still paraded the streets, but in place of the “Hymn of Revolution” many of them were now chanting the martial songs which their fathers had sung on the eve of battle, and the air was full of “Banzais.”
That night the labour chiefs held an emergency meeting, at which they decided to annul the general strike and suspend their campaign against the Government until the foreign crisis was at an end. A few of the leaders were against this course, arguing that the crisis had been deliberately manufactured to turn the thoughts of the people away from their wrongs, and that action by the workers was more necessary than ever now that the imperialists were seeking to plunge the country into war. These counsels, however, were not listened to. Not only was the strike declared at an end, but the meeting passed resolutions pledging the trade unions to support the Government in any reasonable measures it might take to safeguard the country against foreign aggression.
Prince Kawamura’s scheme had, so far, proved completely successful. Revolution had been averted for the moment, but unless the fires of patriotism were kept burning a reaction might set in and the forces of disorder again become supreme. The Press was therefore encouraged to inflame racial passion by recalling the American attitude on Japanese immigration. In a few days a violent anti-American campaign was in full blast. Fuel was added to the blaze by the receipt of a strong note from Washington, which not only upheld the validity of the Sayers concession, but declined to recognise Japan’s claims to favoured treatment in the district concerned, and expressed “profound surprise” at the tone of the Foreign Minister’s speech in the Diet.
Contrary to all diplomatic precedent, the Japanese Government at once communicated the contents of this note to the Press, which naturally hailed it as further evidence of America’s aggressive intentions. In a further note, dated February 4, the United States proposed that the dispute over the Sayers concession be submitted to arbitration, as provided for in the Nine-Power Treaty negotiated at Washington in February, 1922. Japan, however, declined the proposal on the ground that the question at issue concerned her sovereign rights, and was therefore not a fit subject for submission to an international tribunal. Undeterred by this rebuff, the United States Government was continuing its efforts to promote an amicable solution when an incident occurred which gave a fresh impetus to the war fever in Japan. On February 15 a New York paper stated, with an air of authority, that all American warships in the Atlantic had received urgent orders to pass through the Panama Canal and join up with the Pacific Fleet at Hawaii, from whence the combined force would make a cruise to the Philippines. This report was instantly contradicted by the Navy Department in an official communiqué . A few ships, it was stated, had certainly been ordered to the Pacific, but only in line with ordinary routine, and the report of a naval cruise to the Philippines was absolutely unfounded.
But the mischief was done. The original message had been flashed to Japan, where it caused the wildest excitement; while for some reason, never satisfactorily explained, the Navy Department’s denial was held up for several days. Before it reached Tokyo — or at any rate before its receipt was officially admitted there — the Government addressed a sharp Note to Washington, protesting against naval movements “which could only be interpreted as a menace to Japan.” The Note went on to declare that American transports were known to be under orders to proceed to the Philippines with cargoes of guns and naval mines, and added that unless these ships were immediately recalled “the Imperial Government will be forced to conclude that the intentions of the United States Government are not of a friendly character.”
It was now clear to all that Japan was bent, if not on