Off for the Cubapines
[Illustration]
By the next morning's mail Sam's commission arrived, and with it orders
to report at once at the city of St. Kisco, whence a transport was
about to sail on a date which gave Sam hardly time to catch it. He must
hurry at once to town and get his new uniforms for which he had been
fitted the week before, and then proceed by the fastest trains on the
long journey to the distant port without even paying his parents a
farewell visit. He found Cleary busily engaged in making his final
arrangements, and persuaded him to cut them short and travel with him.
Sam had hardly time to take breath from the moment of his departure
from Slowburgh to the evening on which he and Cleary at last sat down
in their sleeping-car. His friend heaved a deep sigh.
"Well, here we are actually off and I haven't got anything to do for a
change. This is what I call comfort."
"Yes," said Sam, "but I wish we were in the Cubapines. This inaction is
terrible while so much is at stake. It's a consolation to know that I
am going to help to save the country, but it is tantalizing to wait so
long. Then in your own way you're going to help the country too," he
added, thinking that he might seem to Cleary to be monopolizing the
honors.
"I'll help it by helping you," laughed Cleary. "I've got another
contract for you. You see the magazines are worth working. They handle
the news after the newspapers are through with it, and they don't
interfere with each other. So I got permission to tackle them from
_The Lyre_, and I saw the editor of _Scribblers' Magazine_ yesterday
and it's a go, if things come out as I expect."
"What do you mean?" asked Sam.
"Why, you are to write articles for them, a regular series, and the
price is to be fixed on a sliding scale according to your celebrity at
the time of each publication. It won't be less than a hundred dollars a
page, and may run up to a thousand. It wouldn't be fair to fix the
price ahead. If the articles run say six months, the last article might
be worth ten times as much as the first."
"Yes, it might be better written," said Sam.
"Oh, I don't mean that. But your name might be more of an ad. by
that time."
"I've never written anything to print in my life," said Sam, "and I'm
not sure I can."
"That doesn't make any difference. I'll write them for you. You might
be too modest anyhow. I can't think of a good name for the series. It
ought to be 'The Autobiography of a Hero,' or 'A Modern Washington in
the Cubapines,' or something like that. What do you think?"
"I'm sure I don't know," said Sam. "I must leave that to you. They
sound to me rather too flattering, but if you are sure that is the way
those things are always done, I won't make any objection. You might ask
Mr. Jonas. Where is he?"
"He's going on next week. He's the greatest fellow I ever saw.
Everything he touches turns to gold. He's got his grip on everything in
sight on those blessed islands already. He's scarcely started, and he
could sell out his interests there for a cold million to-day. It's
going to be a big company to grab everything. He's called it the
'Benevolent Assimilation Company, Limited'; rather a good name, I
think, tho perhaps 'Unlimited' would be nearer the truth."
"Yes," said Sam. "It shows our true purposes. I hope the Cubapinos will
rejoice when they hear the name."
"Perhaps they won't. There's no counting on those people. I'm sick of
them before I've seen them. I'm just going to tell what a lot of
skins they are when I begin writing for _The Lyre_. By the way, did you
have your photographs taken at Slowburgh?"
[Illustration: A BLOOD BROTHERHOOD
"A BIG COMPANY TO GRAB EVERYTHING ... THE 'BENEVOLENT ASSIMILATION
COMPANY, LIMITED'"]
"No," said Sam, "I forgot all about it, but I can write home about the
old ones, and I've got one in cadet uniform taken at East Point."
"Well, we mustn't forget to have you taken at St. Kisco, and we can
mail the photos to _The Lyre_, but you must be careful not to overlook
a thing like that again. The people will want to know what the hero who
saved the country looked like."
"Even if I don't do anything very wonderful," said Sam, "and I hope I
shall, I shall be taking part in a great work, and doing my share of
civilizing and Christianizing a barbarous country. They have no
conception of our civilized and refined manners, of the sway of law and
order, of all our civilized customs, the result of centuries of
improvement and effort."
Cleary picked up a newspaper to read.
"What's that other newspaper lying there?" asked Sam.
"That's _The Evening Star_; do you want it?" and he handed it to him.
"Good Lord! what's that frightful picture?" said Cleary, as Sam opened
the paper. "Oh, I see; it's that lynching yesterday. Why, it's from a
snap-shot; that's what I call enterprise! There's the darkey tied to
the stake, and the flames are just up to his waist. My! how he squirms.
It's fearful, isn't it? And look at the crowd! There are small boys
bringing wood, and women and girls looking on, and, upon my word, a
baby in arms, too! I know that square very well. I've often been there.
That's the First Presbyterian Church there behind the stake. Rather a
handsome building," and Cleary turned back to his own paper, while Sam
settled down in his corner to read how the leading citizens gathered
bones and charred flesh as mementoes and took them home to their
children. No one could have guessed what he was reading from his
expression, for his face spoke of nothing but a guileless conscience
and a contented heart.
One day at St. Kisco gave just time enough for the photographs, and
most of the day was devoted to them. Sam was taken in twenty poses--in
the act of leading his troops in a breach, giving the order to fire,
charging bayonets himself with a musket supposed to have been taken
from a dead foe, standing with his arms folded and his cap pulled over
his eyes in the trenches, and waving his cap on a bastion in the moment
of triumph. Cleary lay down so that his friend might be pictured with
his foot upon his prostrate form. The photographer was one who made a
specialty of such work, and was connected with a cinematograph company.
"If you have good luck, sir, and become famous," he said, "as your
friend thinks you will, we'll fight your battles over again over there
in the vacant lot; and then we'll work these in, and you'll soon be in
every variety show in the country."
"But I may be mounted on horseback," said Sam.
"That's so," said Cleary. "Can't you get a horse somewhere and take him
on that?"
"We never do that, sir. Here's a saddle. Just sit on it across this
chair, and when the time comes we'll work it in all right. We'll have a
real horse over in the lot." And thus Sam was taken straddling a chair.
They left orders to send copies of the photographs to Homeville,
Slowburgh, and to Miss Hunter who was still at East Point, and the
remainder to _The Lyre_. That very evening they boarded the transport
and at daybreak sailed away over the great ocean. The ship was filled
by various drafts for different regiments and men-of-war. Sam's
regiment was already at the seat of war, but there were several
captains and lieutenants assigned to it on board, as well as thirty or
forty men. Sam felt entirely comfortable again for the first time since
his resignation at East Point. He was in his element, the military
world, once more. Everything was ruled by drum, fife, and bugle. He
found the same feeling of intense patriotism again, which civilians can
not quite attain to, however they may make the attempt. The relations
between some of the officers seemed to Sam somewhat strange. The
highest naval officer on board, a captain, was not on speaking terms
with the highest army officer, a brigadier-general of volunteers. This
breach apparently set the fashion, for all the way down, through both
arms of the service, there were jealousies and quarrels. There was one
great subject of dispute, the respective merits of the two admirals who
had overcome the Castalian fleet at Havilla. Some ascribed the victory
to the one and some to the other, but to take one side was to put an
end to all friendships on the other.
"See here, Sam," said Cleary, not long after they had been out of sight
of land, "who are you for, Admiral Hercules or Admiral Slewey? We can't
keep on the fence, that's evident, and if we get down on different
sides we can't be friends, and that might upset all our plans, not to
speak of the Benevolent Assimilation Trust."
"The fact is," said Sam, "that I don't know anything about it. They're
both admirals, and they both must be right."
"Nobody knows anything about it, but we must make up our minds all the
same. My idea is that Hercules is going to come out ahead; and as long
as one seems as good as the other in other respects, I move that we go
for Hercules."
"Very well," said Sam, "if you say so. He was in command, anyway, and
more likely to be right."
So Sam and Cleary allied themselves with the Hercules party, which was
in the majority. They became quite intimate with the naval officers who
belonged to this faction, and saw more of them than of the army men.
Sam was much interested in learning about the profession which kept
alive at sea the same traditions which the army preserved on land. For
the first few days of the voyage the rolling of the ship made him feel
a little sick, and he concealed his failings as well as he could and
kept to himself; but he proved to be on the whole a good sailor. He was
particularly pleased to learn that on a man-of-war the captain takes
his meals alone, and that only on invitation can an inferior officer
sit down at table with him. This appealed to him as an admirable way of
maintaining discipline and respect. The fact that all the naval men he
met had their arms and bodies more or less tattooed also aroused his
admiration. He inquired of the common soldiers if they ever indulged in
the same artistic luxury, and found out to his delight that a few of
them did.
"It's strange," he remarked to Cleary, "that tattooing is universal in
the navy and comparatively rare in the army. I rather think the habit
must have been common to both services, and somehow we have nearly lost
it. It's a fine thing. It marks a man with noble symbols and mottoes,
and commits him to an honorable life, indelibly I may say."
"It's a little like branding a mule," said Cleary.
"Yes," said Sam; "the brand shows who owns the mule, and the tattooing
shows a man belongs to his country."
"And if he's shipwrecked and hasn't any picture-books or newspapers
with him, he can find all he wants on his own skin," said Cleary.
"Joke as you please, I think it's a patriotic custom."
"Why don't you get tattooed then?" asked Cleary.
"Do you think there's anybody on board can do it?" cried Sam
enthusiastically.
"Of course. Any of those blue-jackets can tell you whom to go to."
Sam was off before Cleary had finished his sentence. Sure enough, he
found a boatswain who was renowned as an artist, and without further
parley he delivered himself into his hands. Cleary was consulted on the
choice of designs, and the result was pronounced by all the
connoisseurs on board--and there were many--to be a masterpiece. On his
chest was a huge spread-eagle with a bunch of arrows, bayonets, and
lightning-flashes in his claws. Cannon belched forth on each side, and
the whole was flanked by a sailor on one side and a soldier on the
other. His arms were tattooed with various small designs of crossed
swords, flags, mottoes, the title of his regiment, and other such
devices. The boatswain now thought that his task was complete, but Sam
insisted on having his back decorated as well, altho this was rather
unusual. The general stock of subjects had been exhausted, and Cleary
suggested that a representation of Sam himself, striking off the
fetters of a Cubapino, would be most appropriate. After discussing a
number of other suggestions offered by various friends, this one was
finally adopted and successfully carried out. The operation was not
altogether painless and produced a good deal of irritation of the skin,
but it served to pass Sam's time and allay his impatience to be in the
field, and Cleary became so much interested that he consented to allow
the artist to tattoo a few modest designs of cannon and crossed
bayonets on his own arms. Sam's comparatively high rank among officers
who were, many of them, his juniors in rank but his seniors in years,
might have made his position at first a difficult one had it not been
for his entire single-mindedness and loyalty to his country. If the
powers that be had made him a captain, it was right that he should be a
captain. He obeyed implicitly in taking his seat near the head of the
table, as he would have obeyed if he had been ordered to the foot, and
he expected others to accept what came from above as he did.
One afternoon a report sprang up that land was in sight, and soon every
eye was strained in one direction. Sam's eyesight was particularly
good, and he was one of the first to detect the white gleam of a
lighthouse. Soon the coast-line was distinct, and it was learned that
they would arrive on the next day. By daybreak Sam was on deck,
studying as well as he could this new land of heroism and adventure.
Cleary joined him later, and the two friends watched the strange
tropical shore with its palm-groves and occasional villages, and a
range of mountains beyond. A bay opened before them, and the ship
turned in, passing near an old fortification.
"This is just where our fleet went in," said Cleary, examining a
folding map which he held in his hand. "They passed along there single
file," and he pointed out the passage.
"Wasn't it glorious! Just think of sailing straight on, no matter how
many torpedoes there were!" exclaimed Sam.
"They knew blamed well there weren't any torpedoes," answered Cleary.
"How could they have known? They hadn't ever been here before? There
might perfectly well have been a lot of them directly under them."
"Yes," said Cleary, "they might have grown up from the bottom of the
sea. All sorts of queer things grow here. There might have been a sort
of coral torpedoes."
"Cleary, you're getting more and more cynical every day. I wish you'd
be more reasonable. What's the matter with you?"
"It must be the newspaper business. And then you see I don't wear a
uniform either. That makes a lot of difference."
In another hour they passed the scene of the great naval battle. They
could just distinguish the hulks of the wrecks well in shore.
"And there's Havilla!" cried Cleary.
And Havilla it was. They entered the great Oriental port with its
crowded shipping. Small native boats were darting about between
merchantmen and men-of-war. The low native houses, the fine buildings
of the Castalian city, the palms, the Eastern costumes--all made a
scene not to be forgotten. An officer of the 200th Volunteer Infantry
came on board before the steamer had come to her moorings, with orders
for Captain Jinks to report at once at their headquarters in one of the
public buildings of the city. A lieutenant was left in charge of the
200th's detail, and Sam hastened ashore in a native boat and Cleary
went with him. They had no difficulty in finding their way, and Sam was
soon reporting to his chief, Colonel Booth, an elderly captain of the
regular army, who had been placed at the head of this volunteer
regiment. The colonel received him rather gruffly, and turned him over
to one of his captains, telling him they would be quartered together.
The colonel was inclined to pay no attention to Cleary, but when the
latter mentioned the Benevolent Assimilation Company, Limited, he
suddenly changed his tone and expressed great delight at meeting him.
Sam and Cleary went off together with the captain, whose name was
Foster, to visit the lodgings assigned by the colonel. They were in a
building near by, which had been used as barracks by the Castalian
army. A number of rooms had been fitted up for the use of officers, and
Sam and Foster were to occupy one of these, an arrangement which
promised to be most comfortable. Five companies of their regiment were
quartered in the same building.
Cleary asked Foster's advice as to lodgings for himself, and Foster
took him off with him to find a place, while Sam was left to unpack his
luggage which had just arrived from the ship. They agreed to meet again
in the same room at nine o'clock in the evening.
It was somewhat after the hour fixed that the three men came together.
Foster brought out a bottle of whisky from a cupboard and put it on
the table by the water-jug, and then offered cigars. Sam had never
smoked before, but he felt that a soldier ought to smoke, and he
accepted the weed, and soon they were all seated, smoking and drinking,
and engaged in a lively conversation. Foster had been in the Cubapines
since the arrival of the first troops, and it was a treat for both of
his interlocutors to hear all the news at first hand from a participant
in the events.
"How were things when you got here?" asked Cleary.
"Well, it was like this," answered Foster. "Nothing had happened then
except the destruction of the fleet. Our fleet commanded the water of
course, and the niggers had closed up round the city on land. The
Castalians didn't have anything but the city, and when we came we
wanted to take the city."
"Was Gomaldo in command of the Cubapino army then?" asked Sam.
"Yes, he has been from the beginning. He's a bad lot."
"How is that?" asked Cleary.
"Why, he has interfered with us all along as much as he could, just as
if we didn't own the place."
"That's just what I thought," said Cleary. "The copperheads at home say
we treated him as an ally, but of course that's rubbish."
"Of course," said Foster, "we never treated him as an ally. We only
brought him here and made use of him, supplying him with some arms and
letting him take charge of some of our prisoners. We couldn't tell him
that we intended to keep the islands, because we were using him and
couldn't get on without him. He's an ignorant fellow and hasn't the
first idea of the behavior of an officer and a gentleman."
"Well, how did you take Havilla?" asked Sam.
"Oh, it was this way. The Castalians couldn't hold out because these
monkeys had the place so tight that they couldn't get any provisions
in. So they sent secret word to us that they would let us in on a
certain day if we would keep the natives out. We agreed to this, of
course. Then the Castalian general said that we must have some kind of
a battle or he would be afraid to go home, and we cooked up a nice
little battle. When the men got into it, however, it turned out to be
quite a skirmish, and a number were killed on both sides. Then they
surrendered and we went in and put a guard at the gates, and wouldn't
let the niggers in. You wouldn't believe it, but they actually kicked
at it. They're an unreasonable, sulky lot of beggars."
"Then what happened after that?" asked Sam.
"Oh, after that we sent the Castalians home and the Cubapinos moved
back their lines a little, and we agreed to a sort of neutral zone and
a line beyond which we weren't to go."
"What was it that started the fighting between us and them?" said Sam.
"It's a little mixed up. I was at the theater that night, and in the
middle of the play we heard firing, and all of us rushed off and found
everything in motion, and it grew into a regular fight. We made them
move back, and before long the firing ceased. I tried to find out the
next day how it began. The fact is, the day before, General Notice had
ordered the 68th to move forward about half a mile, and they did so.
The Cubapinos objected and insisted on crossing the new picket-line.
That evening an officer of theirs walked across it and was shot by the
sentinel. That started it."
"Was the regiment moved across the line fixed on their side of the
neutral zone?" said Cleary.
"Oh, yes. But that was all right. Don't we own the whole place? And the
regiment was only obeying orders."
"I wonder why the general gave the orders?" asked Cleary, musing as he
looked into the smoke which he was puffing forth.
"They say it was because he had what he called 'overmastering political
reasons.' That is, there was the army bill up in Congress and it had to
go through, and he was given the tip that some fighting would help it,
and he took the hint. It was good statesmanship and generalship, too.
All subordinate things must bend to the great general interests of the
country. It was a good move, for it settled the business. Gomaldo sent
in the next day and tried to patch up a truce, but Notice wouldn't see
his messengers. He told them they must surrender unconditionally. It
was fine, soldierly conduct. He's a brick."
"What has he gone home for?" asked Sam.
"Why, he'd conquered them. Why shouldn't he go home? They're giving him
a grand reception at home, and I'm glad to see it."
"But he says that he has pacified the islands and brought the war to a
close!"
"So he did, in the military sense. He couldn't tell that the scamps
wouldn't submit at once. It wasn't his fault that they showed such
unreasonable bitterness and obstinacy."
"How much territory do we hold now?" said Sam.
"We've got the city and a strip along the bay where the fleet is; about
five miles back, I should say. But it's hardly safe to wander off far
at night."
"What's going to happen next?" asked Cleary. "I want to send home some
news to _The Lyre_ as soon as I can, and I want my friend Jinks here to
have a chance to distinguish himself--and you too," he added hastily.
"We'll probably get to work by next week, the way things look now.
General Laughter is rather slow, but he means business. Gomaldo is
getting a big army together, and we may have to take the offensive to
get ahead of him. Now I suppose we ought to turn in. How would you like
to take a look at Havilla to-morrow and see the place where the naval
battle was? We can get off duty in the afternoon. All right, let's meet
at regimental headquarters at three."
Cleary bade them good-night, and Sam, who was beginning to feel
uncomfortable effects from his cigar, was quite ready to go to bed.
Sam's morning was occupied in familiarizing himself with the regimental
routine in barracks. The building enclosed a large court which was
used for drills and guard-mounting parade, and he did not have occasion
to leave it until he went to join his friends at headquarters. Promptly
at three o'clock the three men sallied forth. Sam was struck with the
magnificence of the principal buildings, including the palace and the
cathedral.
"It's a fine city, isn't it?" he said.
"Yes, and the women are not bad-looking," said Cleary.
"The people don't quite look like savages," said Sam.
"You can't judge of them by these," said Foster. "Wait till you meet
some negritos in the country."
"How large a part of the population are they?" said Sam.
"About one-fortieth, I think, but where principle is involved you can't
go by numbers."
"Of course not," was Sam's reply. "What building is that," he added,
"with our flag over it and the nicely dressed young women in the
windows?"
"That?" said Foster, laughing; "oh, that's the Young Ladies' Home. We
have to license the place. It's the only way to keep the army in
condition. Why, we've got about fifty per cent infected now."
"Really?" cried Sam. "How our poor fellows are called upon to suffer
for these ungrateful Cubapinos! Still they can feel that they are
suffering for their country, too. That's a consolation."
"There's more consolation than that," said Foster, "for we're spreading
the thing like wildfire among the natives. We'll come out ahead."
"I wish, tho, that they wouldn't fly Old Gory over the house,"
said Sam.
"There was some talk of taking it down, but you see it's the policy of
the Administration never to haul down the flag when it has once been
raised. It presents rather a problem, you see."
"It may wear out in time," said Sam, "altho it looks painfully new.
What will they do then?"
"I confess I don't know," said Foster. "They'll cross the bridge when
they reach it."
"A good many of the shop signs are in English already," remarked Sam.
"That's a good beginning."
"Yes," said Cleary. "But they seem to be almost all saloons, that's
queer."
"So they are," said Sam.
"There are some pretty good ones, too," said Foster. "Just stop in here
for a moment and take a drink."
They entered a drinking-place and found a bar planned on the familiar
lines of home.
"Look at this list of our drinks," said Foster proudly. "Count 'em;
there are eighty-two."
Sam examined the list, which was printed and framed and hanging on the
wall, and they each took a glass of beer, standing. There were about a
dozen men in the place, most of them soldiers.
"Do they do a big business in these places?" asked Sam.
"You'll think so when you see the drunken soldiers in the streets in
the evening," answered Foster. "We're planting our institutions here,
I tell you."
"Not only saloons," said Sam. "There's the post-office, for instance."
"They had a post-office before," said Cleary.
"But ours is surely better," rejoined Sam.
"It's better than it was," said Foster, "now that they've put the new
postmaster in jail. They say he's bagged $75,000."
"It's a good example of the way we treat embezzlers," cried Sam. "It
ought to be a lesson to these Cubapinos. He'll be sent home to be
tried. They ought to do that with every one caught robbing the mails in
any way."
"I'm afraid if they did the force would be pretty well crippled," said
Foster.
"Then there's the custom house," said Sam. "They must be delighted to
get rid of those Castalian swindlers."
"A merchant here told me," said Foster, "that they have to pay just as
often now, but that they have to pay bigger sums."
"Of course," cried Cleary, "you wouldn't expect our people to bother
with the little bribes the Castalians were after. We live on a larger
scale. It will do these natives good to open their eyes to a real
nation. I'm sorry any of them steal, but if they do, let 'em take a lot
and be done with it."
"We must remember that these people are only civilians," said Sam.
"What can we expect of them?"
"Our commissary and quartermaster departments aren't much better, tho,"
said Foster. "Somebody's getting rich, to judge from the prices we pay
and the stuff we get. The meat stinks, and the boots are made with glue
instead of stitches and nails."
"Then they must have been appointed from civil life," cried Sam.
"Come, Sam," said Cleary, "I'm a civilian now, and I'm not going to
have you crow over us. How about Captain Peters, who was the pet of
Whoppington and cleaned out the Deer Harbor fund?"
Sam walked on in silence.
"See here," said Foster, "I'm tired of going on foot. Let's take a cab.
Here, you fellow!"
A two-wheeled wagon with an awning, drawn by a small, shaggy horse,
drew up before them.
"There's a gentleman in it," said Sam. "We must wait for another."
"Nonsense!" cried Foster in a loud voice. "You evidently are a new
arrival. It's only one of those monkeys. Here you, sir, get out of
that!"
The native expostulated a little, shrugged his shoulders, and did as he
was told, and the three men got in.
"I'm afraid he didn't like it," said Sam.
"Didn't like it? What of it?" said Foster. "Whatever we do in uniform
is official business, and we've got to impress these fellows with our
power and make them respect us."
They drove now through some narrow streets, past various native cafes
half open to the air, where the _habitues_ were beginning to collect,
through a picturesque gate in the old city wall, and out on the
Boulevard, which was now filled with people driving and walking. It was
a gay scene, and reminded Cleary of some of the cities of the
Mediterranean which he had visited.
"They're not quite as much like Apaches as I expected," said Sam, and
neither of his friends ventured to respond.
"We haven't got time to go out to where the ships are sunk," said
Foster, "but if we drive up that hill and get out and walk up a little
farther we can see them in the distance. I've got my glasses with me."
In a few minutes they were at this point of vantage in a sort of
unfrequented public park, and the three men took turns in looking at
the distant wrecks through the captain's field-glass.
"It was a great victory, wasn't it?" said Sam.
"Well, perhaps it was," answered Foster; "but the fact is, that those
old boats could hardly float and their guns couldn't reach our ships.
We just took our time and blew them up and set them on fire, and the
crews were roasted or drowned, that was all there was of it. I don't
think much of naval men anyway, to tell the truth. They don't compare
with the army. They're always running their ships aground if there's
any ground to run into."
"Anyhow, if it had been a strong fleet we'd have wiped it out just the
same, wouldn't we?" said Sam.
"Undoubtedly," said Foster. "It's a pity, tho, that the fight didn't
test our naval armaments better. It didn't prove anything. If we'd only
used our torpedo-boats, and they'd got out their torpedo-boat
destroyers, and then we'd had some torpedo-boat-destroyer destroyers,
and----"
"Yes," interrupted Cleary, "it is a pity."
"But it wasn't Admiral Hercules's fault," said Sam. "His glory ought to
be just as great."
"Hercules! Hercules!" shouted Foster. "What had Hercules to do with it?
He's a first-class fraud. It was Slewey who won the battle. You don't
mean to tell me that you are Hercules men?"
Sam and Cleary tried in vain to explain their position, but Foster
would not listen to them. The breach evidently was irreparable. He
magnanimously turned over the cab to them, and went back to the city in
another vehicle.
"Well, this is strange," said Sam. "I liked everything about Captain
Foster, but I don't understand this."
"Oh, you will tho, old man," said Cleary. "I've found out this morning
that it's the same thing all through the army and navy here. They're
hardly any of them on speaking terms. If it isn't one thing it's
another. It's the Whoppington fashion, that's all. The general of the
army won't speak to the adjutant-general there, and they're always
smuggling bills into Congress to retire each other, and that spirit
runs all the way down through both services. I'm a civilian now, and I
can see with a little perspective. I don't know why military people are
always squabbling like the women in an old ladies' home. No other
professions do; it's queer. It's getting to be better to lose a battle
than to win it, for then you don't have to fight for a year or two to
find out who won it."
Sam entered a feeble protest against Cleary's criticisms, and the two
relapsed into silence.
"Who did win that naval victory anyhow?" said Sam at last.
"That's just what I'd like to know," responded Cleary. "One of the
admirals admits he wasn't there, and, if we are to believe the naval
people, the other one spent most of his time dodging around the
smokestack. But I think they're a little too hard on him; I can't
imagine why. I hear they're going to establish a permanent court at
Whoppington to determine who wins victories in future. It's not a bad
idea. My own view is that that battle won itself, and I shouldn't be
surprised if that was the way with most battles. It would be fun to run
a war without admirals and generals and see how it would come out. I
don't believe there'd be much difference. At any rate it looks so, if
what the navy says is true, and one of the admirals was away and the
other playing tag on the forward deck of the _Philadelphia_. Rum name
for a battle-ship, the _Brotherly Love_, isn't it?"
To this Sam made no answer.
On arriving at the barracks he succeeded in having a separate room
assigned to him, and thenceforth he and Foster were strangers.