After our fleet had been divided between the east and the west, both the Pacific fleet and the reserve Atlantic fleet were individually far inferior to the Japanese fleet. The maintenance of a fleet in the Pacific as well as of one in the Atlantic was a fatal luxury. It was superfluous to keep on tap a whole division of ships in our Atlantic harbors merely posing as maritime ornaments before the eyes of Europe or at the most coming in handy for an imposing demonstration against a refractory South-American Republic. All this could have been done just as well with a few cruisers. English money and Japanese intrigues, it is true, succeeded in always keeping the Venezuelan wound open, so that we were constantly obliged to steal furtive glances at that corner of the world, one that had caused us so much political vexation. Matters had indeed reached a sorry pass if our political prestige was so shaky, that it was made to depend on Mr. Castro's valuation of the forces at the disposal of the United States!
In consideration of the many unforeseen delays that had occurred in the work of digging the Panama Canal, there was only one policy for us to adopt until its completion, and that was to keep our fleet together and either to concentrate it in the Pacific and thus deter the enemy from attacking our coasts, regardless of what might be thought of our action in Tokio, or to keep only a few cruisers in the Pacific, as formerly, and to concentrate the fleet in the Atlantic, so as to be able to attack the enemy from the rear with the full force of our naval power. But these amateur commissioners of the public safety who wished to have an imposing squadron on view wherever our flag floated—as if the Stars and Stripes were a signal of distress instead of a token of strength—condemned our fleet to utter helplessness. In 1908, when there was no mistaking the danger, we, the American people, one of the richest and most energetic nations of the world, nevertheless allowed ourselves in the course of the debate on the naval appropriations to be frightened by Senator Maine's threat of a deficit of a few dollars in our budget, should the sums that were absolutely needed in case our fleet was to fulfill the most immediate national tasks be voted. This was the short-sighted policy of a narrow-minded politician who, when a country's fate is hanging in the balance, complains only of the costs. It was most assuredly a short-sighted policy, and we were compelled to pay dearly for it.
The voyage of our fleet around South America had shown the world that the value of a navy is not impaired because a few drunken sailors occasionally forget to return to their ship when in port: on the contrary, foreign critics had been obliged to admit that our navy in point of equipment and of crews was second to none. And lo and behold, this remarkable exhibition of power—the only sensible idea evolved by our navy department in years—is followed by the insane dispersal of our ships to so many different stations.
How foolish had it been, furthermore, to boast as we did about having kept up communication with Washington by wireless during the whole of our journey around South America. Had not the experience at Trinidad, where a wireless message intercepted by an English steamer had warned the coal-boats that our fleet would arrive a day sooner, taught us a lesson? And had not the way in which the Japanese steamer, also provided with a wireless apparatus, stuck to us so persistently between Valparaiso and Callao shown us plainly that every new technical discovery has its shady side?
No, we had learned nothing. In Washington they insisted on sending all orders from the Navy Department to the different harbors and naval stations by wireless, yet each of the stations along the whole distance from east to west provided possibilities of indiscretion and treachery and of unofficial interception. Why had we not made wireless telegraphy a government monopoly, instead of giving each inhabitant of the United States the right to erect an apparatus of his own if he so wished? Did it never occur to anybody in Washington that long before the orders of the Navy Department had reached Mare Island, Puget Sound and San Diego they had been read with the greatest ease by hundreds of strangers? It required the success of the enemy to make all this clear to us, when we might just as well have listened to those who drew conclusions from obvious facts and recommended caution.
In spite of all this, the press on Tuesday morning still adhered to the hope that Admiral Perry would attack the enemy from the rear with his twelve battleships of the Pacific squadron, and that, meeting the Japanese at their base of operations, he would cut off all threads of communication between San Francisco and Tokio. It was no longer possible to warn Perry of his danger, since the wireless stations beyond the Rockies were already in the enemy's hands. The American people could therefore only trust to luck; but blind chance has never yet saved a country in its hour of direst need. It can only be saved by the energy, the steady eye and the strong hand of men. All hope centered in Admiral Perry, in his energy and his courage, but the people became uneasy when no answer was received to the oft-repeated question: "Where is the Pacific fleet?" Yes, where was Admiral Perry?
Chapter X
ADMIRAL PERRY'S FATE
The wireless apparatus on board Admiral Perry's flag-ship, the Connecticut, rattled and crackled and on the strip of white paper slowly ejected by the Morse machine appeared the words: "Magdalen Bay to Commander-in-chief of Squadron, May 7, 8h. 25. A cruiser and two torpedo-boats sighted four miles N.W. with course set towards Magdalen Bay; uncertain whether friend or foe. Captain Pancoast."