The campaign in the Philippines against the wily Tagalo has been
replete with false alarms, owing to the prowling and sneaking nature
of the enemy, and the unearthly noises made by the animals of that
sun-scorched and water-splashed country.
There is a line of trenches and block-houses around the city of Manila,
the average distance being about two miles out from the suburbs. This
was called the "firing-line." On first arriving from the United
States, regiments were sent out to occupy a part of this position, to
recuperate from the long sea voyage aboard crowded transports, and at
the same time help maintain the line of defense around the city. Most
of the newly arrived regiments were filled up with recruits with but
a few months' service; so this position afforded the opportunity to
get these men in shape for field-service.
This line of defense was the theater in which was acted the comedy
of the war. Here is where occurred the most foolish alarms and at
the same time some serious ones.
There is one famous charge (?) that occurred in a newly arrived
regiment, which was spending its first night on the Island of Luzon
in these trenches. It is known as the "Charge of the Hospital Corps,"
and promises to be handed down in army tradition. The gallant leader
of this daring advance was a young surgeon, recently appointed to
the regular establishment as a battalion pill-dispenser. His command
consisted of three privates and an acting steward of the Hospital
Corps.
Arguing that he was fighting a savage enemy, not a party to the Geneva
Convention, and consequently would not recognize as non-combatants
the wearers of the red cross, he succeeded in having a requisition
honored by the ordnance officer for five big forty-five caliber
"six-shooters," with which he armed himself and command.
This embryo warrior and his gallant following were tickled with their
toys, and flourished them most dangerously during the day, vowing
death and destruction to any thousand Filipinos who would dare to
face them and their death-dealing weapons.
The doctor, or "Pills," as the men called him, established his
battalion hospital in a ravine in a break in the trenches. It was a
lonesome place. Night came on, and the corps men retired to sleep their
first night on Luzon's soil; but their sleep was not easy. Visions of
gore and midnight slaughter passed in review before their drowsy eyes;
and just as a black-faced little rebel had them by the throat and
was plunging a great long knife into their vitals, they would awaken
with a start, feel under their heads for their fire-arms, to reassure
themselves, pat the trusty weapon a time or two, call it "good old
Bets," and again doze off to sleep, only to repeat the performance.
One hungry, gaunt-looking fellow, who his comrades said had a head that
would fit in a regulation full-dress helmet, could stand the nervous
strain no longer. The noises that came from the little thickets of
bamboo and cogonales into his little "tepee" were more than he could
stand. He had listened to them in his mind, enlarged, multiplied,
and magnified them in his own imagination, till he was sure the whole
insurrectionist army was quietly, inch by inch and foot by foot,
slipping down upon him. Up he jumped, revolver in hand, gripping
the handle and gritting his teeth, and proceeded to investigate the
sounds. Approaching within a few yards of a thick bunch of trees not
far in front of the hospital tent, he halted to listen. Yes, they
were there beyond all doubt. He could almost see them crawling toward
him; a hundred dusky demons upon all fours, with long, glistening,
razor-edged knives held between their shining teeth. They must be
stopped. With a loud voice, trembling with fear, he challenged:
"If you're an American, for God's sake say so, or I'll shoot." The
noise made no reply, and the shooting began promptly as promised.
The valiant "Pills" landed on his feet in the middle of
his tent, rallying his men, and was soon leading them to the
attack. Bang! bang! biff! bang! rang out the loud-mouthed Colt's
revolvers. A moment later the Krags began to pop to the right and
left, the alarm traveling up and down the line with lightning-like
rapidity. Soon six miles of grim-looking rifle muzzles were pointing
toward the innocent nothing to the front, a volley occasionally
resounding through the midnight air at an imaginary enemy.
Dawn found "Pills" searching the field of battle for dead and
wounded. He discovered numerous bullet-holes in his tent and medicine
chests, made by 45-caliber balls; and, lying near the place where the
gaunt, hungry-looking corps man first fired upon the enemy, he found
poor "Paterno," Company E's monkey mascot, with a short and bloody
tail, that member having been lost in the battle--a penalty for his
nocturnal perambulations.