On the morning of November 26 Stimson called the President to make sure he had received a copy of a G-2 report which he had sent to the White House the previous afternoon. This concerned a Japanese expedition of five divisions embarked in a group of between thirty and fifty ships which had been sighted southward-bound off Formosa. Roosevelt had not and, upon hearing the message, “fairly blew up. . . .” He said “that that changed the whole situation because it was evidence of bad faith on the part of the Japanese that while they were negotiating for an entire truce—an entire withdrawal—they would be sending this expedition down there to Indo-China.”1
What is more, abandonment of the proposed modus vivendi necessitated a clarification of the issues. So Hull and several of his advisers set about preparing a note for submission to Nomura and Kurusu which the secretary took to Roosevelt that same morning for approval. The contents later became famous as the Hull Note or the Ten Points. We cannot deal with these points in detail here. Suffice it to say that, while firm, “there was nothing in there that any peaceful nation pursuing a peaceful course would not have been delighted to accept,” as Hull testified later.2
Unfortunately at this time Japan was not a “peaceful nation pursuing a peaceful course.” Hull never understood, for example, why the Japanese persisted in trying to build a house on Chinese quicksand when he offered them solid ground. To Tokyo the answer was simple: As the Asian master race they had the right—nay, the duty—to take over China. In Japanese eyes, Chungking deserved censure for obstinately refusing to bow to the manifest will of heaven. Moreover, the Japanese Army would never willingly allow the nation to follow a path on which peaceful trade and international amity took precedence over the warrior virtues. This would remove the military from the driver’s seat.
The Hull Note was not an ultimatum. It restated the American position, which had not varied for months. True, Japan did not like it. But in view of Tokyo’s note of November 20 and of the knowledge of Japanese intentions and movements which Washington possessed, Hull could have handed Japan a much stiffer document.
Grew was highly pleased with the Hull Note but soon found that Tojo’s government fostered the impression that it was an ultimatum. “It suited the military to do so.”3 The Ten Points did not appear in the Japanese press until after the war began, and then the government promptly confiscated the newspaper which printed them.4
So, in hot pursuit of the whole hog, Tokyo continued to press Nomura and Kurusu, stressing the urgency of time. On November 26 the Foreign Ministry authorized telephonic communications between the two ambassadors and Kumaichi Yamamoto, chief of the American Bureau. This dispatch gave the code for use in these talks, a rather cozy domesticated series of phrases which could create an innocuous conversation if deftly used. Roosevelt and Hull became respectively Miss Kimiko and Miss Fumeko. “To sell the mountain” meant “To yield,” and of course, “Not to sell the mountain” meant “Not to yield.” The words “The child is born” signified “Situation taking critical turn.” The Navy became “Marriage Proposal,” and the Army “Tokugawa.”5
Even before receiving Hull’s Ten Points, Nomura and Kurusu had just about decided that they were spinning their wheels. They sent off a joint message to Togo, advising him that “if we let the situation remain tense as it now is . . . the negotiations will inevitably be ruptured, if indeed they may not already be called so. Our failure and humiliation are complete. . . .” Nomura then offered a daring proposal:
I believe it advisable at this junction to have the President wire to His Majesty the Emperor his desire for Japanese-American cooperation—and in reply to it have His Majesty send a telegram to the President, thereby clearing the present atmosphere and providing sufficient time for Japan to propose the establishment of a neutral zone comprising French Indo-China and Thailand.
Nomura and Kurusu also warned that Hitler would probably weasel out of his obligations and Japan would have to mark time in China because it could not fight two major wars at once.6
Togo had no use for the joint Nomura-Kurusu message.7 He wanted his representatives following the Tokyo line with no original arabesques. The idea was not that bad. Had Togo been quite the dove he would have posterity believe, he would have been willing to try anything once.
At about 1645 on this busy November 26 Nomura and Kurusu called on Hull for a talk lasting some two hours. Hull advised that the United States could not agree to Proposal B. With that, he handed over the two documents comprising the Ten Point program. The ambassadors protested that they could not report this program to Tokyo. After much fruitless discussion Nomura reminded Hull that Roosevelt had once remarked, “There are no last words between friends.” He therefore asked him to arrange an interview with the President; Hull agreed to do it.8
Togo seized Hull’s Ten Points as a precision-made escape hatch,9 but his crocodile tears carry little conviction. At the very time Nomura and Kurusu were talking with Hull, Nagumo’s task force had been at sea for twenty-four and a half hours and was engaged in the first of its refuelings en route to Pearl Harbor. As pointed out, Japan’s submarines began deploying on November 11—a full fortnight before Hull presented his Ten Points. And this was only the Pearl Harbor chapter of the story.
The Japanese had already begun to activate their main war plan: seizure of the southern regions. In fact, the Malay invasion force had departed Hashirajima November 24, two days before Nagumo’s sortie from Hitokappu Bay. And the southern Philippine invasion force left Sasebo on the same date that the Pearl Harbor task force ventured into the Pacific.
Full of curiosity, Stimson telephoned Hull early on November 27 to find out “what his finale had been with the Japanese.” According to Stimson, Hull replied, “I have washed my hands of it and it is now in the hands of you and Knox—the Army and the Navy.”10 Hull later denied ever expressing himself thus, and it certainly does not sound like him. As secretary of state he could not “wash his hands” of the sticky situation, and well he knew it.11 Stimson may have confused Hull’s remarks on this occasion with his statement of November 25 that “our national security lies in the hands of the Army and the Navy.”
All agog, Stimson next called the President, who gave him “a little different view.” The secretary of war suggested to Roosevelt that they alert MacArthur to be “on the qui vive for any attack and telling him how the situation was.” Then Hap Arnold dropped in to show Stimson orders sending two “of our biggest planes” from San Francisco across the Mandates to photograph the area and get some idea of what the Japanese were doing there.12 Incidentally, this mission of two B-24s never took place. The first was in a hangar on Oahu on December 7, and the Japanese destroyed it in the attack. The second did not reach the islands.13
Next, Knox and Stark came over to confer with Stimson and Gerow, the latter substituting for Marshall, on maneuvers in North Carolina. The four men devoted their main attention to the alert for MacArthur. Stimson again phoned Hull for an “exact statement . . . of what the situation was.” Armed with his analysis, they carefully reviewed the proposed message to go out over Marshall’s name.14
On November 27 Tokyo sent to its Washington embassy a circular containing yet another code. This became known as the “hidden word” code. Certain words to cover countries and happenings would be buried in an innocent-looking message. Minami would refer to the United States. To alert the recipients of these cables, they would end with the English word “Stop” rather than the Japanese Owari.15
That evening Kurusu put through a call to Yamamoto of the Foreign Ministry’s American desk, completing the connection at 2327. After a brief exchange of civilities Yamamoto inquired, using the prearranged code, “How did the matrimonial question get along today?”
“Oh, haven’t you got our telegram yet?” asked Kurusu. “There wasn’t much that was different from what Miss Umeko said yesterday.” This was a slip of either the tongue or the translator—the prearranged code for Hull was “Miss Fumeko.” Kurusu continued. “. . . As before that southern matter—that south, SOUTH—southward matter, is having considerable effect. . . .” Obviously Kurusu was at a loss to weave the vital subject of Japan’s overt moves in that direction, not included in the code, into the domestic pattern of marriage and childbirth which Tokyo had arranged.
“Oh, the south matter?” exclaimed Yamamoto, enlightened. “It’s effective?”
“Yes,” replied Kurusu, “and at one time, the matrimonial question seemed as if it would be settled. But—well, of course, there are other matters involved, too, but—that was it—that was the monkey wrench. . . .” Here we have a most significant acknowledgment from Kurusu that the “monkey wrench” tossed into the diplomatic machinery had been not the Hull Note, but Japan’s aggressive preparations to move south.
“How do things look there?” he next inquired. “Does it seem as if a child might be born?”
“Yes,” Yamamoto answered definitely, “the birth of a child seems imminent.” No doubt he knew exactly whereof he spoke, having learned about the Pearl Harbor operation in the latter part of November.
Kurusu repeated Yamamoto’s statement in a somewhat surprised tone, then started to ask, “In which direction . . .” but stopped abruptly at this slip. He picked up the broken thread neatly. “Is it to be a boy or a girl?”
Yamamoto hesitated, then with a little laugh followed Kurusu’s lead back into the domestic code. “It appears as if it will be a strong healthy boy. . . .* Did you make any statement . . . regarding your talk with Miss Kimiko [Roosevelt] today?”
Kurusu disclaimed having given the press any information beyond the fact that he and Nomura had met with Roosevelt.
“The matrimonial question,” Yamamoto continued, “that is, the matter pertaining to arranging a marriage—don’t break them off.”
“Not break them?” asked Kurusu blankly. “You mean talks.” He added in helpless accents, “Oh, my.” Then he gave a resigned laugh. “Well, I’ll do what I can.” After a brief exchange about the day’s talk with the President, Yamamoto returned to “the matrimonial question,” advising Kurusu, “I shall send you another message. However, please bear in mind that the matter of the other day is a very difficult one.”
Kurusu assured Yamamoto that “they want to keep carrying on the matrimonial question. They do.” Thus, after receiving Hull’s note, Kurusu acknowledged that the United States wanted to keep the talks alive. He went on. “In the meantime we’re faced with the excitement of having a child born. On top of that Tokugawa is really champing at the bit, isn’t he?” Both diplomats laughed at this disrespectful reference to the Japanese Army. “That’s why I doubt if anything can be done,” Kurusu added realistically.
“I don’t think it’s as bad as that,” Yamamoto countered. But he went on. “Well, we can’t sell a mountain.” This meant “We can’t yield.”
“Oh, sure, I know that,” Kurusu agreed. “That isn’t even a debatable question any more.” After a few further exchanges the men broke the connection.16
At roughly the same time that Roosevelt and Hull were meeting with Nomura and Kurusu, an important conference was taking place in Kimmel’s headquarters. Along with Kimmel and key members of his staff, Admirals Bloch, Halsey, Brown, and Bellinger were present. Short also attended, bringing with him Martin and Mollison. They discussed principally a proposal to send P-40s to Wake and Midway islands and to reinforce these outlying bases with Army troops. These moves had been under consideration in Hawaii and Washington for about a month.17
Although willing to send his aircraft and men if necessary, Short hesitated to release them from his control. “If I man these islands, I must command them,” he declared.
“Only over my dead body,” retorted Kimmel vigorously. “The Army should exercise no command over Navy bases.”
“Mind you, I do not want these islands,” replied Short amiably. “I think they are better manned by Marines. But if I must put troops and planes on them, then I must command them.”18
This little passage at arms was perfectly good-natured, as each considered the awkwardness of divided command.
Far more important, any Army aircraft ferried to these outlying bases would have to be written off for use in the Hawaiian Islands. The distance was beyond the P-40’s range of independent flight. Martin therefore proposed sending some of his obsolescent fighters “because those were the ones we could afford best to lose.” Short disagreed. He believed that “if we are going up against the Japanese we wanted the best we had instead of the worst. . . .”19
Mollison registered his disapproval of the scheme. “Our mission is to protect Oahu,” he pointed out, “and shipping out these Army planes will lessen our capability to do so.”
“Why are you so worried about this?” asked Kimmel. “Do you think we are in danger of attack?”
“The Japanese have such a capability,” answered Mollison cautiously.
“Capability, yes,” conceded Kimmel, “but possibility?” With that he swung abruptly on Soc McMorris. “What do you think about the prospects of a Japanese air attack?”
“None, absolutely none,” replied the Fleet war plans officer firmly.20 More than McMorris’s off-the-cuff evaluation influenced Kimmel’s thinking on the morning of this critical day. The very fact that the War and Navy departments had authorized sending about 50 percent of Hawaii’s P-40s to Wake and Midway indicated to him that responsible authorities in Washington “did not consider hostile action on Pearl Harbor imminent or probable.”21 Nevertheless, he decided to exercise his option and keep the Army fighter craft on Oahu, sending instead a squadron of Marine F-4Fs.22
Halsey remained with Kimmel until 1800, with only a break for lunch. “Do you want to take the battleships with you?” asked Kimmel.
“Hell, no!” Halsey retorted. “If I have to run I don’t want anything to interfere with my running!” These two old friends and Naval Academy classmates agreed, however, that the battleships had to sortie with the Enterprise task force to keep up the pretense of a routine mission. Halsey could shed them as soon as possible. Fully appreciating that he might be standing into big trouble, he asked, “How far do you want me to go?”
“Goddammit, use your common sense!” replied Kimmel briefly.23 The two men’s eyes met with perfect understanding. Halsey believed he had just received “the finest orders that were ever given to a man.” He “was very serious about it and probably shaking a little bit” because he “felt that we were going to be in a fight” before he returned to Pearl Harbor.24