Exploits and Adventures
of a Soldier Ashore
and Afloat
[Illustration: W. L. Adams
(signed) Courteously Yours,
W. L. Adams]
Exploits and Adventures
of a Soldier Ashore
and Afloat
BY
WILLIAM LLEWELLYN ADAMS
[Illustration: Printer’s Logo]
PRESS OF
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA
1911
COPYRIGHT, 1911
BY WILLIAM L. ADAMS
_All Rights Reserved_
THIS BOOK IS RESPECTFULLY
INSCRIBED TO MY
“BUNKIES AND SHIPMATES”
OF THE
ARMY AND NAVY
Preface
In introducing the following narratives, the contents of which have
been gleaned through my voyage around the earth in quest of excitement
and natural oddities, for which since childhood I have possessed an
insatiable desire, I wish to acquaint the reader, in a brief prefatory
discourse, with the nature of the work that is to follow, and thereby
gratify the curiosity, so natural at the beginning, in a reader of
reminiscences.
Through the prevailing influence of some loyal friends, whom it has
been my good fortune to have had as correspondents during my military
career, I herein attempt to depict events as they actually happened,
without recourse to imagination.
Having served under the dominion of “Old Glory” in the Occident and
Orient, on land and on sea, in war and peace, for the period of ten
years, I naturally fell heir to novel and interesting occurrences, so
numerous that to attempt to describe in detail would necessitate the
space of many volumes; I therefore resort to conciseness, at the same
time selecting and giving a comprehensive description of those
occurrences which are most important in my category of adventures.
As an author I do not wish to be misunderstood. I merely desire to
portray what has come under my observation, rather than make a
Marathon with the laurels of so dignified a profession, and in so
doing communicate to those whose arduous duties at home have deprived
them of the romance of globetrotting, and thereby distribute the
knowledge that some more silent person might never unfetter.
In conclusion to this preface, I desire to say, that I have refrained
from the manufacture of episodes or any tendency toward fiction, which
I trust the following pages will confirm, and that, as from the
description of a spectator, these narratives will meet with the
approval of those into whose hands they might chance to fall.
THE AUTHOR.
Contents
Chapter Page
I Campaign of the “Governor’s Troop,” Penna. Vol. Cavalry 15
II On board a “Man-of-war” from New York to Morocco 45
III Thrilling Adventure with Moors in the “Kasbah” of Algiers 63
IV From the Pyramids of Egypt to Singapore 71
V Hong Kong, China, and the Denizens of the Underworld 90
VI A Trip to Japan 103
VII War Orders in the “Land of the Rising Sun” 118
VIII The Cowboy Soldier, a Coincidence 145
IX Life Among Hostile Moros in the Jungles of Mindanao 169
X A Midnight Phantasy in California 197
XI “Semper Fidelis,” the Marine “Guard of Honor,” World’s
Fair, St. Louis. 1904 208
XII Topographical Survey in the Jungles of Luzon 242
XIII “Cock-fighting,” the National Sport of the Philippines 271
XIV Departure of the 29th Infantry for the Home-land;
Reception in Honolulu 279
Illustrations
Page
William Llewellyn Adams _Frontispiece_
Detachment of “Governor’s Troop,” Mt. Gretna, 1898 20
A Trooper 42
Tent No. 2, Fynmore and Adams, “World’s Fair,”
St. Louis, 1904 214
Coleman and Adams, Gun-mule “Dewey,” Machine-gun Battery 258
Machine Gun Platoon of the 29th Infantry in the Snow
Capped Wasatch Range, Utah 260
Where spades grow bright and idle swords grow dull,
Where jails are empty and where barns are full,
Where church paths are with frequent feet outworn,
Law court-yards empty, silent, and forlorn;
Where lawyers foot it and the farmers ride,
Where age abounds and youth is multiplied:
Where these signs are, they clearly indicate
A happy people and well-governed state.
_Anonymous._
I.
Campaign of the “Governor’s Troop,” Penna. Volunteer Cavalry
The “Pandora Box”――Call for Volunteers――Mustered In――Breaking of
Horses at Mt. Gretna――Liberality of the Ladies of Harrisburg and
Hazleton――Departure of the Tenth Pennsylvania for the
Philippines――My First Rebuff, by Major-General Graham――Thirty
Thousand Soldiers Celebrate the Victory of Santiago――Troopers
Decorated with Flowers by the Maidens of Richmond――The Concert
Halls of Newport News――The Ghost Walks――Off for the
Front――Convoyed by Battleships――Porto Rico――Spanish
Hospitality――Wounded by a Shell――Jack the “Mascot” Passes the
Deal――Reception in New York, Harrisburg, and Hazleton.
The destruction of the United States battleship _Maine_ in Havana
harbor, on the night of February 15, 1898, was the key to the
mysterious “Pandora Box,” containing maps of new United States
possessions, the commission of an admiral, the creation of a
President, the construction of a formidable army and navy, the
humiliation of a proud nation, and numerous other undisputed
ascendencies.
The uncivilized, brutal, and oppressive methods resorted to by the
Spaniards in conducting military operations on the Island of Cuba and
other territory adjacent to the United States had long been a theme of
discussion by patriotic and sympathizing Americans. When the news
flashed over the wires that the big man-of-war, the _Maine_, had been
blown up and two hundred and sixty-six members of her gallant crew had
been sent to a watery grave, the hearts of American youths burned with
indignation and every mother’s son yearned to avenge what was
considered Spanish treachery. What followed is entered in the archives
of American history and is familiar to all. The call for volunteers
was responded to universally, there being so many applicants to fill
the ranks that only the flower of the American youth was accepted.
When the news was wired broadcast that Commodore Dewey had fairly
annihilated the Spanish fleet in Asiatic waters, without the loss of a
man, there was a burst of enthusiasm that can well be imagined by
those too young to remember the occasion. At 9.00 A.M. on the second
of May, 1898, this news was received in Hazleton, Pennsylvania. It was
followed by a telegram from the Captain of the “Governor’s Troop,”
Pennsylvania Volunteer Cavalry, of Harrisburg, which stated that
twelve vacancies existed in that troop and that in accordance with the
request of Governor Hastings these vacancies should be filled with the
first volunteers from the city of Hazleton. In two hours’ time the
recipient of the telegram, Mr. Willard Young, had notified and
enlisted twelve of Hazleton’s stalwart sons, and at 7.40 A.M. the next
morning, amidst the waving of the national colors and cheers from the
populace the boys were escorted by the famous old Liberty Band to the
Lehigh Valley Station where, after bidding adieu to relatives,
sweethearts, and friends, they boarded a train for Mt. Gretna, the
military rendezvous.
The men who comprised this Hazleton assemblage were――
ARIO P. PLATTE, JR.
SCHUYLER RIDGEWAY
JOHN J. TURNBACH
WILLIAM K. BYRNES
WILLARD YOUNG
CHARLES H. ROHLAND
EDWARD R. TURNBACH
STEPHEN A. BARBER
EDWIN W. BARTON
HERBERT S. HOUCK
CLARENCE H. HERTZ
WILLIAM L. ADAMS
_En route_ to Pottsville the train was boarded by my life-long friend,
David L. Thomas, who was on his way to his law office. On learning the
destination of the patriots he laid down his “Blackstone” and wired
his parents in Mahanoy City that he had cast his fortunes with the
avengers of Spanish tyranny. Of this group of volunteers, two loyal
soldiers have answered the last roll call, namely: Ario P. Platte,
Jr., and David L. Thomas.
Arriving at Mt. Gretna we beheld, under miles of canvas,
Pennsylvania’s gallant National Guard. Upon inquiry we found the
cavalry headquarters, consisting of the “City Troop” of Philadelphia,
the “Sheridan Troop” of Tyrone, and the “Governor’s Troop” of
Harrisburg, stationed in a clump of forest near the lake.
Immediately reporting to Captain Ott, commanding the “Governor’s
Troop,” we were assigned to quarters in large Sibly tents and met the
old members of the troop, among whom I was delighted to find Feight
and Barker, two classmates of mine at “Dickinson Seminary.” We were at
once issued mess kits, the most necessary equipment required by a
soldier when not in the face of the enemy, and, roaming hither and
thither, awaited the usual medical examination preparatory to being
mustered into the service of the United States, which, after several
dreary and monotonous days, occurred on the 13th of May. After being
fitted in natty cavalry uniforms we were drilled twice daily on foot
by an ex-sergeant of the regular army, whose service in the regulars
had qualified him for the arduous task of breaking in raw recruits.
This drill was an experience not relished very much, as profound
obedience was required, and many wished the war was over before it had
really begun.
Before bringing the troop to attention, the sergeant would usually
say: “Now boys, I want you to pay attention to my orders, and if you
make mistakes I am apt to say some things I do not really mean.” So we
would take his word for this, but ofttimes thought things we did mean.
This was his song: “Fall in,” “Troop attention,” “Right dress,”
“Front,” “Count off,” “Backward guide right,” “March,” “As
skirmishers,” “March,” “Get some speed on you,” “Wake up,” “Wake up,”
“Assemble double time,” “March,” “Look to the front, and get in step,
you walk like farmers hoeing corn,” “Close in,” “Close in,” “Take up
that interval.” These were the daily commands, until the troop was
able to execute close and extended order to perfection. Then came the
horses, and the monkey drill, and some pitiful sights of horsemanship,
until each of the boys had accustomed himself to his own horse and had
become hardened to the saddle.
[Illustration: DETACHMENT OF GOVERNOR’S TROOP, MT. GRETNA PA., 1898.]
At first we were equipped with the old Springfield rifle, but this was
soon replaced by the Krag-Jorgensen carbine. Each trooper was soon
fully equipped as follows: horse, McClellen saddle, saddle bags,
bridle, halter, and horse blanket, carbine, saber, Colt revolver,
belts, and ammunition, canteen, mess kits, sleeping blanket, shelter
half, and uniforms.
The ladies of Harrisburg and Hazleton were extremely generous to the
troop. From Harrisburg each soldier received a large and beautiful
yellow silk neckerchief, a Bible, and a large quantity of pipes and
tobacco. From Hazleton came literature and boxes after boxes of
edibles, which were greatly relished by the troopers.
Some time was consumed in the breaking of horses, getting them bridle
wise, and training them to the saddle, and this afforded great
amusement to the thousands of spectators who visited the reservation
daily. The troop, which consisted of one hundred privates and three
commissioned officers, was made up of men from various walks of life.
Lawyers, athletes, students, merchants, ex-regular-army soldiers,
cowboys, and Indians swapped stories around the camp-fires at night.
Every day, after the usual routine of duty had been performed, games
of all descriptions were indulged in, poker under the shade of an “A”
wall tent usually predominating. One of the entertaining features of
the camp was a quartette of singers, members of the “Sheridan” and
“Governor’s” troops, and ex-members of the University of Pennsylvania
Glee Club. These boys were always in demand.
“Broncho buster,” George S. Reed, an ex-Texas ranger, Nome gold miner,
and survivor of several duels, the most noted man of the “Governor’s
Troop,” had cast his fortunes with the soldier “lay out,” and had
boasted that there never was a broncho foaled that he could not cling
to. “Broncho’s” debut as an equestrian was to ride a horse we called
the “rat,” a bad one. Reed had great difficulty in getting his foot in
the stirrup, as this animal would bite, buck, and kick, and besides
held a few tricks in reserve. Finally, taking a desperate chance,
“Broncho” swung himself into the saddle and the show was on. The horse
plunged, bolted, and bucked, in trying to unseat the rider. When all
efforts seemed to have been exhausted, the “rat” bucked, and made a
complete somersault, rolling the ranger on the turf, then rising and
doing a contortion, wriggled through the saddle girth and blanket, and
bolted for the timber. “That horse is mad,” said Reed, brushing the
dust from his uniform. “Did you see it loop the loop?” The horse that
fell to “Broncho’s” lot was a gentle animal, that could tell by
instinct when the canteen was empty, and would stand without hitching
at any point where the goods could be supplied.
Each day brought forth news of the mobilization of troops and the
progress of the war. Mt. Gretna, an ideal place for a military
rendezvous, presented a grand spectacle. Regiments were rigidly
disciplined and drilled to the requirements of war, sham battles were
fought, galloping horsemen could be seen repulsing the enemy, while
the wild cheering of the infantry in the charge, and the reckless
maneuvering of artillery in establishing points of vantage for getting
into action, had the aspect of mimic war.
Days rolled by and the troops yearned for active service. The Tenth
Pennsylvania Infantry, having received orders to proceed to the
Philippine Islands, was the first regiment to break the monotony.
There was great activity in breaking camp, and a speedy departure
amidst a wild demonstration enthused the boys whose fate lay with the
fortunes of war, and whose valiant bravery along the south line, from
Bacoor to Manila, will ever remain vivid in the annals of the
insurrection.
The news of the departure of the “Rough Riders” for Cuba was heralded
with much joy as a forerunner of our getting to the front, also the
distribution of regiments to southern camps, where the sons of the
“Blue and the Gray” commingled and fraternized as comrades fighting
for the same cause, and spun yarns of the bloody strife of the
rebellion in which their fathers had opposed each other in a bitter
struggle.
The promulgation of the general order directing our departure for the
South was received with cheers. Breaking camp was immediately begun,
the loading of horses and equipment on the train being accomplished
with the dexterity of a troop of regulars. All along the route the
train met with an ovation. There was waving of flags and
handkerchiefs, bells were tolled, and the shrill whistles of factories
welcomed the boys on to the front. Arriving at Falls Church, Virginia,
we at once set to work unloading our horses and accoutrements of war,
which was accomplished with almost insuperable difficulty, due to our
having reached our destination at night and in a blinding rain-storm.
Among the members of our troop was a Swedish Count, and at this point
I recall a little incident which it will not be amiss to relate. We
had unloaded our horses and were awaiting orders, when the Count
approached me and said:
“Bill, ven do ve eat?”
“I guess we don’t eat, Count,” I replied; “these are the horrors of
war.”
“Vell, py tam,” said the Count, “dis vore vas all horrores. I vanted
to blay benuckle on der train und der corporal say: ‘You go mit der
baggage car, unt cook some beans,’ unt by tam, I couldn’t cook vater
yet.”
We remained at Falls Church over night, and in the morning marched to
Camp Alger through blinding torrents of rain and fetlock-deep in mud.
This camp, like most Southern camps, was very unhealthy, the heat was
stifling, and many soldiers succumbed to fever. Here the troops of
cavalry were consolidated into a squadron, consisting of Troop “A” of
New York, Troop “C” of Brooklyn, “City Troop” of Philadelphia,
“Sheridan Troop” of Tyrone, and “The Governor’s Troop” of Harrisburg,
under the command of Major Jones, formerly captain of the “Sheridan
Troop,” who relieved Captain Groome, of the “City Troop” of
Philadelphia, who had been temporarily in command.
Camp Alger was a city of tents, as far as the eye could discern in
every direction, there being about thirty thousand soldiers in the
camp. My first duty at this Post was a detail as “orderly,” at General
Graham’s headquarters. With a well-groomed horse, polished saddle, and
soldierly immaculateness, I reported for duty. Entering the General’s
spacious tent and saluting, I said:
“Sir, Trooper Adams, of the ‘Governor’s Troop,’ reports as orderly to
the Commanding General.”
“Very well,” replied the General; “give the Colonel of the Second
Tennessee my compliments and tell him I will review his regiment at
4.30 P.M.”
“Yes, sir, but, by the way, General,” said I, “where is the Second
Tennessee located?”
“Make an about face and follow your nose,” the old man replied, and I
did; but if the old General could have heard the mute invectives aimed
at him I probably never would have told this yarn. I do not blame him
now, as I realize how unmilitary I was. I had no difficulty in finding
the Colonel of the Second Tennessee, as I kept my nose right in front
of me.
The news of the victory of Santiago was celebrated by the troops in
gorgeous style. Regiment followed regiment in wild acclaim, cheers
after cheers resounded from the throats of the thirty thousand
soldiers who were anxiously awaiting their call to the front. Bonfires
of tar barrels were kept burning all night, and the excitement of the
camp was intense.
The cavalry was ordered to Newport News to await the arrival of the
transports; but, unlike the Sixth Massachusetts, that was stoned in
Baltimore at the outbreak of the rebellion, our greetings in the South
were exceptionally friendly. At Richmond bouquets of flowers were
scattered in profusion among the soldiers, and many a fair maiden left
the station with a pair of cross sabers pinned to her shirtwaist.
Our camp at Newport News was on sandy soil on the banks of the James
River, which afforded excellent bathing and fishing. Here the cavalry
received their khaki uniforms, which were the first issued to United
States troops and had the appearance of an officer’s regimentals. As a
consequence it was a common sight to see a “doughboy” saluting a
trooper as he strolled through the city. A member of a Kentucky
regiment was heard to remark: “That Pennsylvania cavalry is hot stuff;
they are all officers.”
A few days after pitching camp, something happened; it is an occasion
when a soldier possesses that air of complacency which invariably
pervades the atmosphere. It is when the “ghost walks” (pay day) that
the soldier is not only happy, but has a keen desire for making every
one with whom he comes in contact happy. As a dispenser of pleasure,
when he has “the necessary,” his speed brooks no competition, and all
others look like “pikers” compared with “the man behind the gun.”
In 1898 Barton’s Theatre and Concert Hall was a nightly scene of
revelry, by cavalry, artillery, and infantry, and from a spectator’s
point of view it was hard to decide which was of more interest, the
scenes in front or in rear of the footlights. Songs that reached a
soldier’s heart were sung by dashing “prima donnas from the
cottonfields of Dixie,” the soldiers joining in the chorus. After the
“ghost had walked” this particular concert hall fell into the hands of
the boys, among whom was found talent far surpassing anything behind
the footlights. The soubrettes of the ballet dance mingled with the
boys, and these scenes were equivalent to the “Can Can” of the famous
“Red Mill” of Paris, or a Creole “Bal Masque” during a New Orleans
“Mardi Gras.”
As the orchestra struck up the music to “For he is only a Soldier
Boy,” a dashing southern beauty, in military costume, would saunter to
the footlights, accompanied by a chorus of lesser lights, whose
evolutions, combined with their singing, were extremely pretty and
inspiring to the soldiers. This sketch brought forth deafening
applause, dying out only as a trooper announced that he would endeavor
to recite “The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere,” or perhaps “Tam
O’Shanter,” while another would volunteer to inflict us with “Casey at
the Bat” or “The Face upon the Bar-room Floor,” to the mournful
strains from the dirge of Imogen, a sure harbinger for the dispensers
of “sangaree” to get busy and take orders. Another song, and the dance
was on once more and continued until the “dog watch” of the night,
when the soldiers realized that at reveille every man must be in ranks
to answer to the call of his name or suffer the alternative, a berth
in the “brig.”
This was the bright side of war, and, as each soldier was intent on
getting to the front, it was the exception rather than the rule to
hear of a misdemeanor being committed, or even to hear of a man being
confined to the “guard house.”
Newport News was a gay place in ’98. Its people were very hospitable
and friendly with the troops. Old Point Comfort and the Forts of
Hampton Roads were but a short run by rail from the camp, and these
were favorite resorts of the soldiers. Great excitement prevailed when
the order for the Porto Rican expedition――“Pennsylvania Cavalry to the
front”――was received.
The transport _Manitoba_ had been fitted from an old cattle scow to a
serviceable troop-ship, and had just returned from conveying a
detachment of “Rough Riders” to Cuba. This vessel was spacious but
lacking in the accommodations of our present-day transports that ply
the Pacific. Considerable time was spent in getting our horses and
munitions of war on board. When the signal to cast loose and provide
was given we had on board three troops of cavalry, three batteries of
field artillery, one battalion of Kentucky infantry, and detachments
of engineer, hospital, and signal corps, seven hundred head of horses,
and three hundred head of mules, besides the cargo of munitions of
war.
Our time on board was occupied in preparing for a harder campaign than
materialized. Carbines and six-shooters were oiled, and sabers
burnished (the scabbards of these, being nickel-plated, required
merely a coating of oil to keep them from rust). Our boots were
greased, and the front and rear sights of our carbines were blackened.
The boys scalloped the rims of their campaign hats, and some were
tattooed by adepts in the art. Cards and reading were other pastimes
of the voyage.
The fifth day out the United States cruiser _Columbia_ and battleship
_Indiana_ were sighted; they had come to convoy the ship into the
harbor of Playa Del Ponce. Arriving in the harbor at night, we had the
misfortune to run on a sand-bar, where, being compelled to anchor with
a list of about forty degrees, the possibility of our landing at night
became rather vague. While making preparations for an attempt to land,
a heavy gale encompassed the bay, making our position perilous, and,
as this continued throughout the following day, it was with the utmost
difficulty that our horses and mules were landed, a number of them
being swung overboard and allowed to swim ashore.
Having finally reached the ground of the enemy, great precaution was
taken to avoid a surprise; the water was inspected to make sure that
it contained no poisonous substance and the orders in posting
sentinels were rigidly enforced――each sentry before being posted had
to be thoroughly familiar with his orders, being required to repeat
them verbatim, and was also admonished as to the importance of keeping
constantly on the alert. He was forewarned that to be found asleep on
post in the enemy’s country meant to be tried by court-martial and if
convicted to suffer the penalty of death.
Our first rendezvous was alongside of an old Spanish cathedral,
surrounded by plantations of sugarcane, coffee, hemp, and tobacco;
here we pitched a camp of shelter or “dog-tents” as they were
generally called. As we were getting our accoutrements of war in shape
the rapid fire of the Sixteenth Pennsylvania engaging the enemy could
be distinctly heard, this engagement, however, being of short
duration, like all other Spanish-American encounters in the West
Indies.
Playa Del Ponce is the port of the city of Ponce, and is the shipping
point for that section of the Island of Porto Rico. The town is
surrounded by rich plantations of tobacco, coffee, sugarcane, and
rice, also trees teeming with oranges, cocoanuts, guavas, lemons,
grape-fruit, and groves of bananas and plantains. The staple
production of the island is tobacco, from which is manufactured a very
choice brand of cigars. The city of Ponce lies inland a distance of
about three miles, and is typically Spanish in its architecture.
Shortly after our arrival at Playa Del Ponce, I had occasion to take
my horse in the ocean for a swim, which was great sport and beneficial
to the animal. In dismounting on my return to the beach, I had the
painful misfortune to tread on a thin sea shell which penetrated my
heel, breaking into several pieces. On my return to the camp I found
the troop surgeon had left for Ponce, so seeking the assistance of a
Spanish-Porto Rican physician, one Garcia Del Valyo, I was relieved
after considerable probing, of the broken pieces of shell. The wet
season being in progress and our hospital facilities limited, the
doctor kindly offered me quarters in his beautiful residence, and
recommended to my troop commander that I remain at his home until my
wound had healed. To this the officer acquiesced.
I was given a room overlooking the bay on one side, with the town
bounding the other; a crutch and an oil-cloth shoe were provided for
me, with which I was able to hobble around with the two beautiful
daughters of the old gentleman, namely, Anita and Consuelo Del Valyo.
They spoke the Anglo-Saxon language fairly well and taught me my first
lessons in Spanish, while I in return instructed them in my language.
Both were artistes, being skilled in painting, sculpture, and music,
and I often recall the happy evenings spent listening to the sweet
notes of “La Paloma” as sung to the trembling tones of a mandolin
accompaniment. Traditional custom permitted the piano and various
Spanish songs during the day, but never “La Paloma,” wine, and the
“Fandango” until after twilight. It was a picturesque sight to watch
these senoritas perform the “Fandango,” clicking the castanets and
gracefully tapping the tambourine as they whirled through coils of
cigarette smoke.
I spent nine days in this hospitable domicile and was sorry when my
wound had healed, but alas! I had to join my troop, which had departed
for the interior. Before leaving Playa Del Ponce, I was presented with
a small gold case containing the miniatures of these charming ladies.
During the campaign on the island, I made several trips in to see
them, accompanied by members of the troop, and before our departure
from Porto Rico, had the extreme pleasure of attending a genuine Porto
Rican “Fiesta.” It is sad to relate that the entire family suffered
the fate of a large percentage of the population of Playa Del Ponce,
in the terrible tidal wave which swept that portion of the island in
1899. Far be it from me to ever forget the kindness, engaging
presence, and irresistible charm of these unfortunate people.
On my way to join the troop, I met the Sixteenth Pennsylvania
Infantry, escorting about eight hundred prisoners of war into the
city, where they were to remain in incarceration until the arrival of
the transports which were to convey the Spanish soldiers to Spain.
When they halted near the old stockade in the city of Ponce I secured
some unique curios including a Spanish coronet of solid gold (a watch
charm), rings, knives, Spanish coins, and ornaments of various kinds.
Having finally reached my troop and reported for duty, I joined my old
“bunkies,” Young and Turnbach, and learned from them that the soldiers
were starving to death on a diet commonly known as “canned Eagan,”
others dubbed it “embalmed beef” and swore that no cattle were ever
taken alive that supplied such meat, as they were too tough to
surrender. Suffice it to say it was at least a very unwholesome diet.
The British bull-dog “Jack,” a “blue ribbon” winner that had been
purchased at a London dog-show by Norman Parke, a member of the troop,
was a worthy “mascot” and general favorite among the soldiers of the
squadron. Parke, having been detailed as orderly to Colonel Castleman,
which necessitated his absence from the troop, presented the dog to
Trooper Schuyler Ridgeway, in whom “Jack” found an indulgent master.
Schuyler, in order to demonstrate the quality of the “encased
mystery,” had a can of it tapped, and invited the dog to sink his
teeth in it. “Jack” with true bull-dog sagacity refused, realizing, I
presume, that it would be attempted suicide, and withdrawing a short
distance gave vent to his spleen by a wicked growl, after which a
pitiful whine which seemed to say, “Home was never like this.” Reed,
the ranger, said he had played the starvation game before, even to
chopping wood in some kind lady’s woodshed for his dinner, and added
that Spanish bullets were only a side line to the present grit he had
hit.
Camp life in the tropics in active service was not without its
pleasures, however, and, as fruit grew in abundance, sustenance was
maintained even if it was of the Indian variety. Details of mounted
scouting parties galloped through the mountains daily, taking
observations and frequently exchanging shots with guerrillas, who in
riding and marksmanship were no match for the American troopers. The
cavalry squadron figured in several skirmishes, but the retreat of the
Spanish from the carbine volleys and glittering sabers of their foe
put them to rout, so that I doubt if the same troops ever reassembled.
At last the news of the armistice was received, hostilities had
ceased, and preparations for the trip to the home land were begun.
Hither and thither we had marched for months, in cold and hot
climates, slept in rain under ponchos with saddle-bags for pillows,
lived on the scanty rations of field service, and now the time had
come for our return, the war being practically over. The transport
_Mississippi_, a miserable specimen of “troop-ship,” had been put at
our disposal, and was to convey the greater part of General Miles’
expedition to New York City.
After striking camp and loading all the equipage of war accessories
onto army schooners, a march of a few hours brought the cavalry to the
point of embarkation. Playa Del Ponce presented a spectacle of grand
military activity. Soldiers representing the army in all its branches
were busily engaged in storing aboard ship the munitions of war and
necessary rations for the homeward bound voyage. The artillery and
cavalry were spared the irksome duty of loading their horses, these
animals being left behind for the relief of the “regulars.” When all
was in readiness and the signal given, the “homeward bound pennant”
was flown to the breeze, as the ship’s bell tolled seven. Steaming
northwest over a sea of calm saline billows, three cheers from the
deck of the transport resounded to the shore, and, as the troops
wafted adieu to this verdant island of the West Indies, it was with
silent regret that lack of opportunity had prevented them from
accomplishing the notable achievements of their forefathers――but such
are the fortunes of war.
Our return was uneventful until we reached Sandy Hook, where the
transport was met and convoyed through New York Harbor by myriads of
yachts, launches, and tugs loaded with relatives and friends of the
boys who had offered their lives for their country and many of whom
the grim reaper had grasped from loving ties and the comradeship of
their compatriots.
The reception in New York City was one grand elaboration of
hospitality, evidenced by the demonstration of the thousands of people
who thronged the landing place. Numerous bands of music played
inspiring airs, as the city’s fair ladies dispensed chicken sandwiches
and demijohns of wine to the soldiers, while others fairly covered the
squadron with garlands of beautiful flowers. The reception in New York
lasted about four hours, after which the “Governor’s Troop,” led by
its gallant commander, Captain (now Major) Ott, of Harrisburg,
Pennsylvania, marched to and boarded a section of Pennsylvania
Railroad coaches, and was ere long rolling over the rails toward the
capital of the Keystone State.
On the arrival at Harrisburg, the home of the “Governor’s Troop,” an
immense demonstration awaited the boys. Leaving the train in their
worn habiliments of the jungle, the troopers were soon dressed in
ranks, answered roll call, had counted off, and were marching behind a
band of music, under a bower of pyrotechnics that resembled a
mythological scene in “Hades.” After parading through the principal
streets of the city, the troop was marched to the armory, which was
beautifully decorated for the occasion; here the battle-scarred heroes
of a successful campaign sat down to a banquet, over which an host of
Harrisburg’s fair maidens presided. Oh for a moving picture of that
scene! Each soldier wore a vestige of the pretty silk neckerchief the
Harrisburg ladies had presented him with. Speeches were made by
prominent citizens, songs were sung and toasts responded to, and it
was with a feeling of deep appreciation that the troop left the
banquet hall to seek a much-needed rest. The following day was spent
in meeting friends and relating episodes of the campaign.
[Illustration: A TROOPER]
The Hazletonian complement of the “Governor’s Troop” had been apprised
of a demonstration awaiting them at their home city, and upon the
reception of the prescribed two months’ furlough, departed for the
scene of the climax to the campaign. This Hazleton greeting was the
most enthusiastic reception of all, perhaps because this was home.
Alighting from the cars amidst thousands of people who thronged the
platform and streets, the soldiers were met by a committee, relatives,
and friends, and it was with great difficulty that the horses provided
for the troopers were reached. As each man swung into the saddle, the
famous old Liberty Band struck up a march, and as the procession,
consisting of the Band, Reception Committee, Clergy, Grand Army,
National Guard, Police, Fire Department, Secret Organizations, and
others, turned into the main street of the city, a burst of exultation
extolled the welcome home, and as the line of march advanced between
thousands of people under a bower of phosphorescence it was with a
keen sensibility of delight that we had lived to enjoy such a unique
and prodigious reception. A sumptuous banquet was tendered the
cavalrymen in the spacious dining-hall of the Central Hotel, where
addresses and toasts were made by prominent Hazletonians, terminating
a successful campaign of the “Governor’s Troop.” After the expiration
of the two months’ furlough, this troop of cavalry was mustered out of
the service of the United States.
II.
On Board a Man-of-war from New York to Morocco
Admiral’s Orderly on the U. S. Cruiser _New York_――A Storm on the
Atlantic――Duties of a Marine――The Author Reads his own
Obituary――Under the Guns of Gibraltar――A Bull-fight in
Spain――Pressing an Indemnity Against the Sultan of Morocco――An
American Subject Burned at the Stake by Moors――Burial in Morocco
of a Shipmate.
The Boxer outbreak in China in 1900 attracted the attention of the
entire civilized world, and was the incitement that inspired many of
an adventurous turn of mind to cast their fortunes with the allied
forces in suppressing the depredations of the Tartar tribes in the
land of the Heathen Chinee. In August, 1900, while a spectator at the
Corbett-McCoy bout, in “Madison Square Garden,” New York, I learned,
from a chief petty officer of the battleship _Massachusetts_, that the
United States cruiser _New York_, lying in dry dock at the Brooklyn
Navy Yard, was being rapidly prepared to be put in commission, and was
to be the “flag-ship” of Rear Admiral Rodgers, who was destined for a
cruise to the Chinese coast. Upon further inquiries at the Navy Yard,
I heard this news authentically corroborated, and at once determined
to see the Orient.
A battalion of marines under the command of Major Waller had won
laurels in Tien Tsin and Pekin, being among the first to enter the
Forbidden City. Keeping tabs on the daily progress of the war, I
became more and more interested, and, having learned that marines were
the first landing force during hostilities, I enlisted in this branch
of the service, and ere long was installed in the “Lyceum” of the
Brooklyn Navy Yard operating telephone switches. From my window in the
“Lyceum” I could gaze on the sailors who were rapidly putting the big
cruiser in readiness for her cruise around the world; for, contrary to
expectations, the order to proceed direct to China was abrogated in
lieu of an indemnity which required pressure in Morocco.
Having made application for the “marine guard” of the _New York_,
which consisted of seventy-two men, one captain, and one lieutenant, I
was very much pleased when informed that my application had been
approved of, and that I was to prepare to board the vessel in the
capacity of “orderly” to the admiral. I was relieved from duty in the
“Lyceum” and ordered to join the “guard,” which had been undergoing a
process of special drill.
On being ordered aboard the ship, we were assigned to quarters,
instructed as to our stations for boat drill, fire drill, large gun
drill, abandon ship, arm and away, strip ship for action, collision
drill, and the positions of alignment on the quarter-deck, where the
“present arms,” the courtesy extended to military and civil
dignitaries at home and abroad, had to be daily executed.
The _New York_, which had been the “flag-ship” of Rear Admiral Bunce,
who commanded the “North Atlantic Squadron,” and later the “flag-ship”
of Rear Admiral Sampson at the battle of Santiago, was in 1900 the
show ship of the navy, making a magnificent appearance while under
way. She carried a complement of six eight-inch guns, twelve
four-inch, and ten six-pounders, and had a speed of more than
twenty-one knots per hour.
A feature of the _New York_ was her enormous engine strength compared
with her weight, the battleship _Indiana_ developing nine thousand
horse-power on a ten thousand two hundred ton displacement, while that
of the cruiser _New York_ was seventeen thousand horse-power on a
displacement of eight thousand two hundred tons.
The day having arrived for placing the vessel in commission, a galaxy
of army and navy officers, civilians, and beautiful women assembled on
the quarter-deck, which was inclosed and draped with flags of all
nations. Orderlies were kept busy announcing the arrival of the guests
to the admiral and captain, many of whose names included exclusive
members of New York’s “Four Hundred,” whose ancestral genealogies,
emblazoned with ensigns of heraldry, adorn their multitudinous――what
not?――though ofttimes, let it be known, the power and honor behind the
throne can be traced to the purchasing power of filthy lucre. Not
unlike the “Sons and Daughters of the Revolution,” whose sacred
heritage and portals have been defiled by the presence of incognizable
descendants of ancestors who in reality were unloyal to the colonies,
Tories of King George III., some of whom sat in that august body the
“General Assembly” and cried Treason! Treason! as Patrick Henry
introduced his famous resolutions in denunciation of the Stamp Act,
and in a passionate burst of eloquence uttered those
never-to-be-forgotten words, “Cæsar had his Brutus, Charles the First
his Cromwell, and George the Third”――pausing awhile during the
interruption by Tories, calmly added――“may profit by their example.”
Wafting adieu to old New York town, our sea-going home steamed out of
New York harbor and down along the Atlantic coast to Hampton Roads,
our first stop, anchoring midway between Fortress Monroe and the “Rip
Raps,” where tons of coal were placed in the bunkers.
Coaling ship is the most disagreeable work a sailor can perform, but,
as the task is usually accomplished in one day, each man tackles the
work with that heroic resolve which has so characterized the American
“man-of-war’s-man” in battle.
Immediately after coaling, the ship is thoroughly cleansed from truck
to kelson; the decks are holy-stoned and the berth deck is shackled,
after which the men take a thorough shower-bath, don immaculate
uniforms, and all has the refreshing appearance of a swan on a lake.
The essential duty of a “marine” on board a ship is to preserve order;
he fulfils the position of both sailor and soldier, and, while he is
sometimes dubbed a leather-neck, on account of his tight-fitting
uniform, by his more aquatically uniformed shipmate, it is
nevertheless noticeable that he is the first to cross the gang-plank
when there is trouble in the wind; and the number of “medals of honor”
and “certificates of merit” that have been awarded to marines since
1898 is the mute indubitable evidence of his fidelity and bravery;
however, this is not to be construed in any way to detract from the
loyalty of our brave “Jack tars.”
Our ocean voyage from the Atlantic coast to the Fortress of Gibraltar
was beset with difficulties, due to a severe storm we encountered the
second day out, in which one of our cutters or life-boats was washed
away. This it seems was picked up by a “liner” _en route_ to Havre,
France, and, as we were four days overdue at Gibraltar, it was
believed that the cruiser had gone down with all on board. Some time
later along the African coast, it was amusing to read, in the Paris
edition of the New York _Herald_, our own obituary, and to see the
picture of the “flag-ship” and her crew going down to “Davy Jones’s
locker.”
The storm abated as we came in sight of the Madeira Islands, but,
owing to our being overdue at the “Rock,” we were compelled to pass
this beautiful place without stopping. The voyage from the Madeiras to
the straits was quite calm, and we were again able to eat soup without
the aid of a dipper.
When off duty I spent a great deal of time playing chess and reading.
We had an excellent library stocked with the best editions from the
pens of the most famous authors; besides a piano and excellent
performers, among these being the ship’s printer, E. Ludwig, well
known prior to his enlistment by the author.
As outlines of the “Pillars of Hercules” appeared on the horizon, it
was evident that in a very few hours we would be plowing the waters of
the great Mediterranean Sea. The quartermaster and signal-men were
busy getting their signal-flags in shape, ammunition was hoisted for
the salute, and the marine guard and band were busy policing
themselves for the part they had to play in entering a foreign port.
Passing through the Straits of Gibraltar, which separate the mainland
of Europe and Africa, we beheld, looming into the clouds, the most
magnificent and impregnable fortress of the world, Gibraltar.
As we entered the bay of Algesiras, the huge guns of the fortress and
battleships of various nations belched forth an admiral’s salute of
thirteen guns; these were responded to by the American “flag-ship.”
Gibraltar is an impregnable promontory fortress, seven miles around at
the base, and forms the southern extremity of Spain. It is fourteen
hundred and forty feet high at its highest point, is studded with
disappearing guns, and its honeycombed caverns contain munitions of
war for a campaign of many years.
The population of Gibraltar is composed of English, Spaniards, Jews,
and Moors. A causey separates the town from the mainland of Spain. The
British side is patrolled by British soldiers, who are so close to the
Spanish sentries that the challenge can be heard at night by either
side.
We remained in Gibraltar ten days, and had the pleasure of meeting a
large number of English soldiers and sailors at the “Royal Naval
Canteen,” where we swapped stories over a can of “shandy gaff,” which
is a mixture of stout and ginger ale.
At the solicitation of some of the soldiers of the Royal Artillery, we
Americans accompanied them to the town of Algesiras, in Spain, to
witness a bull-fight. Engaging passage to a point of landing about
five miles across the bay, we embarked with a pent-up feeling of
excitement, overly eager to see the gay Castilians in their holiday
attire turn out _en masse_ for their national sport.
On our arrival in town, we found business practically suspended, and
all making their way to the arena, which was enclosed by a high board
fence. On being admitted, we at once became objects of considerable
scrutiny, as the war fever had scarcely died out.
Venders were busy disposing of their wares; senoritas, gayly bedecked
in flowers and loud colors, seemed to bubble over with enthusiasm;
horsemen galloped through the enclosure, and bands of music thrilled
this novel audience with inspiration. As we took our seats and
patiently awaited the onslaught, a sickening silence cast its pall
over this picturesque assemblage. This was momentary, however, as a
blast from a bugle was followed by the entrance of the alguazil and
mounted toreadors in costumes of velvet; the arrival of these
gladiators of the arena was heralded with a tumult of cheers, which
became deafening as the gate was thrown open and the bull rushed in.
Mounted picadors were stationed in various parts of the arena, whose
duty it was to infuriate the animal by thrusting banderillas, or
spikes with ribbons attached, into the animal’s shoulders, others
waved robes or capes for the same effect. Charge after charge was made
on the matadore, who gracefully side-stepped the attack and awaited
the return of the bull, which had become frantic from the sting of the
banderillas.
The last charge is made with defiance, but alas! is met with the
undaunted courage of the matadore, whose fatal blade reaches a vital
spot, adding another victory to his list of successful combats.
“Bravo! Bravo!” yell the maddened crowd, as the victor is showered
with compliments and carried from the arena. Preparations immediately
follow for a continuance of this semi-barbaric sport, and in like
manner each encounter was attended with the same skill of the matadore
and enthusiasm of the spectators.
On leaving the arena, it was with little wonder at the Spanish for
their marked devotion to this their national sport, as it proved to be
exceedingly fascinating and fraught with great excitement.
On our return to Gibraltar we journeyed to the naval canteen, where
sailors and marines of the British battleships _Endymion_ and
_Ben-bow_ were laying the foundation for a session of joy, the Boer
war being the chief topic of discussion.
During the day the Governor-General of Gibraltar, Sir George White,
whose appointment had recently followed his winning the “Victoria
Cross” while in command of troops in South Africa, had been
entertained on board the American ship, in company with other notables
of the army and navy.
After the ship had been coaled and various stores taken aboard,
anchors were weighed and the vessel steamed for Morocco, a sultanate
on the northwest coast of Africa. On reaching the straits the signal
was given to strip ship for action, all unnecessary impediment was
removed from the gun-decks and superstructure, awnings were furled and
secured by gasket, spars and davits lowered and all secured in places
of safety, while the big eight-inch turret guns free from tompions
were trained abeam or at right angles to the ship’s keel.
On entering the harbor of Tangier, the customary salute was fired;
this was answered by the crumbling old forts of the Moors, relics of
the Dark Ages and monuments of antiquity.
As the cruiser anchored with her starboard battery trained on the
city, it was evident that the visit was of far greater import than
that of a mere social call.