As this array proceeded in the quick, sharp, uniform step peculiar to disciplined bodies, there were no shouts of applause, no encouraging cheers, no uncovering of heads, no clapping of hands. The silent multitudes regarded them sullenly, expectantly, fearfully.
“Gad!” exclaimed a young lieutenant, “they don’t take to us. This is no Fifth Avenue parade.”
“No, it is not. More like action,” mumbled his companion.
When the officers came within sight of the entrance and saw the columns hostilely arranged, there was a movement of alarm. But quickly the dual force of Catzu and Aidzu spread out to permit a passage through itself.
The Americans gave an order. Their band went suddenly to the rear, its place taken by a body of marines, who moved until their head rested upon the door of entrance. They in turn opened a way for the division at whose head marched the chief officer. With arms at “present,” they stood awaiting its approach.
At the head of the division now advancing, under the colors and backed by minor officers, strode a commanding figure. It was that of a full-bodied, ruddy, stern-featured man, in whose every poise of body and head was command. He was bareheaded. About his temples the breeze from the bay scattered his short, slightly gray hair.
The sight of the Japanese army in its menacing position, facing the multitudes, may have carried alarm to his soul. It had been instantly met by his counter arraying of marines; but there was no fear manifest in face, gait, or manner. Without pause he entered quickly the audience-hall, followed by his officers. Turning his head to neither side, he seated himself in a chair similar in respect and position to those occupied by the commissioners.
There was a pause, a momentary embarrassment was felt by all present. Then the American commodore summoned the Dutch interpreter, through whom the conversation was to take place.
“Inform them,” he said, “that I have some questions to ask.”