The Great White Temple
[Illustration]
On the following morning the two friends started on their journey up
the river toward the Imperial City. They went on a barge filled with
soldiers, some of them their own troops who had arrived earlier the
same morning. The barge was drawn by ropes pulled by natives, who
walked and ran along the banks of the river. It was a day of
ever-increasing horrors. All the desolation which they had remarked the
day previous was reproduced and accentuated, and as they were so much
nearer to the bank, and occasionally took walks on shore, they saw it
all more clearly. Sam was much interested in the foreign troops. Their
uniforms looked strange and uncouth.
"What funny pill-boxes those are that those Anglian soldiers have stuck
to the side of their heads," he said, pointing to two men at Gin-Sin
before they set sail.
"Yes," answered Cleary. "They'll put on their helmets when the sun gets
higher. They do look queer, tho. Perhaps they think our fellows look
queer too."
"I never thought of that," said Sam. "Perhaps they do," and he looked
at his fellow-countrymen who were preparing to embark, endeavoring to
judge of their appearance as if he had never seen them before. He
scrutinized carefully their slouch hats creased in four quarters, their
loose, dark-blue jackets, generally unbuttoned, and their easy-going
movements.
"Perhaps they do look queer," he said at last. "I never thought of
that."
The river was more full of corpses than ever, and there were many to be
seen on the shore, all of them of natives. Children were playing and
bathing in the shallows, oblivious of the dead around them. Dogs
prowled about, sleek and contented, and usually sniffing only at the
cadavers, for their appetites were already sated. At one place they saw
a father and son lying hand in hand where they had been shot while
imploring mercy. A dog was quietly eating the leg of the boy. The
natives who pulled the boat along with great difficulty under the hot
sun were drawn from all classes, some of them coolies accustomed to
hard work, others evidently of the leisure classes who could hardly
keep up with the rest. Soldiers were acting as task-masters, and they
whipped the men who did not pull with sufficient strength. Now and then
a man would try to escape by running, but such deserters were
invariably brought down by a bullet in the back. More than once one of
the men would fall as they waded along, and be swept off by the
current. None of them seemed to know how to swim, but no one paid any
attention to their fate. Parties were sent out to bring in other
natives to take the place of those who gave out. One of the men thus
brought in was paralyzed on one side and carried a crutch. The soldiers
made sport of him, snatched the crutch from him, and made him pull as
best he could with the rest. Sam, Cleary, and an Anglian officer who
had served through the whole war took a long walk together back from
the river during the halt at noon. They entered a deserted house, with
gables and a tiled roof, which by chance had not been burned. The house
had been looted, and such of its contents as were too large to carry
away were lying broken to bits about the floor. A nasty smell came from
an inner room, and they looked in and saw the whole family--father,
mother, and three daughters--lying dead in a row on the floor. A
bloody knife was in the hand of the man.
"They probably committed suicide when they saw the soldiers coming,"
said the Anglian, whose name was Major Brown. "They often do that, and
they do quite right. When they don't, the soldiers, and even the
officers sometimes, do what they will with the women and then bayonet
them afterward. Our people draw the line at that, and so do yours."
"We certainly conduct war most humanely," said Sam.
They heard a groan from another room, and opening the door saw an old
woman lying in a pool of blood, quite unconscious.
"I'll put her out of her misery," said the major, and he drew his
revolver and shot her through the head.
The journey was a very slow one and occupied three days, altho the
natives were kept at work as long as they could stand it, on one day
actually tugging at the ropes for twenty-one hours. At last, however,
the Imperial City was reached, and our two travelers disembarked and,
taking a donkey-cart, gave directions to carry them to the quarter
assigned to their own army. Here as everywhere desolation reigned. A
string of laden camels showed, however, that trade was beginning to
reassert itself. They drove past miles of burned houses, through the
massive city walls and beyond, until they saw the welcome signs of a
camp over which Old Gory waved supreme. Sam was received with much
cordiality by the commandant, General Taffy, and assigned to the
command of the 27th Volunteer Infantry. The general was a man well
known throughout the army for his courage and ability, but
notwithstanding this Sam took a strong prejudice against him, for he
seemed to be half-hearted in his work and to disapprove of the
prevailing policy of pacification by fire and sword. Sam ascribed this
feebleness to the fact that he had been originally appointed to the
army from civil life, and that he had not enjoyed the benefits of an
East Point education.
As soon as Sam was installed in his new quarters, in the colonel's
tent of his regiment, he started out with Cleary to see the great city
and examine the scene of the late siege. They found the Jap quarter the
most populous. The inhabitants who had fled had returned, and the
streets were taking on their normal aspect. Near the boundary of this
district they saw a house with a placard in the Jap language, and asked
an Anglian soldier who was passing what it meant.
"That's one of the Jap placards to show that the natives who live there
are good people who have given no offense," said he.
"Let's go in and pay them a call," said Cleary.
They entered, and passing into a back room found a woman nursing a man
who had evidently been recently shot in the side. She shrank from them
with terror as they entered, and made no answer to their request for
information. As they passed out they met a young native coming in, and
they asked him what it meant.
"Some Frank soldiers shot him because he could not give them money. It
had all been stolen already," said the lad in pigeon English.
"But the placard says they are loyal people," said Cleary.
"What difference does that make to them?" was the reply.
Farther on in a lonely part of the town they heard cries issuing from
the upper window of a house. They were the cries of women, mingled with
oaths of men in the Frank language. Suddenly two women jumped out of
the window, one after the other, and fell in a bruised mass in the
street. Sam and Cleary approached them and saw that they had received a
mortal hurt. They were ladies, handsomely dressed. The first impulse of
Sam and Cleary was to take charge of them, but seeing two natives
approach, they called their attention to the case and walked away.
"I suppose it's best not to get mixed up with the affairs of the other
armies," said Sam.
The quarter assigned to the Tutonians they were surprised to find quite
deserted by the inhabitants.
"I tell you, those Tutonians know their business," said Sam. "They
won't stand any fooling. Just see how they have established peace! We
have a lot to learn from them."
They saw a crowd collected in one place.
"What is it?" asked Sam of a soldier.
"They're going to shoot thirty of these damned coolies for jostling
soldiers in the street," he answered.
Sam regretted that they had no time to wait and see the execution.
As they reentered their own quarter they saw a number of carts loaded
down with all sorts of valuable household effects driven along. They
asked one of the native drivers what they were doing, and he replied in
pigeon English that they were collecting loot for the Rev. Dr. Amen.
Farther on some of their own soldiers were conducting an auction of
handsome vases and carved ornaments. Sam watched the sale for a few
minutes, and bought in one or two beautiful objects for a song for
Marian.
"Where did they get all this stuff?" he asked of a lieutenant.
"Oh, anywhere. Some of it from the houses of foreign residents even.
But we don't understand the game as well as old Amen. He's a corker.
He's grabbed the house of one of his old native enemies here, an
awfully rich chap, and sold him out, and now he's got his converts
cleaning out a whole ward. He's collected a big fine for every convert
killed and so much extra for every dollar stolen, and he's going to use
it all for the propagation of the Gospel. He's as good as a Tutonian,
he is."
"I'm glad we have such a man to represent our faith," said Sam.
"He's pretty hard on General Taffy, tho," said the lieutenant. "He says
we ought to have the Tutonian mailed fist. Taffy is much too soft, he
thinks."
Sam bit his lips. He could not criticize his superior officer before a
subaltern, but he was tempted to.
On reaching headquarters Sam found that he was to take charge of a
punitive expedition in the North, whose chief object was to be the
destruction of native temples, for the purpose of giving the
inhabitants a lesson. He was to have command of his own regiment, two
companies of cavalry, and a field-battery. They were to set out in two
days. He spent the intermediate time in completing the preparations,
which had been well under way before his arrival, and in studying the
map. No one knew how much opposition he might expect.
It was early in the morning on a hot summer day that the expedition
left the Capital. Sam was mounted on a fine bay stallion, and felt that
he was entirely in his element.
"What camp is that over there on the left?" he asked his orderly.
"That's the Anglian camp, sir."
"Are you sure. I can't see their colors. They must have moved their
camp."
"Yes, sir, I'm sure. I passed near there last night and I saw
half-a-dozen of the men blacking their officers' boots and singing,
'Britons, Britons, never will be slaves!' It must be a tough job too,
sir, for everybody's boots are covered with blood. The gutters are
running with it."
"I wish we had them with us to-day," said Sam. "They have done such a
lot of burning in South Africa that they could show us the best way."
"Yes, sir. But then temple-burning is finer work than burning
farmhouses, sir."
"That is true," said Sam.
Before night they had visited three deserted towns and burned down the
temple in each with its accompanying pagoda. There is something in the
hearts of men that responds to great conflagrations, and the whole
force soon got into the spirit of it and burned everything they came
across. Sam enjoyed himself to the full. His only regret was that there
was no enemy to overcome. They camped out at night and continued the
same work for several days, all the natives fleeing as soon as they
came in sight. At last they reached the famous white temple of Pu-Sing,
which was the chief object of religious devotion in the whole
province. This was to be absolutely destroyed, notwithstanding its
great artistic beauty, and then they were to return to the city in
triumph. As they drew near to the building two or three shots were
fired from it, and one soldier was wounded in the arm. The usual
cursing began, and the men were restive to get at the Porsslanese
garrison. Sam ordered the infantry to fire a volley, and then, as the
return fire was feeble, he ordered the squadron of cavalry to charge,
leading it himself. The natives turned and fled as soon as they saw
them coming, and the cavalry, skirting the enclosure of the temple,
followed them beyond and cut them down without mercy.
"Give them hell!" cried Sam. "Exterminate the vermin!" and he swore,
quite naturally under the circumstances, like a trooper.
Some of the natives fell on their knees and begged for quarter, but it
was of no use. Every one was killed. They numbered about two hundred in
all. When the horsemen returned to the temple they found the infantry
already at work at the task of looting it. Everything of value that
could be carried was taken out, and the larger statues and vases were
broken to pieces. Then the woodwork was cut away and piled up for
firewood, and finally the whole pile set on fire. In all this work the
leader was a sergeant of infantry who seemed to have a natural talent
for it. Sam had noticed him before at the burning of the other temples,
but now he showed himself more conspicuously capable. As the work of
piling inflammable material against the walls of polished marble,
inlaid with ivory, was nearing completion, Sam sent for this man so
that he might thank and congratulate him. The soldier came up, his
hands black with charcoal and his face smudged as well.
"You've done well, sergeant," said Sam. "I will mention you to the
general when we return."
"Thank you, sir," said the man, and his voice sounded strangely
familiar. Sam peered into his face. He had certainly seen it before.
"What is your name, sergeant?"
"Thatcher, sir."
"Why, of course, you're Thatcher--Josh Thatcher of Slowburgh. Don't you
remember that night at the hotel when we had a drink together? Don't
you remember Captain Jinks?"
"Yes, sir, but I didn't know you was he--a colonel, too, sir," said the
man, as Sam shook his hand warmly.
"I'm glad to see that you're doing credit to your town," said Sam.
"They'll be surprised to hear it at home, sir," said Thatcher. "They
was always down on me. They never gave me a chance. Here they all
speaks to me like you do, sir. Why, Dr. Amen slapped me on the back and
called me a fine fellow when I brought him in a big load of stuff. I
got it from houses of people I didn't even know, and he said I was a
good fellow. At Slowburgh I took a chicken now and then, and only from
somebody who'd done me some mean trick, and they said I was a thief.
Once or twice I burned a barn there just for fun, and never anybody's
barn that wasn't down on me and rich enough to stand it, and they said
I was a criminal. And as for women, if they ever seed me with one, they
all said I was dissolute and a disgrace to the place, and here I have
ten times more of 'em than I want, and everybody says it's all right,
and they made me corporal and sergeant, and the generals talked to me
like I was somebody, and I swear as much as I like. I never shot
anybody at home. I suppose they'd have strung me up if I had, and here
I just pepper any pigtail I like. They called me a criminal at
Slowburgh, just think of that! I say that criminals are just soldiers
who ain't got a job--who ain't had any chance at all, I says. I wasn't
ever judged right, I wasn't."
There were tears in Thatcher's eyes as he ended this speech.
"You're a fine chap," said Sam. "I'll tell all about you when you get
home. This war has been the making of you. How are the other Slowburgh
boys?"
"They're all right, except my cousin Tom. He's down sick with
something. He's run about a little too much. He always was a-sparking.
He never knowed how to take care of himself. Jim Thomson was wounded
once, but he's all right now. We've all had fever, but that's over too.
But the fire's spreading, sir; we'd better get out of this."
As he spoke a heavy charred beam fell just in front of him, and the end
of it came down with its full weight on Sam's leg, snapping the bone in
two near the ankle. The foot lay at right angles, and the bone
protruded. Several soldiers lifted the log and Thatcher drew Sam out,
and they bore him in haste out of the building. He was laid on the
ground quite unconscious, at some distance from the temple, while the
flames roared and leaped toward heaven, wrapping the graceful, lofty
nine-story pagoda in their folds. It was in a beautiful garden that he
lay, near a pool filled with lotus flowers and at the end of a rustic
bridge. The air was heavy with the perfume of lilies. A surgeon was
called, and before long he was able to put the foot in place, but only
after sawing off a large piece of bone. A cart was obtained, Sam was
laid in it, a bottle of whisky was poured down his throat, and the
journey to the city began. The patient on coming to himself experienced
no pain. The liquor he had taken made him feel supremely happy. He was
in an ecstasy of exultation, and would have liked to embrace all
mankind. But gradually this feeling wore off and his leg began to pain
him, at first slightly, then more and more until it became
excruciating. The road was almost impassable, and every jolt caused him
agony. For twelve hours he underwent these tortures until he reached
the camp in the city, and was at once transferred to a temporary
hospital which had been improvised in a public building. Here he lay
for many weeks, suffering much, but gradually regaining the use of his
leg. He was in charge of a particularly efficient woman doctor from
home who had volunteered to serve with the Red Cross Society. Sam felt
most grateful to her for her care, but he strongly disapproved of her
attitude to things military. She seemed to have a contempt for the
whole military establishment, insisted on calling him "young man,"
altho he was a colonel, usually addressed lieutenants as "boys," and
laughed at uniforms, salutes, and ceremonies of all kinds.
"Men are the silliest things in the world," she said one day. "Do you
suppose women would have a War Department that spent a lot of money on
bombshells to blow people up and then a lot more on Red Cross Societies
to piece them together again? Why, we would just leave the soldiers at
home, and save all the money, and it would be just the same in the
end."
"Not the kind of women I know," said Sam, thinking of Marian.
"I mean my kind of woman," said the doctor. "Do you think we'd sell
guns and rifles to the Porsslanese and teach them how to use them, and
then go to work and fight them after having armed them?" And she
laughed a merry laugh.
"And do you think we'd pay men to invent all sorts of infernal machines
like the Barnes torpedo, and then have our big ships blown up by them
in time of peace. That is what brought on the whole Castalian and
Cubapine war. The idea of praising a man like Barnes! He's been a curse
to the world."
"It was really a blessing," said Sam. "It has spread civilization and
Christianity all over."
"Well, that's one way of doing it," said she. "But when there are more
women like me we'll take things out of the hands of you silly men and
run them ourselves. Now, young man, you've talked enough. Turn over and
go to sleep."
Cleary called on his friend almost every day and kept him informed. He
sent home glowing accounts of Sam as the conqueror of the Great White
Temple, and described his sufferings for his country with artistic
skill. He also began work on the series of articles which Sam was
expected to write for _Scribblers' Magazine_. His gossip about the
events in the various camps entertained Sam very much, altho he was
often irritated as well. In his capacity of correspondent Cleary saw
and knew everything.
"Sam," said he one day, as the invalid was sitting up in an easy-chair
at the window--"Sam, it's so long since I was at East Point that I'm
becoming more and more of a civilian. You army people begin to amuse
me. There's always something funny about you. The Tutonians are the
funniest of all. The little red-cheeked officers with their blond
mustaches turned up to their eyes are too funny to live. You feel like
kissing them and sending them to bed. And the airs they put on! One of
their soldiers happened to elbow a lieutenant the other day, and the
chap ran him through with his sword, and no one called him to account.
The officers jostle and browbeat any civilian who will submit to it,
and then try to get him into a duel, but I believe they're a cowardly
lot at bottom. No man of real courage would bluster all over the place
so."
"I admire their discipline," said Sam.
"And then there's the Franks. They're not quite so conceited, but
they're awfully touchy. I think the mustaches measure conceit. The
Tutonians' stick up straight, the Franks' stick right out at each side
waxed to a point, and ours droop downward."
Sam began to twist his mustache upward, but it would not stay.
"I was in to see a Frank military trial the other day," said Cleary.
"It was the most comical thing. There were three big generals on the
court. I mean big in rank. They were about four feet high in size, and
they kept looking at their mustaches in hand-glasses and combing their
hair with pocket-combs. They were trying one of their lieutenants for
having sold some secret military plans to a Tutonian attache. Now the
joke of it is that military attaches are appointed just for the purpose
of buying secrets, and everybody knows it. They're licensed to do it.
And then when they do just what they're licensed for, everybody makes a
fuss. Well, the secrets were sold; there wasn't the slightest reason
for thinking this lieutenant had sold them, but they had to punish
somebody. They say they drew his name from a box. They had three
officers to testify against him, and they were the stupidest liars I
ever saw. They just blundered from beginning to end, and the president
of the court helped them out and told them what to say, and corrected
them. The third man said nothing at all except, 'Yes, my general; yes,
my general.' Then they called the witnesses for the accused, and two
officers stepped forward, when a couple of orderlies grabbed each of
them, stuffed a gag into their mouths, and carried them out, while the
court looked the other way, and the crowd shouted, 'Long live the
army!' The court adjourned on account of the 'contumacy of the
witnesses for the defense.' I went in again the next morning, and they
announced that both the witnesses had committed suicide. Then the
president took a judgment out of his pocket which I had seen him
fingering all the first day, and read it off just as it had been
written before the trial began, condemning the poor devil to twenty
years' imprisonment. I never saw such a farce. Everybody shouted for
the army, and the little generals kissed each other and cried, and
they had a great time of it. And the president made a speech in which
he said that they had saved the army and consequently the country too,
and that honor and glory and the fatherland had been redeemed. They've
all been promoted and decorated since. They're a queer lot, those Frank
officers."
"We ought not to be too quick in judging foreigners," said Sam. "Their
methods may seem strange to us, but we are not competent to criticize
them. Let each army judge for itself."
"As a matter of fact," said Cleary, "every army is down on the others.
If you believe what they say about each other they're a pretty bad lot.
They all say that the Mosconians are barbarians, and they call the
Tutonians thugs. The rest of them call the Franks woman-hunters, and
they all call us and the Anglians auctioneers and looters and
shopkeepers, and drunkards, and we're known as temple-burners and
vandals too."
"What an outrage!" ejaculated Sam.
"The Anglians are more like us, but they've got a few old generals and
then a lot of small boys, and nothing much between. I should think the
generals would feel like school-masters. I told one of their officers
that, and he said it was better than having second lieutenants
seventy-five years old as we do. We're loving each other a lot just
now, the Anglians and us, but one of our naval officers let on to me
that they were dying to have a war with them. You see, since South
Africa nobody's afraid of them except the Porsslanese, and they don't
read the papers. And how the Anglians despise the Franks! Why, we were
discussing lying in war at a lunch-party, and one of their generals was
there, a rather dense sort of a machine of a man. They had been saying
that lying was an essential part of war, and that an officer must be a
good liar and able to deceive the enemy well, as well as a good
fighter, and the conversation drifted off into the question of lying in
general. Somebody asked the general if he would say he was a Tutonian
to save his life. 'Of course,' he answered. 'But would you say you
were a Frank under the same circumstances?' asked some one else.
'Certainly not,' he said. Everybody roared, but he didn't see any joke,
and looked as grave as an owl all the rest of the afternoon. Then the
commanders are all so jealous of each other. They are spying on each
other and putting sticks in each other's wheels. Officers are queer
people. There's only one profession that can compete with them for
feline amenities, and that is the actress profession."
"Cleary," said Sam, "I let you talk this way for old acquaintance's
sake, but I wouldn't take it from any one else."
"Fiddlesticks! You know I'm right. The Anglian officers like to hint at
the frauds in our quartermaster's department at Havilla, but I shut
them up by asking how much their officers made off the horses they
bought for South Africa in Hungary. Then they shut up like a
clasp-knife. Officers talk a lot about their 'brother officers,' and
you'd think they loved each other a lot, but I find they're all glad
so many were killed in South Africa because it gives them a lot of
promotion. I tell you the officers of all the armies like to have a
good list of dead officers after each battle, if they are only their
superiors in rank. I've been picking up all I can among the different
soldiers, and learning a lot. I was just talking to a lot of Anglian
soldiers now. They were sharpening sabers and bayonets on grindstones.
One of the older ones was telling me how they used to flog in the army.
They had a regular parade, and the drummers used to lay on the lash,
while a doctor watched so that they shouldn't go too far. Sometimes the
young subalterns who were in command would faint away at the sight.
"'But it was so manly, sir,' the fellow said to me. 'The army isn't
what it was. But the other armies keep it up still, and we still birch
youngsters in the navy so we needn't despair of the world.'"
"When will the campaign be over?" asked Sam.
"There's no telling. All the armies are afraid to leave, for fear the
ones that are left will get some advantage from the Porsslanese
Government. They're a high old lot of allies. It's a queer business.
But the missionaries are as queer as any of them. You ought to have
heard old Amen last Sunday. How he whooped things up! He took his text
from the Gospel of St. Loot, I think! He was trying to stir up Taffy to
be more severe. Amen ought to be a soldier. Our minister
plenipotentiary isn't a backward chap either. I went through the
Imperial palace with him and his party the other day, and they pretty
nearly cleaned it out, just for souvenirs, you know. He didn't take
anything himself, as far as I could see; but his women, bless my soul,
they filled their pockets with jade and ivory and what-not. There were
some foreign looters in there at the same time, great swells too, and
they just smashed the plate-glass over the cabinets and filled their
pockets and their arms too. One old Porsslanese official was standing
there, a high mandarin of some sort, and he had an emerald necklace
around his neck. Some diplomat or other walked up to him and quietly
took it off, and the old man didn't stir, but the tears were rolling
down his cheeks."
"He had no right to complain," said Sam. "We clearly have the right to
the contents of a conquered city by the rules of war."
"Perhaps. But there are some curious war rules. Some of the armies
shoot all natives in soldiers' uniforms because they are soldiers, and
then they shoot all natives who resist them in civil dress, because
they are not soldiers and have no right to fight. I suppose they ought
to go about naked. They used to kill their prisoners with the butt-end
of their rifles, but that breaks the rifles, and now they generally use
the bayonet."
"Here are some newspapers," said he on another occasion. "You've been
made a brigadier for capturing Gomaldo. Isn't that great? But they
_will_ call you 'Captain Jinks' at home, no matter what your rank is.
The papers say so. The song has made it stick."
"I'm sorry for that," said Sam. "It would be pleasanter to be called
'General.'"
"It's all the same," said Cleary. "Wasn't Napoleon called the Little
Corporal? It's really more distinguished."
"Perhaps it is," said Sam contentedly.
"Some of the papers criticize us a little too," added Cleary. "They say
we are acting brutally here and in the Cubapines. Of course only a few
say it, but their number is increasing."
"They make themselves ridiculous," said Sam. "They don't see how
ludicrous their suggestions are that we should actually retire and let
these countries relapse into barbarism. As that fellow said at Havilla,
they have no sense of humor."
"And yet," retorted Cleary, "our greatest humorists, Mark Swain, Mr.
Tooley, and the best cartoonists, and our only really humorous paper,
_Knife_, are on that side."
"But they are only humorists," cried Sam, "mere professional jokers.
You can't expect serious sense from them. They are mere buffoons. The
serious people here, such as Dr. Amen, are with us to a man."
"I saw old Amen get caught the other day," said Cleary. "I was
interviewing the colonel of the 15th, and in came Amen and began
talking about the Porsslanese--what barbarians they were, no religion,
no belief, no faith. Why, the idea of self-sacrifice was utterly
unknown to them! Just then in came a young officer and said, 'Colonel,
the son of that old native we're going to shoot this afternoon for
looting, is bothering us and says he wants to be shot instead of his
father. What shall we do with him?' Amen said good-day and cleared out.
By the way, the colonel of the 15th is in a hole just now. He was shut
up in the legations, you know, and all the women there were down on him
because he wouldn't make the sentries salute them when the men were
dead tired with watching. They are charging him with cowardice.
There'll never be an end of this backbiting. It's almost as sickening
as the throat-cutting and stabbing. I confess I'm getting sick of it
all. When you see a private shoot an old native for not blacking his
boots, when the poor fellow was trying to understand him and couldn't,
and smiling as best he could, it's rather tough; and I've seen twenty
babies if I've seen one lying in the streets with a bayonet hole in
them. They have executions every day in one camp or another. I saw one
coolie, who had been working fourteen hours at a stretch loading carts,
shot down because he hadn't the strength to go on."
"I'm afraid the heat is telling on you, Cleary," said Sam. "This is all
sickly sentimentality. War is war. The trouble with you is that there
has been no regular campaign on to occupy your attention. This lying
about doing nothing is a bad thing for everybody. Wait till the
Tutonian Emperor comes out and we'll have something to do."
"He won't find any enemy to fight," said Cleary.
"Trust him for that," replied Sam. "He's every inch a soldier, and
he'll find the way to make war, depend upon it. He's a religious man
too, and he will back up the missionaries better than we've done."
"Yes. Amen thinks the world of him. Amen ought to have been a Tutonian
soldier. He says the best imagery of religion comes from war. I told
him I had an article written about a fight which said that our men
'fought like demons' and 'yelled like fiends,' and I would change it to
read that they fought like seraphs and yelled like cherubim, but he
didn't think it was funny."