“Tell the Emperor of Russia that I do not distrust his sincerity, but I distrust his power. The monarch who cannot send a letter through his dominions in safety; who has to resort to stratagems and precautions like these to overcome the opposition of his own subjects, is not the ruler of his empire.
“Why, sir, do you suppose that if I had a message to send to my brother in St. Petersburg I should have to stoop to arts like these? That any subject of mine would dare to plot against me, to seduce my messengers, to drug and rob them? Incredible! The tale you have told me completely confirms everything I and my advisers have already heard with regard to the Russian Government. It is a ship without a captain, on which the helm is fought for and seized by different hands in turn. To-day the real rulers of Russia are the men who are bent on war—and who, while we are talking, have actually begun the war!”
I gazed around the Council-Room, unable to believe my ears.
“Yes,” the stern sovereign continued, “while you, sir, were entering the Inland Sea, charged with this offer of peace”—his majesty tossed the precious piece of paper on the table with a look of disdain—“a Russian gunboat, the Korietz, was firing the first shot of the war at one of my squadrons off Chemulpo.”
The glances directed by those present at the naval officer behind the imperial chair convinced me that he had just brought the fatal news to the Council.
“And now,” added the Mikado, “I will give my reply to the real masters of Russia—to the directors of the Korietz.”
He nodded to the naval officer, who walked across the floor to a box on the wall like a telephone receiver, and pressed a button.
“That,” his majesty explained, “is the signal for a flotilla of torpedo boats to enter the harbor of Port Arthur and blow up the Russian fleet.”
I think a faint cry of remonstrance or misgiving must have escaped me. The Japanese monarch frowned, and his voice took a still sterner ring.