“They were young Prussian under-officers from the portion of the German company behind the American Division. They stopped inside the door, lost for a moment in wonder at the very miracle of the thing they were seeking. Then they noticed Major Dillard standing beside the Viceroy’s chair. They brought their heels together and made him a formal military salute; but it was clear they regarded him as of no particular importance—as merely a soldier from the American Division to be accorded the usual amenities; but not to be permitted to interfere with any design they had in mind.
“There followed a brief, verbal passage at arms, with a shattering dramatic sequel.
“Major Dillard explained that the Monastery was under the protection of the American Division; that it must not be disturbed; and requested the German officers to withdraw. They replied with a courtesy in which there was a high contempt; that as the American Division had passed on, and the German Company arrived on the ground, the Monastery was under the protection—they got a sneering, contemptuous note in the word—of the German Expeditionary Force, and they must insist on their right of control.
“They looked about at the rich loot, the ancient Viceroy, and the painted women, and what they meant by protection to the monastery was as clear as light.
“They were all under the influence of liquor; one or two of them were plainly drunk. It was evident that Major Dillard could not control them, and it was clear that their contention of their right of control over the Chinese territory adjacent to their Division was in point of legal virtue superior to that of the American Division that had passed on, and from which Major Dillard had returned here. They spoke with an exaggerated courtesy to the American; but they were clearly intending to seize the monastery, to ignore any claim of the Americans over it, and they made that intention insolently evident. The old Chinese Viceroy understood it at once. Despair enveloped him. His chin dropped on his bosom, and he put out his hands like one resigned to the inevitable. The young, insolent Prussians advanced into the room.
“It was at this moment that the dramatic sequel arrived.”
Colonel Swank paused; he made a slight gesture with the hand in which the long sharp blade of his knife moved on the soft wood.
“I have mentioned,” he said, “how in character were the acts of Wilhelm II in this international affair, and now one of these theatrical gestures intervened with a shattering dénouement. Major Dillard offered no further argument. He took out of his pocket the message which he had received from von Waldersee as we were setting out and read it: It was an order of the High Command putting a portion of a German Company under the command of that foreign general whose division it followed. And, thus, this order put the German advance guard, of which these Prussians were officers under the command of the American General. It was the Emperor’s gracious return for the grant of the supreme command to von Waldersee. Major Dillard made no comment. He gave a curt order as though he were addressing a sergeant’s squad:
“The Prussians were to remain and guard the Monastery during the whole of the Allied occupation; nothing should be disturbed; they would be held responsible for every life and every article, and for the rigid preservation of order. It was a hard, clear, comprehensive direction: And they were to report to him in Pekin.
“The amazement of the young Prussian officers was beyond any word to express. Their jaws dropped; their very eyes bulged. The drunken ones were instantly sober. They recognized the black eagle and the signature of the German High Command. Every vestige of human initiative vanished out of them. Von Waldersee’s order was an ukase of the All Highest—the direction of the Emperor—a command of the War Lord. They formed in a line before the American, clicked their heels, and saluted. And he set them about the outside of the Monastery as a guard; and went away in his chair.”