as the mystical representation of his every move, like a phantom
depicting anything and everything, was cast along the ground and pier
as if superinduced by some supernatural agency. Merely prowling for
the choicest bars, I soliloquized. Hark! “Number one, one o’clock and
all is well!” The stillness of the night had been broken by the
sentries calling off the hour. “Number two, one o’clock and all is
well!” “Number three, one o’clock and all is well!” “Number four, one
o’clock and all is well!” “All is well!” repeated sentry number one at
the guard-house as he continued on his beat. “Third relief, fall in!
Get a move on, boys! The officer of the day is apt to be lurking
around!” commanded the corporal of the guard, as the men promptly fell
into their proper places for posting formation. “Count off!” commanded
the non-commissioned officer, each man counting the number of his
post. “Port arms! Open chambers! Close chambers! Order arms! Number
one!” As number one was being posted, the sergeant of the guard
interposed: “Corporal, I want those sentries to turn over not only
their special orders but their general orders as well; see that they
know them thoroughly: have them tell you what is to be done in case of
fire, and be sure that they know where the fire-plugs are located.
Butt Plate Willie is officer of the day and is raising hell around
here because the sentries don’t know their orders; now, they better
get wise to the military or off come their belts.” “Pshaw! Butt Plate
Willie don’t know his own orders,” ejaculated the corporal as he gave
the command, “Shoulder arms! Right face! Forward march!”
The shadow had taken another position and seemed to be in kneeling
posture at the rifle-range, setting the wind-gauge of his rifle for
the prone figure in the skirmish run.
The corporal was marching the old relief back to the guard-house, as
sentry number one called out, “Number one, half past one and all is
well!” followed in succession by each sentry calling off the hour.
Each man of the relief, on falling out, kicked like a mule for being
detained overtime on post.
It was half past one and surely time for me to make the rounds through
my various posts of duty.
At this instant the shadow disappeared, followed by the dull sound of
dislodged copper. The moon had taken a position behind a dark cloud,
which gave me an opportunity to skirt the end of the pier to another
secluded spot where I could await its reappearance, when I could
positively determine whether this shadow was an apparition, a reality,
or merely a transcript in the memory formed by the imagination of
phantasy.
As the lunar glow beamed through the clouds, the outlines of a soldier
appeared to my view, merely the profile, with his face resting in the
palms of his hands. I momentarily seized this opportunity and pounced
upon my prey, and, for the “love of Mike,” who was it but “Stormy
Bill,” a “character” at the post. “Ha! ha! What in hell are you doing
here? robbing the copper pile, hey?” I exclaimed, knowing in my heart
Bill was as honest as the night was long. Like the raven, Bill quoth,
“Never more.” “What brought you here at this hour of the night?” I
asked. “Bad whiskey,” sighed Bill, his light of enthusiasm burning
dimly. “I hid a flask here yesterday and came here to-night to look
for it.” “Yes, and keep me prowling around all night expecting every
minute to be shot by copper thieves,” I interposed. “You’re a fine
specimen of a marine! What do you think this navy yard is, a picnic
ground?” Continuing, “Now you draw yourself together quick or I’ll
have you manacled and thrown in the brig.” “Ah!” he said, “cut out the
strong talk. I came here to look for a flask of rye, I am not going to
run away with the copper pile.” “That will do you,” I said. “You have
evidently found the rye, and I want you to blow out of here.” “Yes,”
said “Stormy,” “I have found it.――Eureka! Let’s go.”
I felt like kicking him a few times, then rubbing him with liniment
and kicking him again, merely using the liniment to keep him from
becoming callous lest he should fail to feel the kicks.
He became garrulous, and, in order to get him to the barracks without
falling into the hands of the guard, it was necessary for me to walk
him about two miles to reach one-fourth the distance. Having piloted
him over lawns and through the shade of the leafy trees, we finally
reached his quarters, where his affable disposition required him to
apologize for my trouble, and, thanking me, he hied off to his cot.
“Stormy,” in the parlance of the soldier, was “good people,” his
greatest fault was in being on too good terms with old “Cyrus Noble.”
A few weeks after this event I left “Stormy” behind, having been
ordered to another post.
_En route_ from the Philippines with the Twenty-ninth Infantry in
1909, as the transport pulled up to the pier at Honolulu a voice from
the dock called out my name. Leaning over the taffrail, whom should I
see but “Stormy Bill!” He had been made a non-commissioned officer in
a battery of artillery and was stationed on the Island of Oahu.
Mare Island covers considerable space in the Bay of San Francisco,
lying about sixteen miles northwest of the “Golden Gate” overlooking
the bay and Pacific Ocean. It is the naval base of California.
While stationed at this post I frequently ran over to “Frisco,” either
by steam-boat or rail, where with a good convivival bunch I joined in
the festivities at such temples of mirth as the famous “Poodle Dog,”
from whose showy tiers or projecting balconies the pageants and
processions of Market Street could be seen passing by, as the guests,
environed by the sweet notes of a Hungarian rhapsody, were the
embodiment of gayety and content. Lombardi’s, famous for Italian
“table d’hôte” dinners and particularly noted for their mode of
preparing macaroni; Svenguenetti’s, whose reputation in crustacean
specialties, particularly in the culinary of lobsters and shrimps, was
known to the Bohemians far and wide. Zinkand’s, and scores of others,
where the music thrilled one’s very soul, and where the nymphs of the
“Golden West” could tell you how to braid a lariat and a quirt, break
a pony, and twirl the rope, and, although not adepts at the game of
golf, could tell some funny stories of picking hops under Western
skies. Kearney Street, which afforded the halls for the graceful
glide, wherein could be found the same aspect of the West of frontier
days. Prepossessing maidens in scalloped buckskin skirts, high-topped
shoes, sombreros beautifully banded with Indian beads, and corsages
cut very décolletée, danced with gallant young fellows whose costumes
savored of the Mexican variety and whose bright and breezy effulgence
was conducive to the merriment of the night. The Orpheum, Oberon, Log
Cabin, Cascade, and the Grotto, all flourished in prosperous
placidity, through a long chain of patronage of the world’s bohemians
since the days of the path-finding “Forty-niners.”
Occasionally we tripped to “Mechanic’s Pavilion,” to witness the
knights of the fistic art battle for supremacy, and note the radiant
smiles of the shining lights of the arena as a “knockout” was
perfected. But alas! the old haunts of Market and Ellis Streets and
the beautiful edifices of the old-time “Frisco”――where are they? The
echo answers, “Where?” Vanished with the stroke of nature’s wand, that
calamitous earthquake and subsequent fire of 1906, in whose train the
mournful ravages of devastation grinned in fiendish glee.
Though similar to the overwhelming destruction of the ancient city of
Campania, San Francisco’s ruin was not irremediable, for, like the
surprisingly sudden demolition, there burst into view, like spring
flowers following a thunder-storm, the magnificent new city of the
“Golden Gate,” blazing in the zenith of prosperity. It may be
necessary to make inquiries or perhaps consult a city directory, but
you will find the same old joyful haunts flourishing as of yore.
My tour of duty at Mare Island was brought to a close on being ordered
to New York to join the mobilization of the St. Louis battalion.
XI.
Semper Fidelis――the Guard of Honor
U.S. Marines at the St. Louis Exposition――Veterans of Various
Expeditions――Mobilization at Washington, D. C.――Arrival in St.
Louis――An Ideal Military Camp――Exhibition Drills, Marines in
Bohemia――The Spanish Señoritas of Old Madrid――Coleens and Harpists
of the Emerald Isle――Cheyenne Joe’s Rocky Mt. Inn――Palm Garden
Dances in the “Wee Sma” Hours――Chaperoning a Theatrical Party――A
Dinner at the Tyrolean Alps――A Famous “Broadway” Actress Meets
Geronimo the Apache Chief――Marines Battle with Filipino
Scouts――Arrival of Mounted Police, Farewell to the “Fair”――Oh,
Maryland, My Maryland.
The battalion of marines that composed the Guard of Honor at the
Louisiana Purchase Exposition in St. Louis in 1904 was the finest
representation of Uncle Sam’s sea soldiers that has ever been
mobilized. In order to meet the requirements in organizing this
battalion, it was necessary to select men from the Atlantic, European,
and Asiatic fleets, besides the various navy yards of the United
States. The requirements of the navy department in selecting material
for this detachment were: that each man must be not under five feet
and eight inches in height and of military bearing, a veteran of
foreign service, possessing an excellent character and a clean
military record. Several months were spent in securing the necessary
quota to complete these essential conditions, which, when perfected,
represented not only the flower of the United States Marine Corps, but
a worthy rival for honors with the best military force ever organized.
Washington, D. C., was the site of our mobilization. Every member of
the battalion was exempt from duty, save that which tended to the
arduous exhibit of military evolutions, calisthenics, and bayonet
exercise. The drill in these was strenuous; five hours each day under
the tutorage of a skilful drill-master soon brought the battalion to a
state of perfection. The famous United States Marine Band furnished
the music during these drills, and the pleasure derived from this
alone offset the tedium of manœuvre.
Each man was perfectly fitted by a tailor for the eight uniforms which
he was required to have; these were of blue, khaki, and white duck.
Every article of his wearing apparel had to be an exact fit, from
shoes to cap. Every article of equipment and all accoutrements were
issued brand new. Flags, tents, ditty-boxes, cots, blankets,
mosquito-bars, rifles, six-shooters, bayonets, belts, canteens,
haversacks, toilet-sets were all fresh and new.
The Louisiana Purchase Exposition, which commemorated the centennial
of the purchase of the Louisiana Territory in 1803, opened April 30,
1904, and closed December 1, of the same year.
The site of the Marine Camp was near and on the west side of the
Palace of Liberal Arts, lying between the Liberal Arts building and
the Intramural Railway, near the Government building, and north of the
Tyrolean Alps, lagoons, and cascades.
May 20, 1904, the day set for our departure from Washington to St.
Louis, was an ideal day in every respect. The Marine Band discoursed
inspiring music, and, as the battalion of two hundred marines, under
the command of Major (now Colonel) Mahoney, made their appearance on
the parade-ground, the band took a position reaching from the arcade
of Marine Headquarters to the street. First call was sounded, followed
by assembly, each marine took his place in line, the roll was called,
and the battalion formed. As the stentorian voice of the battalion
commander rang out, “Battalion, attention! Right forward, fours right!
March!” the Marine Band struck up, “Under the double eagle,” as the
entire column swung into Pennsylvania Avenue. All along the route to
the Pennsylvania Railroad station, from sidewalks and windows, the
battalion met with expressions of popular applause. Boarding two
sections of Pullman sleepers with baggage- and dining-cars attached,
each man adjusted himself conformably to his surroundings, with that
decorum born only of military experience. The signal given, the train
rolled out of the station, the band playing, “Meet me in St. Louis,
Louis, meet me at the Fair.”
The men who comprised this “Guard of Honor” were tried and seasoned
veterans: some had been with Dewey at the battle of Manila Bay, some
with the American squadron at Santiago, while others had taken part in
the Philippines insurrection, the “Boxer” campaign in China, the
campaign against hostile Moros, and the Samar expedition. Several had
been awarded certificates of merit for valor by Congress, while at
least one man――namely, Sergeant John Quick, “the hero of
Guantanamo”――was distinguished as possessing that most coveted emblem
of heroism, “the Medal of Honor,” which can be gained only by
exceptional gallantry in action in the presence of the enemy.
To these soldiers of the sea this trip was of considerable moment as
regards the novelty thereof. Thousands of miles had been covered by
land and sea by the majority, who had touched at the ports of every
country on the face of the globe, many of whom having served in the
City of Pekin, China, as members of the Legation Guard; so that this
variation from the irksome duties aboard a man-of-war, or the burning
sun of the tropics, to the more tranquil atmosphere of a model camp at
a “world’s fair,” was more than rejuvenating. The trip was devoid of
the usual skylarking attending a body of raw and untried recruits, and
it is a matter of fact, that, a few days after the arrival at the
Exposition, Major Mahoney received, from the management of the
Pennsylvania Railroad, a letter commending him on the excellent
deportment of his command.
Arriving in St. Louis Sunday morning, May 22, we immediately alighted
from the train, the battalion was formed, and marched to the “Fair”
grounds, through the Olive Street entrance, to the site of our
rendezvous; the colors were hoisted to the flagpole, and by 12 o’clock
noon our camp had been pitched, each A wall tent towering uniformly
over the chalk-marked square on the red shale, and with the precision
of the Barnum and Bailey shows. Each tent had a well-fitting floor,
and between each row of tents stretched a beautiful lawn of grass, on
either side of which was a board-walk. The battalion commander’s
headquarters, as well as the tents of the other officers, faced the
head of the company streets, and were separated by a unique road, over
which vehicles were debarred. The camp was illuminated by large arc
lights. In the rear of the last row of tents stood the sick quarters,
canteen, guard-house, barber-shop, cobbler, tailor, and shower-baths.
The camp was typically a model military village, with all modern
conveniences, even to an up-to-date restaurant which had been erected
purposely for the accommodation of the battalion. This building was
beautifully situated in a shady grove opposite the Kentucky building.
In India the British are noted for their model camps and bungalow
quarters; but an English officer, after seeing the marines in St.
Louis, was heard to remark, that this American camp beggared
description.
[Illustration: U.S. MARINES, WORLD’S FAIR, ST. LOUIS, 1904]
The Plaza Orleans was the scene of daily exhibitions given by the West
Point cadets, Philippine scouts, and United States marines. Thousands
of spectators thronged the roped enclosure daily, and the applause
from these was deafening. Strains of music from a dozen different
bands filled the air, the most famous of these being the United States
Marine Band, Sousa’s, Gilmore’s, Hawaiian, Mexican, Royal Grenadier of
London, Philippines Constabulary, La Republic of France, Band De
Espanol, Neapolitan of Italy, and the army bands,――the Second and
Twenty-fourth Infantry, the latter colored. Besides these there were
scores of others, including bagpipers and the insular band of the
Tagalogs with bamboo instruments.
In addition to the exhibition drills and camp exhibit of the marines,
they also had charge of the naval exhibits in the government building.
Each man had to be thoroughly familiar with the mechanism or history,
as the case might be, of the integral point of each exhibit, in order
to explain and answer questions intelligently. The camp was garrisoned
by a detail of marines, who patrolled on each side of the square, from
the day of our arrival until the close of the “Fair.”
This style of soldiering was a rare treat to the boys; they were given
free admittance to every concession on the grounds, and the six months
spent in the heart of this stupendous show of the earth will ever
remain vivid in the memories of the men who comprised this battalion.
Stretching over a vast area of Forest Park, enclosed by a high board
fence, stood the magnificent Palaces of Varied Industries, Liberal
Art, Agriculture, Mines and Metallurgy, Manufacture and
Transportation, Palaces of Machinery and Electricity, Festival Hall,
and the Cascades, the Government Building, Tyrolean Alps, the Stadium,
Ferris Wheel, and the sunken garden; the camps of the West Point
cadets, Artillery and Infantry; Hospital, Signal, and Life-saving
Corps. Museums containing relics of anthropology, zoölogy, geology,
anthology, and numerous other scientific researches were everywhere in
evidence. In one British concession, soldiers of the “Household”
cavalry of London stood watch over the magnificent “Queen’s Jubilee
presents” which had been presented to Queen Victoria by the nations of
the earth. Five hundred Indians, representing various tribes, in all
their habiliments of war, here flourished at their best, the most
prominent chiefs among these being Geronimo, Iron Mountain, and White
Cloud. Every State in the Union was represented with an appropriate
edifice, that of the State of Missouri being the most imposing.
Statues and images from the chisels of the world’s most famous
sculptors adorned a section in the Palace of Varied Industries, while
the art galleries were filled with the rarest paintings of the most
celebrated artists of all times and all nations.
To enumerate even the most important exhibits of this prodigious
exposition would require volumes, and, for the benefit of those whose
duties prevented them from seeing the “Fair,” I wish to say that it is
impossible to form a conception of the progress this world attained
during the century since the purchase of the Louisiana Territory.
At night the electrical display was a dazzling glitter of
phosphorescence; myriads of incandescent lights of variegated colors
were strung along the lagoons, cascades, and Pike, these combined with
large arc lights completed an illumination of festive splendor.
A group of marines could be found nightly in social session on
Napoleon bridge, a span of the lagoons, meditatively absorbing the
sweet strains of the ever-entrancing Italian Yama Yama, sung by
Venetian “gondoliers,” as they gracefully plied parties in gondolas
through thread-like canals fed by the waters of the cascades. The
inspiration animated by the grandeur of the surroundings on these
occasions, the thrilling sweetness of the singing, to the mellow-toned
accompaniment of mandolins and guitars, had a most electrifying
effect. Music, music, music, music, everywhere; sweethearts, music,
and mirth, that was the slogan. “Love me and the world is mine” is
hummed in chorus by this happy-go-lucky bunch of jolly tars, whose
only responsibilities are confined to the hours of love and duty, and
whose motto is, “Be a good fellow here, and you’ll be a good fellow
there.”
“The Pike, the Pike! let’s shove off for the Pike.” They stop a few
moments to hear the soft tones of Il Trovatore by the famous Hawaiian
band, and exchange greetings with some St. Louis friends, who propose
a mild stimulant for their infirmities which consist chiefly of a
severe thirst that needs quenching. Downey’s cabaret is sought, where
in a cosey corner of bohemia the corks are drawn from ice-cold bottles
of “blue-ribbon” as they sing of “the soft-flowing dreamy old Rhine”
and “Meet me to-night in dreamland.” The latest stories are told and
toasts are drunk to the health of the absent. From the tinkling
glasses of bohemia, the marines meander to the Pike. Ten minutes’ walk
from the north pole to Ireland through a labyrinth of gayety.
Everybody visited the Pike, particularly at night, when the soft pedal
was put on conventionalities and every “piker” became a thoroughbred
bohemian, and then some. Commencing at the north pole you would follow
in rotation on either side of this animated thoroughfare: first the
Galveston flood, an excellent representation of the devastation of
that Texan city: Battle Abbey, with its relics of antiquity, on the
right; cross over, and you see Hobson sinking the _Merrimac_, also the
battle of Santiago. There is a rush, and we find ourselves in Turkey,
watching the slim princess trying to beat it with an American kodak
fiend. After “shooting the chutes” a few times, in order to be sure of
not missing anything, you stroll to a palmy dance-hall and join in a
“Frisco dip” or perhaps a “St. Louis rag,” with liquid refreshments
during the intervals.
From this point you take a boat for the “Garden of Eden” and the
scenes of creation; the dark recesses of this cavernous route were the
cause of many leap-year proposals in 1904. Leaving Paradise you stop
to watch a fellow picking confetti out of his sweetheart’s eyes; he is
laughing, and some one throws a handful of confetti into his mouth; he
swears at this, but he is only joking. A barker on the opposite side
is holding a crowd with his spiel on “Hereafter.” You enter a dark
subterranean passage likened unto the intricate caves in the “Chamber
of Horrors” depicted in Dante’s Inferno, a journey along the river
Styx on the outskirts of hades, and you are transported to Paradise
for a turn along the “golden strand.” Returning to earth, the strains
of music from a Spanish orchestra can be heard in Old Madrid, where
troubadours and matadores exchange stories over a bottle of madeira. A
dark-eyed señorita from Cordova, who wears her clothes well, sings La
Paloma, clicking the castanets to the accompaniment of an orchestra
from Barcelona. “Bravo! bravo!” yell the marines, as she joins them in
a Pall Mall and goblet of wine.
All aboard for St. Petersburg shouts the conductor of the Great
Siberian Express, from Vladivostok to St. Petersburg and return.
“Under and over the sea” pipes a sailor; “take a ride in a submarine,
ten thousand leagues under the sea.” From a balcony over the entrance
to the Old St. Louis arena, “The Cowboy’s Farewell” is being played by
a genuine cowboy band. This arena is the Indian’s favorite place of
amusement, as the scenes are typical of frontier life. Wading ankle
deep in confetti, you enter into the enchantments and desolations of
Paris, with its relics of the Inquisition, Waterloo, and the Bastille,
the bridge of the Invalides, Rue de Rivoli, and Champs Elysées, here
represented in miniature, where songs were sung by gay Parisians.
Further on are the Japanese and Chinese tea-gardens, Cummings’ wild
west show, Hoyle’s fire-fighters, and Hagenbach’s celebrated animal
show.
Arabs with tomtoms are attracting a stream of people to mysterious
Asia. Here you find Hindu jugglers, magicians, and snake-charmers,
Oriental dancers of the hootche kootche, and venders of wares of the
“Far East,” camels and donkeys for hire, elephants with gorgeous
canopies in which the children love to ride. This concession has the
spicy odor and Oriental aspect of the Far East.
Blarney Castle and the Irish village are next. “Ho for the Irish
jaunting car!” All pile in, and we’re off for the Lakes of Killarney,
climb to the Castle and kiss the blarney stone. A Dublin colleen who
is vending shillalahs, canes, and other ornaments of Irish bog-oak,
sweetly sings, “Where the River Shannon flows,” as she pins a fresh
green shamrock on each uniform, then remarks, “If I was a man, I’d be
a soldier too.” The café has a seating capacity of nearly one thousand
people; here the tinkling of glasses is interspersed with sweet music
by harpists from the “Emerald Isle.” You order an Irish high-ball, and
you receive a crême de menthe with a shamrock in it.