"Just so," said the mate. "Hadn't you better look after the troops, and get them settled. If any storm gets up, or anything happens, they will be like children, and we can't hold them."
"Who's the major? He's not a Chinese, anyway!"
"No, he's a German, I believe—a Von something—a good fellow, I think. You see the Herrs are getting the thin wedge in in China, quietly. Look at their travellers already—commercial, I mean—they are turning us out! This major is teaching the army to shoot. They are very young in the modern sense. Just see that the Johnnies are quiet."
They were peaceful and resigned. So far as I could ascertain, none of them, except the generals, had any notion of what they were sent to do—except to fight somebody; but they were apparently quite passive in the matter, and gave themselves no concern either way. They were machines then; but later they roused themselves unpleasantly.
It was early in the morning of the 25th July 1894; I had been on deck, but came up again about eight a.m. because I was informed that the islands were in sight off Corea. I knew the mate was on watch, and he might want me. So I came up to him.
"I say, Julius," he said, "just call the captain! There's an ironclad ahead, and I can't quite make her out. She carries the Rising Sun, but there is a white flag over the Japs' colours. Look alive!"
Just glancing ahead I thought I could see the vessel referred to, but of course I called the captain at once.
"Where are we?" he asked, rising quickly.
"Oft Shopieul Island, I heard, sir; in the Corean Archipelago," I added.
"Thanks," he replied; but whether he was sarcastic I could not divine. I at once hurried on deck again, and searched the sea.