Part 9

When confronted by the officers, I told the tale of our adventure: of our having followed the bark of a deer leading us into a labyrinth of perplexity (as dears sometimes do!), of our difference in opinion, the friendly attitude of the Moros, and the kindness of a Filipino in conducting me to his casa, where I was provided with quarters for the night. Iddles corroborated my story as far as it related to himself, and dwelt particularly on the friendliness of the Moros of the Amadao Valley. After asking various questions in cross examination, the captain said, “Well, men, I am glad to see you alive; your adventure has been of some profit.” Then, turning to Sergeant McKenzie, he said, “If two of our men can go into the jungle as these men did, mingling in friendship with the natives without being molested, I can see no necessity of continuing the outpost; stand relieved, break camp, and return to the garrison.”

There was no court-martial, scarcely a reprimand, and the soldiers of the outpost tendered Jim and me a vote of thanks for the hand we played in getting them back to the comforts of the barracks.

It is a singular fact that a few months later, on the renewal of hostilities in the Lake region, a band of Moros of the Amadao Valley, under the leadership of a noted “Datto,” offered their services to the commanding officer at Polloc. Like the American Indians, the Moros are divided into tribes, among whom for ages past there has been strife or contention for superiority.

Our two years having expired in foreign service, the detachment was ordered to Olongapo to join the homeward-bound battalion. Shortly after this we bade adieu to Moroland and swung out of the bay of Prang Prang _en route_ to the Island of Luzon.

X.

A Midnight Phantasy in California

The Vision――The Capture――“Frisco” and Its Favorite Haunts.

Having had considerable experience with copper thieves in the navy yards of Washington, D. C., New York, and Cavite, Philippine Islands, I was not overly surprised when, about midnight late in the autumn of 1903, while serving in the capacity of patrol at the Mare Island Navy Yard, California, as I chanced along the waterfront, to see the shadow of an apparent river pirate, presumably collecting copper bars from a large pile of this valuable metal. The man evidently, it appeared to me, had a boat in which he was storing the bars to be rowed across the channel to Valejo, the old Spanish gambling town and gold-miners’ retreat of the old days.

Without the least exaggeration, I must acknowledge to having been during my career in some very uncomfortable predicaments while grovelling through the vicissitudes of life’s various phases, and a strong resolution, which I have always held sacred, has been, never to take a life without giving the person a chance for his own; therefore, self-defence or being in action with the enemy could be my only palliation. This night, however, presented cause for exception to this rule. The corner of a large steam-engineering building hid from view the man whose shadow played in grotesque evolutions on the pier, and it was impossible to see him without uncovering myself to his gaze, but there lurked the shadow of every move cast vividly before my keen-set eyes.

As I quietly knelt in seclusion surrounded by the densest gloom, meditating as to how I might take the object alive, positively realizing that he was well armed, from my previous experience with river thieves, I saw the shadow portray a man drawing a gun and examining it closely, the shadow indicating that he was either trying the trigger or testing the T block of an automatic pistol.

It dawned on me that my duty bade me to halt this man, and, if in any way he attempted to evade me, to kill him.

I had the narrow neck of the channel covered, and it was my intention, if he attempted to shove off in a boat with any copper, to halt him, and, if he ignored my command, to fire. However, not seeing the shadow disappear for even an instant aroused my suspicion, as to load the copper in the boat in any shape or manner it would have been necessary to pass on the opposite side of an old obsolete sentry-box, thereby obliterating even the semblance of a shadow.

I was cognizant of the fact that had I aroused the guard they would send out the steam-launch to cover the exit, and, if the man attempted to escape, fire on him, which I wished to prevent.

What in the devil can that fellow be doing? I conjectured in silence, as the mystical representation of his every move, like a phantom depicting anything and everything, was cast along the ground and pier as if superinduced by some supernatural agency. Merely prowling for the choicest bars, I soliloquized. Hark! “Number one, one o’clock and all is well!” The stillness of the night had been broken by the sentries calling off the hour. “Number two, one o’clock and all is well!” “Number three, one o’clock and all is well!” “Number four, one o’clock and all is well!” “All is well!” repeated sentry number one at the guard-house as he continued on his beat. “Third relief, fall in! Get a move on, boys! The officer of the day is apt to be lurking around!” commanded the corporal of the guard, as the men promptly fell into their proper places for posting formation. “Count off!” commanded the non-commissioned officer, each man counting the number of his post. “Port arms! Open chambers! Close chambers! Order arms! Number one!” As number one was being posted, the sergeant of the guard interposed: “Corporal, I want those sentries to turn over not only their special orders but their general orders as well; see that they know them thoroughly: have them tell you what is to be done in case of fire, and be sure that they know where the fire-plugs are located. Butt Plate Willie is officer of the day and is raising hell around here because the sentries don’t know their orders; now, they better get wise to the military or off come their belts.” “Pshaw! Butt Plate Willie don’t know his own orders,” ejaculated the corporal as he gave the command, “Shoulder arms! Right face! Forward march!”

The shadow had taken another position and seemed to be in kneeling posture at the rifle-range, setting the wind-gauge of his rifle for the prone figure in the skirmish run.

The corporal was marching the old relief back to the guard-house, as sentry number one called out, “Number one, half past one and all is well!” followed in succession by each sentry calling off the hour. Each man of the relief, on falling out, kicked like a mule for being detained overtime on post.

It was half past one and surely time for me to make the rounds through my various posts of duty.

At this instant the shadow disappeared, followed by the dull sound of dislodged copper. The moon had taken a position behind a dark cloud, which gave me an opportunity to skirt the end of the pier to another secluded spot where I could await its reappearance, when I could positively determine whether this shadow was an apparition, a reality, or merely a transcript in the memory formed by the imagination of phantasy.

As the lunar glow beamed through the clouds, the outlines of a soldier appeared to my view, merely the profile, with his face resting in the palms of his hands. I momentarily seized this opportunity and pounced upon my prey, and, for the “love of Mike,” who was it but “Stormy Bill,” a “character” at the post. “Ha! ha! What in hell are you doing here? robbing the copper pile, hey?” I exclaimed, knowing in my heart Bill was as honest as the night was long. Like the raven, Bill quoth, “Never more.” “What brought you here at this hour of the night?” I asked. “Bad whiskey,” sighed Bill, his light of enthusiasm burning dimly. “I hid a flask here yesterday and came here to-night to look for it.” “Yes, and keep me prowling around all night expecting every minute to be shot by copper thieves,” I interposed. “You’re a fine specimen of a marine! What do you think this navy yard is, a picnic ground?” Continuing, “Now you draw yourself together quick or I’ll have you manacled and thrown in the brig.” “Ah!” he said, “cut out the strong talk. I came here to look for a flask of rye, I am not going to run away with the copper pile.” “That will do you,” I said. “You have evidently found the rye, and I want you to blow out of here.” “Yes,” said “Stormy,” “I have found it.――Eureka! Let’s go.”

I felt like kicking him a few times, then rubbing him with liniment and kicking him again, merely using the liniment to keep him from becoming callous lest he should fail to feel the kicks.

He became garrulous, and, in order to get him to the barracks without falling into the hands of the guard, it was necessary for me to walk him about two miles to reach one-fourth the distance. Having piloted him over lawns and through the shade of the leafy trees, we finally reached his quarters, where his affable disposition required him to apologize for my trouble, and, thanking me, he hied off to his cot. “Stormy,” in the parlance of the soldier, was “good people,” his greatest fault was in being on too good terms with old “Cyrus Noble.” A few weeks after this event I left “Stormy” behind, having been ordered to another post.

_En route_ from the Philippines with the Twenty-ninth Infantry in 1909, as the transport pulled up to the pier at Honolulu a voice from the dock called out my name. Leaning over the taffrail, whom should I see but “Stormy Bill!” He had been made a non-commissioned officer in a battery of artillery and was stationed on the Island of Oahu.

Mare Island covers considerable space in the Bay of San Francisco, lying about sixteen miles northwest of the “Golden Gate” overlooking the bay and Pacific Ocean. It is the naval base of California.

While stationed at this post I frequently ran over to “Frisco,” either by steam-boat or rail, where with a good convivival bunch I joined in the festivities at such temples of mirth as the famous “Poodle Dog,” from whose showy tiers or projecting balconies the pageants and processions of Market Street could be seen passing by, as the guests, environed by the sweet notes of a Hungarian rhapsody, were the embodiment of gayety and content. Lombardi’s, famous for Italian “table d’hôte” dinners and particularly noted for their mode of preparing macaroni; Svenguenetti’s, whose reputation in crustacean specialties, particularly in the culinary of lobsters and shrimps, was known to the Bohemians far and wide. Zinkand’s, and scores of others, where the music thrilled one’s very soul, and where the nymphs of the “Golden West” could tell you how to braid a lariat and a quirt, break a pony, and twirl the rope, and, although not adepts at the game of golf, could tell some funny stories of picking hops under Western skies. Kearney Street, which afforded the halls for the graceful glide, wherein could be found the same aspect of the West of frontier days. Prepossessing maidens in scalloped buckskin skirts, high-topped shoes, sombreros beautifully banded with Indian beads, and corsages cut very décolletée, danced with gallant young fellows whose costumes savored of the Mexican variety and whose bright and breezy effulgence was conducive to the merriment of the night. The Orpheum, Oberon, Log Cabin, Cascade, and the Grotto, all flourished in prosperous placidity, through a long chain of patronage of the world’s bohemians since the days of the path-finding “Forty-niners.”

Occasionally we tripped to “Mechanic’s Pavilion,” to witness the knights of the fistic art battle for supremacy, and note the radiant smiles of the shining lights of the arena as a “knockout” was perfected. But alas! the old haunts of Market and Ellis Streets and the beautiful edifices of the old-time “Frisco”――where are they? The echo answers, “Where?” Vanished with the stroke of nature’s wand, that calamitous earthquake and subsequent fire of 1906, in whose train the mournful ravages of devastation grinned in fiendish glee.

Though similar to the overwhelming destruction of the ancient city of Campania, San Francisco’s ruin was not irremediable, for, like the surprisingly sudden demolition, there burst into view, like spring flowers following a thunder-storm, the magnificent new city of the “Golden Gate,” blazing in the zenith of prosperity. It may be necessary to make inquiries or perhaps consult a city directory, but you will find the same old joyful haunts flourishing as of yore.

My tour of duty at Mare Island was brought to a close on being ordered to New York to join the mobilization of the St. Louis battalion.

XI.

Semper Fidelis――the Guard of Honor

U.S. Marines at the St. Louis Exposition――Veterans of Various Expeditions――Mobilization at Washington, D. C.――Arrival in St. Louis――An Ideal Military Camp――Exhibition Drills, Marines in Bohemia――The Spanish Señoritas of Old Madrid――Coleens and Harpists of the Emerald Isle――Cheyenne Joe’s Rocky Mt. Inn――Palm Garden Dances in the “Wee Sma” Hours――Chaperoning a Theatrical Party――A Dinner at the Tyrolean Alps――A Famous “Broadway” Actress Meets Geronimo the Apache Chief――Marines Battle with Filipino Scouts――Arrival of Mounted Police, Farewell to the “Fair”――Oh, Maryland, My Maryland.

The battalion of marines that composed the Guard of Honor at the Louisiana Purchase Exposition in St. Louis in 1904 was the finest representation of Uncle Sam’s sea soldiers that has ever been mobilized. In order to meet the requirements in organizing this battalion, it was necessary to select men from the Atlantic, European, and Asiatic fleets, besides the various navy yards of the United States. The requirements of the navy department in selecting material for this detachment were: that each man must be not under five feet and eight inches in height and of military bearing, a veteran of foreign service, possessing an excellent character and a clean military record. Several months were spent in securing the necessary quota to complete these essential conditions, which, when perfected, represented not only the flower of the United States Marine Corps, but a worthy rival for honors with the best military force ever organized.

Washington, D. C., was the site of our mobilization. Every member of the battalion was exempt from duty, save that which tended to the arduous exhibit of military evolutions, calisthenics, and bayonet exercise. The drill in these was strenuous; five hours each day under the tutorage of a skilful drill-master soon brought the battalion to a state of perfection. The famous United States Marine Band furnished the music during these drills, and the pleasure derived from this alone offset the tedium of manœuvre.

Each man was perfectly fitted by a tailor for the eight uniforms which he was required to have; these were of blue, khaki, and white duck. Every article of his wearing apparel had to be an exact fit, from shoes to cap. Every article of equipment and all accoutrements were issued brand new. Flags, tents, ditty-boxes, cots, blankets, mosquito-bars, rifles, six-shooters, bayonets, belts, canteens, haversacks, toilet-sets were all fresh and new.

The Louisiana Purchase Exposition, which commemorated the centennial of the purchase of the Louisiana Territory in 1803, opened April 30, 1904, and closed December 1, of the same year.

The site of the Marine Camp was near and on the west side of the Palace of Liberal Arts, lying between the Liberal Arts building and the Intramural Railway, near the Government building, and north of the Tyrolean Alps, lagoons, and cascades.

May 20, 1904, the day set for our departure from Washington to St. Louis, was an ideal day in every respect. The Marine Band discoursed inspiring music, and, as the battalion of two hundred marines, under the command of Major (now Colonel) Mahoney, made their appearance on the parade-ground, the band took a position reaching from the arcade of Marine Headquarters to the street. First call was sounded, followed by assembly, each marine took his place in line, the roll was called, and the battalion formed. As the stentorian voice of the battalion commander rang out, “Battalion, attention! Right forward, fours right! March!” the Marine Band struck up, “Under the double eagle,” as the entire column swung into Pennsylvania Avenue. All along the route to the Pennsylvania Railroad station, from sidewalks and windows, the battalion met with expressions of popular applause. Boarding two sections of Pullman sleepers with baggage- and dining-cars attached, each man adjusted himself conformably to his surroundings, with that decorum born only of military experience. The signal given, the train rolled out of the station, the band playing, “Meet me in St. Louis, Louis, meet me at the Fair.”

The men who comprised this “Guard of Honor” were tried and seasoned veterans: some had been with Dewey at the battle of Manila Bay, some with the American squadron at Santiago, while others had taken part in the Philippines insurrection, the “Boxer” campaign in China, the campaign against hostile Moros, and the Samar expedition. Several had been awarded certificates of merit for valor by Congress, while at least one man――namely, Sergeant John Quick, “the hero of Guantanamo”――was distinguished as possessing that most coveted emblem of heroism, “the Medal of Honor,” which can be gained only by exceptional gallantry in action in the presence of the enemy.

To these soldiers of the sea this trip was of considerable moment as regards the novelty thereof. Thousands of miles had been covered by land and sea by the majority, who had touched at the ports of every country on the face of the globe, many of whom having served in the City of Pekin, China, as members of the Legation Guard; so that this variation from the irksome duties aboard a man-of-war, or the burning sun of the tropics, to the more tranquil atmosphere of a model camp at a “world’s fair,” was more than rejuvenating. The trip was devoid of the usual skylarking attending a body of raw and untried recruits, and it is a matter of fact, that, a few days after the arrival at the Exposition, Major Mahoney received, from the management of the Pennsylvania Railroad, a letter commending him on the excellent deportment of his command.

Arriving in St. Louis Sunday morning, May 22, we immediately alighted from the train, the battalion was formed, and marched to the “Fair” grounds, through the Olive Street entrance, to the site of our rendezvous; the colors were hoisted to the flagpole, and by 12 o’clock noon our camp had been pitched, each A wall tent towering uniformly over the chalk-marked square on the red shale, and with the precision of the Barnum and Bailey shows. Each tent had a well-fitting floor, and between each row of tents stretched a beautiful lawn of grass, on either side of which was a board-walk. The battalion commander’s headquarters, as well as the tents of the other officers, faced the head of the company streets, and were separated by a unique road, over which vehicles were debarred. The camp was illuminated by large arc lights. In the rear of the last row of tents stood the sick quarters, canteen, guard-house, barber-shop, cobbler, tailor, and shower-baths.

The camp was typically a model military village, with all modern conveniences, even to an up-to-date restaurant which had been erected purposely for the accommodation of the battalion. This building was beautifully situated in a shady grove opposite the Kentucky building. In India the British are noted for their model camps and bungalow quarters; but an English officer, after seeing the marines in St. Louis, was heard to remark, that this American camp beggared description.

The Plaza Orleans was the scene of daily exhibitions given by the West Point cadets, Philippine scouts, and United States marines. Thousands of spectators thronged the roped enclosure daily, and the applause from these was deafening. Strains of music from a dozen different bands filled the air, the most famous of these being the United States Marine Band, Sousa’s, Gilmore’s, Hawaiian, Mexican, Royal Grenadier of London, Philippines Constabulary, La Republic of France, Band De Espanol, Neapolitan of Italy, and the army bands,――the Second and Twenty-fourth Infantry, the latter colored. Besides these there were scores of others, including bagpipers and the insular band of the Tagalogs with bamboo instruments.

In addition to the exhibition drills and camp exhibit of the marines, they also had charge of the naval exhibits in the government building. Each man had to be thoroughly familiar with the mechanism or history, as the case might be, of the integral point of each exhibit, in order to explain and answer questions intelligently. The camp was garrisoned by a detail of marines, who patrolled on each side of the square, from the day of our arrival until the close of the “Fair.”

This style of soldiering was a rare treat to the boys; they were given free admittance to every concession on the grounds, and the six months spent in the heart of this stupendous show of the earth will ever remain vivid in the memories of the men who comprised this battalion.

Stretching over a vast area of Forest Park, enclosed by a high board fence, stood the magnificent Palaces of Varied Industries, Liberal Art, Agriculture, Mines and Metallurgy, Manufacture and Transportation, Palaces of Machinery and Electricity, Festival Hall, and the Cascades, the Government Building, Tyrolean Alps, the Stadium, Ferris Wheel, and the sunken garden; the camps of the West Point cadets, Artillery and Infantry; Hospital, Signal, and Life-saving Corps. Museums containing relics of anthropology, zoölogy, geology, anthology, and numerous other scientific researches were everywhere in evidence. In one British concession, soldiers of the “Household” cavalry of London stood watch over the magnificent “Queen’s Jubilee presents” which had been presented to Queen Victoria by the nations of the earth. Five hundred Indians, representing various tribes, in all their habiliments of war, here flourished at their best, the most prominent chiefs among these being Geronimo, Iron Mountain, and White Cloud. Every State in the Union was represented with an appropriate edifice, that of the State of Missouri being the most imposing. Statues and images from the chisels of the world’s most famous sculptors adorned a section in the Palace of Varied Industries, while the art galleries were filled with the rarest paintings of the most celebrated artists of all times and all nations.

To enumerate even the most important exhibits of this prodigious exposition would require volumes, and, for the benefit of those whose duties prevented them from seeing the “Fair,” I wish to say that it is impossible to form a conception of the progress this world attained during the century since the purchase of the Louisiana Territory.

At night the electrical display was a dazzling glitter of phosphorescence; myriads of incandescent lights of variegated colors were strung along the lagoons, cascades, and Pike, these combined with large arc lights completed an illumination of festive splendor.