Part 13

If there is a more isolated spot on the top of God’s green earth than this resort is, my conception of hell is very vague. At one time the rendezvous of Chinese pirates, Mariveles later became a Chinese stockade. The Spaniards used it as an outpost. Here at night the soldiers were cooped up like cattle, always welcoming the dawn, when they could at least roam and breathe fresh air. Some distance in the mountains, in the crater of an extinct volcano, a hot mineral spring with an elegant outlet afforded splendid opportunities for bathing. Swimming in the bay was also great pastime, and under the tutorage of Captain Wells, who inaugurated a system of swimming drill, we found considerable pleasure. His system was to execute, while swimming, the same tactics as we did on foot; this was very funny and enjoyable sport.

After spending two weeks insulated from civilization, during which time we had undergone a process of fumigation, our transport, the _Thomas_, hove in sight, and was soon moored to the wharf. Little time was spent in storing our accoutrements of war on board. After each company had been assigned to its quarters, the signal to cast loose was given; we had at last commenced our homeward-bound voyage in earnest.

With the homeward-bound pennant flying in the breeze, the transport steamed through the “Mona-Chica” into the China Sea headed for Japan. The shrill click, click, of the wireless telegraph, receiving and transmitting messages, continued throughout the voyage. Occasionally excitement was caused by the sight of a whale; “There she blows!” and you see off the port-side a monstrous species of the mammal genus cruising and spouting like a Holland submarine. Schools of porpoises are a daily sight on either side, while millions of flying-fish skirt the billows off every quarter.

On the spar-deck of the transport could be heard: “Come on, fellows, give us a bet; loosen up and take a chance; Steve Brodie did; when this war is over we’ll start another; come, soldiers, get on the field; double up; you’re sure to win some time.” About this time a soldier, who has put some “dealer” to the bad, grabs the dice and yells: “How much money have you got? I’ll tap your pile. Ninety dollars! Throw the bones.” As this gamester skilfully manipulates the dice which he rattles in his hand, and blows on for good luck, he affectionately remarks, “Bones! don’t refuse me this time; you’ve been good to me, old pals.” He rolls the dice and throws a ten. “Two to one he don’t ten; I’ve got you covered,” is heard on the side lines; another throw is made, a four this time, and bets are made on the side, that he comes. In the parlance of the soldier, the “bones” are talking friendly; as the dice roll over the green cloth for the third time, a six and four turns up; “Ten she is!” he shouts, as lie tucks away one hundred and eighty simoleons (a soldier’s word for money) and exclaims, “Good old bones.”

“Two bits he comes”; this is the tantalizing epithet directed at a fellow whose death-like form hangs over the taffrail a victim of sea-sickness.

Games are numerous on an army transport, everything from “keno” to “faro,” and this greatly breaks the monotony of the voyage. Every evening the regimental band discourses music, and dancing is indulged in. There are always plenty of girls who accompany the officers’ families as domestics (all colors, of course); these afford partners for the soldiers, and maybe there isn’t some class to the “rag”; everything goes, from the “barn-dance” to the “Frisco dip.”

A prize-fight is advertised between a “chocolate soldier” and a “pale-face.” Every man in uniform buys a ticket, the returns from which go to make up a purse for the winner. There are no Turkish baths taken to reduce weight, no skipping the rope or punching the bag to improve the respiratory organs; this was completed before leaving the Philippines, by way of mountain “hikes” in heavy marching order, from early morn till dewy eve, subsisting on an emergency ration, on which you are guaranteed to exist for at least a while. Each soldier is so confident in his prowess, that training is out of the question; each imagines he will land a hook that will send his opponent to the arms of Morpheus for the customary count. Steps are removed and a hatch is battened and roped; as the time arrives for the combat, soldiers crowd around the arena, hang from spars and davits, all eager to see the “black” and “white” contest for superiority. The contestants arrive with their seconds as the band strikes up a warm selection, the gloves are slipped on, and the men take their corners. The referee is a man who holds little value on life and must be able to fight himself. Time is called. The men shake hands, then spar awhile for an opening. A soldier cries, “Fake! why don’t they fight?” They now slam each other to body and head; both are bleeding when the gong sounds. Round second opens wild; they swing, hook, and duck, hammering away with one arm free in the clinch; each man dances as he awaits a lead from his opponent; both take their corners pretty much exhausted as the gong sounds. The third round begins viciously, though each man cautiously parries off the blows; both are fighting in good old military style, when they clinch; in the break-away they mix things, and the pale soldier drops to the mat as the crowd yell, “Foul! foul!” and he is counted out. A little ammonia revives him, and he is awarded the decision on a foul, though badly whipped by his dark opponent. “Can he come back?” No one cares. The referee is the hope of the white race!

As the transport approaches the Island of Hondo, soldiers are seen polishing their ornaments and buttons, pressing their uniforms, and making general preparations for a visit in Nagasaki. The conversation drifts to the way they are to spend their shore leave. “The first thing I do is to visit the bazaar,” remarks a soldier; “I want to buy a satsuma dinner set for my sister Peggy and a silk kimono for my sweetheart, some lacquer ornaments inlaid with mother-of-pearl, bronzes, and some silk.” “Well,” remarks another, “I am going to pick out the prettiest silk sunshade in Nagasaki, some cashmere shawls, and I guess a lace mantilla will suit Juana, my Creole friend in New Orleans.” “What’s the matter with having a nice colored ‘dragon’ and a ‘Tycoon in a jinrickshaw’ tattooed on your arms? and don’t forget to buy some amber cigar-smokers; there are beauties in Japan and very cheap,” speaks a soldier who has been there. “The first thing I am going to do,” another ejaculates, “is to hie me to a restaurant for a good square dinner; a Japanese duck with all the trimmings will do, with a bottle of ‘Rising Sun saki’ on the side.”

On arrival at Nagasaki, a fleet of Japanese war-vessels lay off our port bow. After anchoring, preparations were made to give the boys shore liberty; as we were to remain two days in this port, while the natives coaled the ship, it was decided to let one-half of the regiment go ashore each day.

“Japs” with sampans laden with curios and fruit surrounded the ship; these were exchanged for money by the soldiers, and hauled aboard by means of a rope and bucket.

The quarantine inspection in Japan is very rigid, which no doubt accounts for the excellent health of the race and the sanitary condition of the country.

As the call, “Lay aft, all the liberty party,” was piped by the boatswain, soldiers riled down the gangway and boarded launches, tugs, and sampans, and were at once conveyed to the “Land of the Rising Sun,” tea-houses, and chrysanthemums.

On reaching the wharf hundreds of Japanese jinrickshaw-men were in line, waiting to haul the Americans to any part of the city. Every “rickshaw” on the beach was immediately engaged, and away we went through the streets of Nagasaki, visiting bazaars, theatres, temples, pagodas, museums, and tea-houses. An unfortunate thing happened to a friend of mine while being hauled along the “Bund.” There were perhaps forty “rickshaws” in line, each contesting for the lead, when on turning a curve the “rickshaw” in front of mine broke down, precipitating my friend into the dust. My man, being unable to stop, ran over him, the wheel badly lacerating the whole side of his face. Both “Japs” ran away to escape punishment, the fellow in the rear ran into me, and there was a general spill along the whole line. It is needless to say that walking was good for several hours after this affair.

As our shore leave expired at 8 A.M., every fellow was getting the best out of the hours that were speeding by, as he knew there would be many monotonous days to spend on the Pacific Ocean before reaching Honolulu.

In tea-houses on the outskirts of the city, groups of soldiers sat and watched the geisha-girls do the “serpentine” to the music of “samisens,” their graceful forms presenting a novel spectacle, draped in flowing silk kimonos, as seen through a veil of cigarette smoke.

Next morning when the roll was called aboard the transport, a large percentage of the “liberty-party” was absent, and it became necessary to send out a patrol to round up the soldiers. As a result of this celebration, there were innumerable court-martials held _en route_ to the Hawaiian Islands, with fines ranging from five to twenty-five dollars.

Our voyage across the Pacific was uneventful. The weather was extremely calm, the horizon appearing as a circular brink of a tremendous cataract, over which the surging billows thundered in pensive solitude. An occasional albatross was sighted winging its flight through the aerial regions. Under the leeward shrouds, groups of soldiers congregated, spinning yarns or playing at cards, while others on the windward side inhaled the health-giving ozone of the salt-sea breeze. A Japanese mail-steamer, and several merchant marines were sighted from our course, _en route_ to points in Australia and the Orient.

Several hours before our arrival in Honolulu, it was whispered about the deck that our shore privileges were to be restricted, and, sure enough, the disappointment was realized, due, it was said, to those who had overstayed their privileges in Japan. To be kept a prisoner in Mariveles was bad enough, but to be prevented from mingling with the throng in the “Garden of the Gods,” the “Paradise of the Pacific,” Honolulu, was more than the boys could stand. As we entered the harbor, dotted here and there with bell-buoys, fishing-smacks, yachts, and vessels of the merchant marine, we saw the new naval station off our port side, and the camp of the United States marines extending to the coral reefs to starboard. From the spar deck we could gaze on the beautiful city of Honolulu, with its white stone buildings bathed in tropical luxuriance, and the contour of its mountainous inland towering to the clouds. It was with a feeling of relief, as the vessel moored to the wharf, that a chance could be taken on getting ashore.

The wharf was studded with people, mostly tourists and native venders, though a large concourse of officers’ families had come to greet their relatives. As the gangway was lowered, the band struck up an inspiring air, and only those who have seen an American transport loaded with soldiers returning home from that far-off jungle land, the Philippines and Sulu, can form any conception of the passionate display of enthusiasm manifested on these occasions.

Vendors of beautiful wreaths of flowers, curios, and succulent fruit greet the visitor on all sides. These flower wreaths are worn around the band of the hat and around the neck; they are a traditional necessity, without which you are staged, in this city of the Pacific, in a class by yourself.

Pineapples, pineapples, pineapples, everywhere you look; the most delicious pineapples in the world come from Hawaii, the bulk of the exportation to the United States being marketed along the Pacific slope.

The shore privileges of the battalion being restricted, we had to be content with taking observations from the taffrail. I had been to Honolulu several times while in the navy, and had stopped here _en route_ to the islands with the Twenty-ninth Infantry, so that I naturally felt disappointed at my inability to go ashore,――so much, in fact, that I decided to eradicate the feeling at the risk of a court-martial.

Having anticipated making a social call, besides expecting mail addressed to the Alexander Young Hotel, I was determined on getting ashore, if it necessitated going down over the anchor-chains, as we did in the navy when shore leave was not forthcoming, which, however, would not be necessary in this case, as our ship was moored to the dock.

On the strength of being a non-commissioned officer, I thought that perhaps a diplomatic hand played judiciously might have some weight with the colonel.

Investing myself in a fresh-laundried suit of war-clothes, with carefully wound puttees, I approached without dismay headquarters, and with the determination, if rebuffed, to await complacently the first opportunity for smuggling myself ashore, when presently I heard my name being called out near the gangway. Hastening in this direction, I found a Hawaiian messenger with a note for me. Hastily tearing open the envelope, the missive read as follows: “My dear Mr. A――――, We are friends of your cousin May; call up 091 Aloho Lane immediately.” Had I received my mail from Young’s Hotel, I would have understood the message thoroughly; but, alas! it was Greek,――not too Greek, however. Detaining the messenger, I sought the advice of the regimental sergeant major, who informed me that it would be absolutely futile to apply for shore leave, as a number of applications had been disapproved. Feeling chagrined over my inability to comply with the request in the message, I resorted, after considerable thought, to the miserable subterfuge of denying my presence on board. Seeking the assistance of Sergeant Allen, I dictated the following: “This message was opened inadvertently; Mr. A――――has been detained in Japan; will be through on a liner next month. (Signed) ALLEN.”

The boy departed (after I had tipped him on keeping his counsel), leaving me meditating on how I was to get ashore.

My experience in the navy was helping me wonderfully, when something occurred demanding immediate action, an unforeseen exigency in the shape of another messenger. This time it was the first mate of the transport _Thomas_, Mr. Worth, who, to add to my chain of humiliating circumstances, informed me that three ladies were awaiting me on the promenade deck, two of them Hawaiians, the third an American. They had missed the messenger (thanks for his carelessness!). “For heaven’s sake!” I exclaimed; “I am not on board, mate! I am in Japan.” “Oh, they are wise; they have been talking to an officer, and he has sent an orderly to find you; so come on up; they look good to me and they are anxious to see you.” (Oh, if I only had that messenger, what I’d do to him!) “Tell them I will be there in a moment,” I exclaimed, as I went below for some letters a member of the crew had consented to mail.

In a few moments I had scaled the ladder to the promenade deck, where I met the jolliest trio of femininity it has been my pleasure to commune with. They told me what great friends they were of my cousin, of her writing them of my departure from the Philippines, of the explanatory letter awaiting me at Young’s Hotel, and all about the big touring-car awaiting us at the pier, et cetera. Two of these ladies were perfect types of Hawaiian beauty, Vassar graduates, and members of the obsolete nobility, the other a typical American girl, a tourist, and daughter of a retired naval officer.

I was aware that my cousin had spent the previous winter in Honolulu, and understood, from the message, that she had written her friends of my home-coming _via_ the Hawaiian Islands on the transport _Thomas_, so that an apology for my failure to comply with the request in the message could hardly be avoided. So it became imperative that I disclose the facts in connection with the deprivation of our shore leave,――how we overstayed our liberty in Japan, and the denial of my presence on board the transport. Being jolly good fellows, these ladies considered this predicament a great joke, as they had visited Japan, and I presume knew the irresistible fascinations of the “Flowery Kingdom.” But that was neither here nor there: they had come on board to take me ashore, and ashore I must go.

The people in question are warm friends of a particular friend of mine, a globe-trotter (address, United States of America) whose meteoric flights cover both hemispheres, and who arranges the destinations of her itinerary in accordance with climatic conditions; when not basking in the sunshine along the Riviera or under the cocoa-palms of the tropics, she is shooting the rapids of the St. Lawrence River or ascending the precipitous slopes of Mt. Washington. This lady of rare accomplishments and precious jewels, whose benignity of aspect is subordinate only to her delicate finesse, is related paradoxically to the author, through a long chain of ancestry dating back to the tenants of Paradise; we are therefore by mutual consent known as cousins.

Through the courtesy of Mr. Worth, the privilege of his cabin was extended; here the party was served with ice-cold “Three Star” mineral-water, and here my departure from the ship was planned with great success.

After escorting the ladies to the gang-plank, promising to write, and bidding them a farewell, I repaired to my quarters, invested myself in a civilian suit of white duck, and was lowered over the side of the vessel into a steam-launch, which conveyed me to a point on the beach where, leaving the launch, I joined the trio in a large limousine of patrician elegance, for a spin over the famous Pali Drive. “That is going some,” I remarked, as the machine sped on. “Yes, and then some,” exclaimed the American girl. “Well, all is fair in love and war,” ejaculated a dashing Hawaiian. “Well, well sprinkle this event with romance,” added the other, laughingly. “‘Love and war’ sounds good. If I am reported, I will quote that as my defence,” I replied. “Aloho mie,” in an Hawaiian undertone, brings forth a peal of laughter as the party catch the sense.

Our ride included the ever-beautiful Pali Drive, a magnificent boulevard shaded by the bowery maze of the banyan-tree, a run to Diamond Head Beach, a spin along Fort Street, the business section, and the “King’s Highway.” After refreshments on the roof-garden of the Alexander Young Hotel, where I received my mail, we drove to 091 Aloho Lane, the home of these charming people; here, surrounded by tropical luxuriance, wide porticoes, hammocks, and reclining wicker chairs, we remained for the afternoon. During “tiffin” a victorolo rendered elegant operatic selections, while suspended over the dining-table a punka inspired a gentle breeze.

In the evening about sundown the party, having increased, journeyed to Waikiki Beach, the popular bathing resort. Here, at the Moana Hotel, we joined in a genuine native “luau,” heard “Sunny Chunna” sing her famous compositions, and later joined in the merry whirl to the music of the Hawaiian Band. Near this famous winter resort we journeyed into a gayety hall, where a string of Hawaiian beauties, festooned in garlands of flowers, performed the “Hulu Hulu” dance, rivalling in vivaciousness the whirlwind contortions of our valiant Ruth St. Denis.

After a midnight lunch at the Hotel Moana, the party returned to the city. A motor-boat conveyed me to the transport, which, fortunately, was boarded without difficulty.

Next morning on board the transport I was the recipient of a basket of delicious pineapples, and, as a memento of the enjoyable day, a scarf-pin bearing the coat-of-arms of the Hawaiian Islands.

Honolulu, on the Island of Oahu, is the most beautiful section of the earth I have visited; the climate varies little, and it can be more properly termed a temperate clime than tropical, although tropical vegetation is indigenous. Kilauea, on the eastern slope of Mauna Loa mountain, is the loftiest and most active volcano in the world, its crater being nine miles in circumference. Mauna Loa has an altitude of nearly fourteen thousand feet and is covered with perpetual snow.

A few hours before the departure of the transport for “Frisco,” “Jack” London, the writer, arrived in the harbor on the _Snark_, a twenty-four foot schooner, in which he was making a tour of the globe. As the ship cast loose from the pier, it was with a feeling of regret that I had to leave this delightful country and such amiable people. Wafting an Aloho to my friends and their country, we departed for the American coast, passing _en route_, the second day out, an American fleet of war-vessels. As the transport approached the city of the “Golden Gate” in the darkness of the night, myriads of lights glittered along the distant shore.

Steaming through the channel, we entered the bay in the break of the early morning. Off the starboard side stood the grand old landmark the Cliff House, overlooking the bay and city of San Francisco; on the port side, Fort McDowell and the old Island prison, San Quentin. After docking at the pier, relatives and friends of the soldiers were permitted on board, shore leave was granted, and the boys roamed at will through the city that had recently risen from a mass of ruins, caused by the telluric flames that followed the dreadful earthquake of 1906.

Three days were pleasantly spent in “Frisco” ere the regiment departed for the Atlantic coast in three sections, over the Santa Fé Railroad, the First and Second battalions for Forts Porter and Niagara, N. Y., the Third battalion, non-commissioned staff, and band for Governor’s Island, N. Y. Being a soldier of the Third battalion, the balance of my enlistment was spent at this post in the capacity of record clerk at headquarters of the Twenty-ninth Infantry.

Governor’s Island is a small island situated at the junction of the East River and New York Bay. It is connected with Battery Park, near South Ferry, by a government ferry-boat, which makes a trip between the island and South Ferry every half-hour. The island was first settled by the Dutch in 1614. When the English took New York in 1684, they built Ft. Columbus, the present site of Ft. Jay. Castle William, facing the harbor, was completed in 1810. It is used at present as a military prison.

Besides the palatial residence of the commanding general of the Department of the East, there are various buildings in which the business of this department is transacted; also homes of the officers, barracks of the soldiers, chapel, library, post exchange, quartermaster’s supply depot, the officers’ club, and a museum containing relics of wars dating back to the revolution. Here may be seen in a large glass repository, in a state of preservation, the noble steed fully equipped as it appeared when carrying General Sheridan through the valley of the Shenandoah.

Corbin Hall, a pretentious building adjoining the old chapel and facing the parade-ground, is the site of the officers’ club, and contains a sumptuous ball-room, which is frequently the scene of gorgeous military display. Through the courtesy of the Officers’ Club, the use of this magnificent ball-room was tendered the Fort Jay Social Club every Thursday evening, when mirth and good-fellowship reigned. During my incumbency in office as secretary of this club, I found it necessary to pass unfavorably on scores of written applications for invitations to these affairs, due solely to the fact that, each member of the club being allowed four invitations, it was impossible to accommodate more than the prescribed quota. I mention this fact to show the popularity of these dances, and in conjunction as a general apology to those to whom invitations were not forthcoming.