CERVERRA'S INNOCENT SHOP
"D'ye know what I'm thinking about?" demanded Private Kelly, as he
turned to look out southward from Fort Benjamin Franklin.
"Not being a mind reader--no," replied Hal.
"I'm thinking this country is a fine place to dream about."
"It's worth it," declared Sergeant Overton, with unsullied boyish
enthusiasm.
"Worth it--huh!" retorted Kelly, who had served longer in the Army.
"Mind ye, I said this was a good country to dream about. But to live
in--give me 'God's country.'"
The United States soldier on foreign service, invariably alludes to home
in this way.
Send him to the fairest spot on which the human eye ever rested, and the
soldier will still longingly speak of home as "God's country."
"Then I'll be polite," retorted Sergeant Hal, "and say that I wish,
Kelly, that you could be at home. But as for me, I'm glad I'm here."
"Wait until you are in your third enlistment, and have put in another
two years in the islands, after this time," growled Kelly.
"Why, where can you find a more beautiful spot than this?" demanded Hal
Overton, gazing across the fields toward the town of Bantoc. "I never
saw a more beautiful spot. I wonder if there are many like it in the
tropics?"
"Beautiful?" rumbled Kelly. "Sure! But ye can't eat beauty. 'Tis a long
way from anywhere, this spot, and that's what I've got against it."
"Grumbling again, Kelly?" asked Sergeant Noll Terry, joining them.
"Not grumbling," retorted Kelly. "Just giving my opinion. But this boy
sergeant is trying to make me think this swamp on northern Mindanao is
an earthly paradise."
"Well, isn't it?" challenged Noll. "I know what ails you, Kelly. When
all is peace and comfort, with three 'squares' a day, and not a heap to
do, your old soldier is always kicking. But just send you and the rest,
Kelly, hiking up through those mountains yonder, give you twenty miles a
day of rough climbing, drown you out with rain and let you use up your
shoes chasing a lot of ugly brown men, and never a kick will we hear
coming from you."
"Sure, no," replied Kelly philosophically. "'Tis then we'd be doing a
soldier's work, and a kicker on a hike is as useless as a coffee-cooler
at an afternoon tea."
"In other words," laughed Hal, "a real soldier of the Regular Army is as
patient as a camel when things are all going wrong. The only time when
your real soldier kicks is when he's having it easy and is too
comfortable to be patient. Curious, isn't it?"
"Oh, well, 'tis no use talking to you two," retorted Private Kelly,
shaking his head and strolling away. "Ye've not seen much of service
yet."
"That's another joke," laughed Hal in a low voice, as soon as Kelly had
stepped out of hearing. "Here's a man like Kelly, with fairly long
service to his credit, but he's a private still, and probably always
will be. If the colonel made him a corporal, Kelly wouldn't rest until
he had the chevrons taken from his sleeve so that he could be a private
soldier again. Now you and I, Noll, work like blazes all the time, and
win our promotion, yet Kelly considers us only boys, and boys who don't
know much, either. Either one of us can take Kelly out in a squad and
work him until he runs rivers of perspiration, and he can't talk back
without danger of being disciplined. Yet all the time, Kelly, under our
orders, is thinking of us, half contemptuously, as boys who don't really
know anything about soldiering."
"That's because we're young," laughed Noll.
"And because we're also boyish enough to have a little enthusiasm left
in our make-ups. Noll, how do you really like our new station?"
"I wouldn't be anywhere else," retorted Sergeant Terry, "except some
where else in the Philippines, possibly. One of the prospects that
caught me for the service was the chance of seeing some of our foreign
possessions."
"It's what catches half the young fellows who enlist to-day," went on
Hal. "I've been looking forward to the Philippines from the day I first
took the oath in the recruiting station."
"Well, we're here," replied Noll, breathing in the warm air with lazy
satisfaction. "And I'm mighty glad that we're in for two years of it."
The Thirty-fourth had come out to the islands as a complete regiment.
They had reembarked at Manila also as a regiment, but now the time had
come when "Ours" was well scattered through the southern islands of the
archipelago.
The second battalion and headquarters, with the band, had disembarked at
Iloilo; two companies had been left on the island of Negros, and two
more on Cebu. B and C Companies had been left at Fort Franklin, in the
Misamis district on northern Mindanao, and the remaining two companies
had been carried on to Zamboanga.
On its return trip the "Warren" had picked up the scattered military
commands which the Thirty-fourth had relieved. Two companies of the
Thirty-second infantry had gone from Bantoc the day before.
Mindanao is the second largest and the most fertile island in the
Philippine group. The natural beauty is as great as the fertility. If it
were not for the occasional ferocity of some of the tribes this island
could be turned into one vast net-work of plantations as rich as any
that the world can show.
Bantoc was a sleepy, sunlit little town, half Spanish and half Moro.
Thanks to American rule, the streets were clean and order reigned. There
were about forty stores and other mercantile establishments in Bantoc,
for this town was headquarters for a large country district. The people
of Bantoc, outside of the small white population, were more than half
Moros, the other islanders belonging to the Tagalo and other allied
tribes. Almost without exception these people were lazy and
good-natured. A newcomer would have difficulty in believing that such
men as he met in Bantoc could ever give the soldiers trouble. It was to
this town that the few planters and many small native farmers sent rich
stores of rice, cocoa, hemp, cotton, indigo and costly woods.
There was also the port of Bantoc, through which these products were
sent out to do their part in the world's commerce.
The native leaders of the population of Bantoc were wealthy little brown
men. There was much money in circulation, the leading Moros and Tagalos
having handsome homes and entertaining lavishly. There was a native
fashionable set, just as exclusive and autocratic as any that exists in
a white man's country.
Fort Franklin overlooked the bay at the opposite end from the port. Yet
it was a "fort" only in being a military station. There was no artillery
here, and the only fortifications were semi-permanent earthworks,
fronted by ditches, thrown up around the officers' quarters and the
barracks and other buildings. The parade ground and recreation spaces
were outside these very ordinary fortifications.
"The whole scene looks too peacefully lazy to match with the yarns we
hear of trouble breeding among the Moros in those mountains yonder,"
remarked Hal musingly.
"If trouble is coming, I hope it will come soon," returned Sergeant
Noll. "The only one thing that I have against our life out here is that
it threatens to become too lazy an existence. If there's going to be any
active service for us, I want to see it happen soon, for active service
is what I came to the Philippines for, anyway, as far as I had any
interest in the trip."
"From the gossip of the town and barracks, I think we'll have our
trouble soon enough," Hal replied. "You have fatigue duty this
afternoon, haven't you, Noll?"
"Yes; thanks to your detail," replied Noll.
"But I couldn't help the detail, old fellow. Fatigue was for you in your
turn. I'm sorry it came to you to-day, though, for I've a pass and I'm
going to run over into Bantoc. I want to see more of that queer little
town."
"Going to be back for parade?"
"Yes; my pass extends only to parade. I never want to miss that when I
can help it."
Hal glanced at his watch, then back at barracks, where hardly a soldier
showed himself, for all had caught the spirit of indolence in this hot,
moist climate of Mindanao.
"Well, I must be going, Noll. Don't work your fatigue party too hard
until the men get used to this heat."
"Small danger of my working 'em too hard," laughed Noll. "It's only as a
sort of special favor that the fellows will work at all."
Hal, with a nod to his chum, stepped out on to the hard, level, white
road that led from Fort Franklin to Bantoc.
It was a pretty road, shaded at points by beautiful palms; yet the shade
was not sufficient to protect the young soldier all the way into town.
Ere he had gone far he found it necessary to carry his damp handkerchief
in one hand, prepared to mop his steaming face.
"Mindanao is certainly some hot," he muttered. "It keeps a fellow
steaming all the time."
Yet there was plenty to divert one's thoughts from himself, for along
this road lay some of the prettiest small farms to be found on northern
Mindanao. Instead of farms they really looked more like well-kept
gardens.
"It's the finest spot in the world to be lazy in," thought the young
sergeant, as he glanced here and there over the charming scene. "If I
settled down here for life I'd want money enough to pay other fellows to
do all the work for me."
Though Hal did not know it, from the window of one room in a house that
he passed a pair of unusually bright, keen eyes glared out at him.
"That is he, the _sergente_, Overton," growled Vicente Tomba to himself.
"Since we have Senor Draney's orders that the _sergente_ is to leave
this life as soon as possible, why not to-day? He is going to Bantoc,
where it will be easy to snare him. And his friend Terry is not with
him. That pair, back to back, might put up a hard fight--but one alone
should be easy for our _bravos_. Then, another day, we can plan to get
the _Sergente_ Terry."
Hal was not quite in Bantoc when a Tagalo on a pony rode by him at a
gallop. Hal glanced at the fellow indolently, but did not recognize him,
as it was not Tomba, but one of that worthy's messengers.
Up and down the principal street Sergeant Overton wandered. He glanced
into shops, though only idly, for to-day he was not on a buying mission.
At last the cool-looking interior of a little restaurant attracted him.
He entered, ordering an ice cream. When this was finished he ate
another. It was so restful, sitting here, that when he had disposed of
the second order, he paid his account but did not rise at once.
"The _sergente_ is newly arrived here?" asked a white-clad Filipino,
rising from another table and joining Overton.
"Yes."
"Then you have not seen much of Bantoc?" asked the Filipino, speaking in
Spanish.
"Not as much as I mean to see of the town," Hal answered in the same
tongue.
"Then possibly, Senor Sergente, you have not yet seen the collection of
ancient Moro weapons in the shop of Juan Cerverra."
"I haven't," Hal admitted.
"Then you have missed much, senor, but you will no doubt go to see the
collection one of these days."
"I'd like to. Where is the shop?"
"Four doors below here. If you have time, Senor Sergente, I am walking
that way and will show you the place."
"Thank you; I'll be glad to go," answered Hal, rising promptly. His was
the profession of arms, and a display of any unfamiliar weapons was sure
to attract the young sergeant.
Juan Cerverra, despite his Spanish-sounding name, proved to be a
full-blooded Moro. He wore his Moro costume, with its tight-fitting
trousers and short, embroidered blouse. There were no customers in the
shop when Hal and his Tagalo acquaintance entered.
In another moment Sergeant Hal was deeply absorbed in several wall cases
of swords and knives, all of them of old-time patterns. It was a sight
that would have bewildered a lover and collector of curios of past ages.
One case was filled entirely with fine specimens of that once-dreaded
weapon, the Moro "campilan." This is a straight sword, usually, with a
very heavy blade, which gradually widens towards the end. This is a
heavy cutting sword, and one that was placed in Sergeant Hal's hands,
though Cerverra claimed that it was two hundred years old, had an edge
like a razor.
"How much is such a sword as this?" Hal inquired.
"Forty dollars," replied Cerverra.
"Gold!"
"No; Mex."
Hal felt almost staggered with the cheapness of things here, as compared
with the curio stores in Manila. Forty dollars "Mex" meant but about
twenty dollars in United States currency.
"I have some cheaper ones," went on Cerverra. "Here is one at eighteen
dollars."
"I'm going to have one of these campilan," Hal told himself.
In his interest he did not note that the Tagalo who had brought him to
the shop had left him and was standing on the sidewalk outside.
"Are you interested in these creeses?" inquired Cerverra, passing down
the shop and pointing to another wall case.
The creese is an ancient Malay knife, with a waved, snaky blade--a
weapon with which the Malay pirates of the past used to do fearful
execution.
Hal stepped before the wall case. "They are very interesting looking,"
he replied. "What does a good creese cost?"
The young sergeant did not wait for an answer.
Click! A spring bolt on the under side of a trap door on which he was
standing shot out of place.
Down dropped the trap door with such suddenness that Hal Overton did not
have even time to clutch at anything.
Then the trap door, relieved of his weight, flew back into place.
Sergeant Hal shot down a steep incline, too smooth for him to be able to
stay his downward progress.