst into sobs.

"There, there now," said her companion, regretting that she had spoken sarcastically. "I forget that I once had such ideas also. We'll talk some more about it after while. You are nervous and worried now and must have more rest."

The next day Madame Oshima more tactfully approached the subject and showed her protege that while in Rome it was more modest to do as the Romans do; and that, moreover, it was necessary for her own good and theirs that she attract as little attention as possible, and to those that recognized her Caucasian blood appear, superficially, at least, as a naturalized citizen of Japan.

So, amid blushes and tears, protestations and laughter, Ethel accepted the kimo, or one-piece Japanese garment, and the outer flowing cloak to be worn on state occasions when freedom of bodily movement was not required. Her feather-adorned hat was discarded altogether and her ill-shapen high-heeled boots replaced by airy slippers of braided fiber.

Her rather short stature and her hair--which fortunately enough was black--served to lessen her conspicuousness, especially when dressed in the fashion followed by Japanese girls; and with the leaving off of the use of cosmetics and the spending of several hours a day in the flower garden even her pallid complexion suffered rapid change.

It was about a fortnight before Professor Oshima returned from Tokio. Upon his arrival Ethel at once pleaded with him to be sent to America, but the scientist slowly shook his head.

"It is too late," he said; "there is going to be a war."

Thus it happened that Ethel Calvert was retained in the Professor's family as a sort of English tutor to his children, and introduced as a relative of his wife, and no one suspected that she was one of the hated Americans.

The trouble between Japan and the United States dated back to the early part of the century. It was deep-seated and bitter, and was not only the culmination of a rivalry between the leading nations of the great races of mankind, but a rivalry between two great ideas or policies that grew out in opposite directions from the age of unprecedented mechanical and scientific progress that marked the dawn of the twentieth century.

The pages of history had been turned rapidly in those years. The United States, long known as the richest country, had also become the most populous nation of the Caucasian world--and wealth and population had made her vain.