"No, it's over; they've finished; the soldiers are retiring." It was the professor with the field glass. At the same time there came from in front of them, like a ripple of sound passing rapidly, quaveringly, through the mob, a whisper, then the rumor spoken aloud but in the doubting tone of unbelief; finally in shouts: "The Prince Regent, the Prince Regent. He stopped it. He told the militarists that he would not have them kill His people. His people. The Prince Regent!"
The emotions of the crowds were still too conflicting to allow definite united form of expression, joy, sorrow, relief. The cries of the dying and wounded became audible now to the individuals, who until this had been concerned only with their own frantic fears, listening for the death-signaling bugle. Evidently the cordons about Hibiya had been withdrawn, for the crowd became suddenly augmented. New arrivals who had not been set trembling by suspense of expectation of death, saw the dead, raised their hands in wrath. Shouts for vengeance, cries from the wounded, trembling hysteria of those who had escaped the debacle all mingled in a chaos of confusion of sound, of movement, of minds.
"Now's the time, you fools," Kent heard the Russian's hoarse whisper to those about him. "In this moment you win or lose the revolution. All that's needed now is a leader. Come on, lead them, demolish the General Staff. Here, take some of these." Kent caught a glimpse of dark lemon-shaped objects, with crisscross furrows, as they passed from hand to hand. "I don't suppose you want one," he grinned to Kent. "You don't know how much history there may be crammed into one of these little things. Anyway, come along."
The others had already started, making their way through the mob. The professors and the rest, Sadako-san, Ishii, even Kikuchi. He caught the young diplomat's arm. "What the devil are you doing in this, Kikuchi? You had better get back to the Foreign Office where you belong."
"Don't be a fool, Kent, don't be a fool," the young fellow's face was ecstatic, eyes brilliantly flashing. "Don't you see it, Kent? He is with us, the Prince Regent, with the people. He must be at the Kasumigaseki Palace, right across the way from the General Staff building. He must have seen with his own eyes almost, and he stopped them. He is with us, the people; what in hell does it matter whether we be Foreign Office mannikins or proletariat; we all are the people of Japan, the nation, and we all want just that one thing, the overthrow of the militarists and of the bureaucrats."
They had reached the edge of the mob at the foot of the wide driveway leading to the General Staff building. Most of the soldiers had disappeared; only a thin cordon guarded the approach. Behind them, scattered in the throng, they could hear voices of leaders shouting. "To the General Staff; this way; throw them out; to the General Staff!" The cry was taken up; it became a roar; again the mob took common direction. Presently they found themselves in the front rank, pressed steadily forwards by the urge of the multitude behind them. Kent was pushed upwards with the rest of the group, Sadako-san, Kikuchi, Ishii, Lüttich and the others, closer and closer to the line of soldiers, being driven steadily nearer the extended bayonet points. The officer in charge, a captain, Prussian-mustached, scowling at the advancing crowd, was directly in front of them. They could see him biting his lips, finger nervously playing about his automatic, suspense, indecision, plainly written on his face. A stone thrown by some one in the crowd whizzed past him. Kent heard him bark out something, some order; instantly the rifles of the soldiers had leaped into position at their shoulders. By the gods, they were about to fire!
Those in the front rank of the mob tried to push backwards, but were held fast by those behind. Instinctively Kent placed his arm about Sadako, glaring up at the soldiers. Another gruff military order was barked out, hoarse, unintelligible. The rifles came to rest. The soldiers began to retreat slowly. "That was Matsu himself gave that order." Kent heard the excited whisper of Kikuchi right in his ear. "That's one thing about these militarists, at least. They obey orders. Look, there he is."
He had come forward, an old man in field uniform with a single great silver decoration, almost as large as a saucer, below his breast. He was waving back, impatiently, other officers who evidently wished to stay with him, barked out some command to them imperiously. Then he turned, facing the mob, white-haired head erect, hand on sword hilt, silent, proud, impressive.
"By the gods, they are no cowards, anyway, these militarists," Kent flung the words back over his shoulder to Kikuchi. "One man against a nation."
"He accepts the responsibility. What else can he do?" The old Japanese formula, the gentleman's creed.