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ROVING AND FIGHTING








I"
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1,",




MAJOR( ED)WARD) s)'{imLLY




ROVING AND FIGHTING
ADVENTURES UNDER
FOUR FLAGS
BY
MAJOR EDWARD S. O'REILLY


ILLUSTRATED WITH
PHOTOGRAPHS


NEW YORK
THE CENTURY CO.
1918




Copyright, 1918, by
rilE C2ENTURY CO.
Published, April, 1918
I




TO
MY MOTHER








FOREWORD
The chief merit of a tale of personal adventures
is in its truthfulness. In writing this story of
twenty years of roving and fighting in many lands
I have had no notes or diary to guide me. With
only memory as my guide I have had to go back
over the long trail searching for incidents which
might prove of interest.
In shadowy retrospection the years have passed
in review, leading me back through The Spanish
War, the Philippine insurrection, as an officer in
the Chinese, Venezuela and Mexican armies.
The man who stays at home will perhaps wonder
why the wanderer chooses to follow an aimless
road to the odd corners of the world. The
wanderer himself, could not give the reason. He
pays the price for his freedom in hardships and
loneliness. As a reward he finds a few of life's
great moments, a wealth of memories, and broad
horizons.
In setting down this rambling story I have
found that it is the trivial incidents which sometimes stand out the clearest, while events of world
importance have faded into the mist of the past.
I have fought with a coolie on the docks of China
for a dry loaf of bread. The only reason I got
the bread was that I wore shoes and he did not.




FOREWORD
That moment comes back with cameo detail, while
long campaigns have faded into the background.
This is in no sense a book of travel, and makes
no claim to historical value. It only lays claim
to being the truthful tale of a vagabond soldier,
as it might be told across the camp fire.
In closing I wish to express my gratitude to
Seth Moyle, without whose friendship and encouragement this book would never have been
written.




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
Major Edward S. O'Reilly... Frontispiece
At home in a "pup" tent on the sands of Tampa
Bay......13
Transport Cleveland on which we sailed to Cuba
after leaving Tampa.... 19
Hill-and-Stone Fort of El Caney, captured by Lawton's Division..... 29
Camp of Fourth Infantry on the Luneta, Manila,
P.  I........                      71
Battle of Das Marinas..... 97
Edward O'Reilly and teachers and pupils of the
"O'Reilly School of English" in Kobe, Japan. 179
Type of Sikh policeman, Shanghai... 193
The Bund, Shanghai, China.... 203
Foreign-drilled Chinese soldiers... 217
Chinese "coolie" woman selling children... 235
Part of the foreign company commanded by Major
O'Reilly in Mexico.... 265
Abram Gonzales, governor of Chihuahua... 271
President Madero and his staff, taken just before
the Battle of Juarez... 281
General Villa before the firing squad, sentenced to
death.......291




ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
Tin-can grenades used at Santa Rosalia in 1911.. 301
Villa's famous Escolta El Dorado., " The Guard of
Gold "...........311
General Emiliano Zapata and his staff.... 329
General Villa,7 sitting in the presidential chair in
the National Palace, Mexico City.... 339
General Francisco Villa in an angry mood... 345




ROVING AND FIGHTING








ROVING AND FIGHTING
CHAPTER 1
W      x AR had been declared, and I felt that I
must go. From coast to coast America
was swept by the hysteria of war. Bands were
playing in the streets, and newspapers were issuing hourly "extras," calling upon the young
men of the nation to rush to the rescue of the persecuted Cubans.
For many months we had read shocking stories
of the starving reconcentrados and the cruelty of
the Spaniards. This tragedy, enacted at our very
door, had aroused the American people to a fighting mood. President McKinley had tried in vain
to still the popular clamor for action. Then came
the sinking of the Maine, and a break was certain.
That night I went home and announced my intention of enlisting. There was a discouraging
lack of enthusiasm in the family circle. My parents declared that a boy of seventeen was too
young to endure the hardships of a soldier's life.
Of course I disagreed with them. Was I not six
feet tall, and had I not learned to ride and shoot
on a Texas ranch?
"Why, when I grow up and get a family of my
own," was one of my passionate arguments, "I
should be ashamed to look my sons in the face and
3




4


ROVING AND FIGHTING


tell them that their father refused to obey his
country's call."
Strange to say, this plea did not seem to convince them. Then followed weeks of anxiety.
The official investigating board was frittering
away valuable time trying to place the blame for
that disaster in Havana Harbor. Daily I haunted
the recruiting offices, envying the new soldiers who
were being sent away to fight the Spaniards. As
they marched in squads to the depots, proudly
aware of their blue uniforms, cheering crowds
followed them through the streets.
"Remember the Maine!" was the cry heard so
often that it became a litany of patriotism.
At last came the news that freed the tide. The
investigating board in Havana reported that the
Maine had been destroyed by a mine. President
McKinley issued a call for volunteers, and Congress voted an appropriation for war.
That day I walked the streets of Chicago feverish with conflicting impulses. My duty to my parents called me home, and yet I had a wild desire
to rush to the nearest recruiting office. Crowds
surged along the sidewalks singing the "StarSpangled Banner." A military band came swinging down the street playing "A Hot Time in the
Old Town To-night," the marching-song of the
Spanish War. A volunteer orator mounted a box
on the corner and delivered an impassioned tirade
against the Spaniards. Before he had finished his
speech I had made my decision.
Half-running, I made my way along West Madi



ROVING AND FIGHTING


5


son Street and climbed the stairs to the recruiting
office of the regular army. Many of my friends
had joined the state militia, but I reasoned that
the regular army would be the first to see active
service.
My previous trips to the recruiting offices had
taught me that a boy under twenty-one years of
age would not be enlisted without the consent of
his parents.
"What is your age?" barked a little gray-haired
sergeant.
"Twenty-one," I replied.
"Date and year of your birth?" he demanded.
"August 15, 1876," I answered, confused by the
knowledge of my patriotic falsehood.
"That makes you twenty-two," declared the
sergeant, scowling. "Don't you know your own
age?"
"Twenty-two it is; my mistake," I replied, in
terror lest I should be rejected. What was a year
or two as long as it was in a good cause? Enlistment records of the Spanish War show that the
majority of recruits were just twenty-one years
old.
After the preliminary questioning I was sent
into an adjoining room, where a dozen candidates
for uniforms were waiting. We were ordered to
remove our clothing, and a doctor with whiskers
and bad manners put us through the physical examination. Of the eighteen men who signed the
i roll that morning only six passed the examination.
Much to my delight, I was one of the lucky ones.
I:




ROVING AND FIGHTING


We were ordered to dress. An hour later the
officer in charge of the station bustled into the
room.
"Fall in," he snapped.
Awkwardly we shuffled into line. With our
right hands held high, we repeated the oath of enlistment, pledging ourselves to defend the United
States against all her enemies for a period of three
years, unless sooner discharged.
At last I was a real soldier! As I stood grinning in boyish pride, I little dreamed that this was
the beginning of a long trail that would lead me
around the world, or that I should stand on the
firing-line under four different flags. The officer
left the room, and I turned to speak to a tall youth
named Herbert Mifflin, who had taken the oath
by my side. It was fortunate that we could not
look one short year into the future to the time
when this same boy would die in my arms on a
tropical battlefield eight thousand miles away.
The little gray sergeant took charge of the party
and proceeded to lecture us on the duties of a soldier. We gathered from his remarks that an old
soldier must be regarded as an exalted being, filled
with all wisdom, and that a "rooky" must walk in
humility before his superiors. We also learned
that there was a mysterious and awful code known
as "The Articles of War," which would deal us
"death or such other punishment as a court-martial may direct," unless we obeyed orders.
After we had been sufficiently humiliated, the'
sergeant dealt out our uniforms. Each man re



ROVING AND FIGHTING


7


ceived shoes, a pair of trousers, a blouse, a campaign hat, and a blanket. What matter if my
blouse was built for a smaller man, or if my trousers were too short? At least they were army blue,
and I was satisfied.
Of the six recruits sworn into the service that
day, one was a blacksmith, one a city fireman, one
an escaped convict who had enlisted under an
assumed name, and three of us were youngsters
from high school and university. The sergeant
escorted us through the streets to the Northwestern Depot. As we marched, the crowds cheered
us, imploring us again and again to "Remember
the Maine."
At the depot the sergeant selected the ex-convict
as the most trustworthy-looking man of the party
and handed him our railroad tickets. An hour
later we arrived in Fort Sheridan, Illinois. It
was evening, and the garrison duties were over for
the day. As we marched down the long stone barracks, groups of soldiers, lounging on the porches,
greeted us with sarcastic humor.
"Hey, rooky, take that pump out of your back!"
"Look at the Johnny-come-latelies!"  "Get on to
the guy with the high-water pants! "-these were a
few of their remarks. Our precious new uniforms
did not seem to inspire the proper respect. One
wit followed us down the sidewalk, singing:
"Left, left; had a good home, but I left.
Right, right; left, but I had a good right."
We were learning the lesson that a rooky is by




8


8ROVING AND FIGHTING


tradition a humorous animal and is permitted to
exist for the sole purpose of entertaining the old
soldiers.
That night we slept in recruit quarters and the
next morning mustered before the regimental adjutant for assignment to companies. I was ordered to report to First Sergeant Tommy Dolan,
of B Company, Fourth United States Infantry.
After my pedigree was entered on the company
books I was marched to the mess-hall and turned
over to the "spud" sergeant for cook's police.
Alas, for my dreams of the pomp and pageantry
of military life! My first day in the army was
passed in the root-cellar under the kitchen, peeling potatoes for hungry soldiers.
That night I was assigned a bunk in B Company's quarters. My left-hand neighbor was a
young man from Chicago, named Pete Goorski.
Although he was an old soldier, he was not unduly
conceited about it and volunteered to initiate me
into the mysteries of preparing for inspection.
Under his guidance I learned how to make my bed,
pack my clothes in the locker, and attend to the
other details of a soldier's life in barracks. That
day we became "bunkies."
There is no word in the civilian vocabulary
which quite expresses the full meaning of the
word "bunky." Chum or comrade is inadequate.
A bunky is one who shares your blankets, your
grub, and on the march carries half of your "pup"
tent. He is your partner in all things. As time
went on, Pete and I became attached by the closest




ROVING AND FIGHTING


9


ties of intimate friendship. Our alliance of mutual affection ended only on the day that he was
killed while leading a charge in the Philippine
Islands. It was the same day that my friend,
young Mifflin, died.
My introduction to the life of B Company was a
pleasant one. I was made to feel that fate had
been kind in directing me to the best outfit in the
regiment. Our company commander was Captain Henry E. Robinson, known to the enlisted
men as "Yankee Dan." He has always remained
my ideal of an army officer. A strict disciplinarian, he always demanded from his men careful
performance of all military duties. At the same
time he was always working for the comfort and
welfare of those under him.
"Yankee Dan does his soldiering with the company, and not at the club," was a common saying
in the barracks.
Our "top" sergeant, old Tommy Dolan, was a
veteran of the Indian wars, and had seen twenty
years' service in the army. He was a hard taskmaster, but a general favorite. A good first sergeant is a gift of the gods. On his ability and
sense of fair play depends the efficiency of the
company.
Our first days in Fort Sheridan were crowded
with action. At six o'clock in the morning we
were routed from our bunks by reveille. Then
came twenty minutes of strenuous setting-up exercises to limber our muscles for the day's work.
After breakfast we scrubbed the barrack-room




10   ROVING AND FIGHTING


floors and made our beds. Two hours of drill
followed, and then, in order, inspection of quarters, dinner, and two hours more drill in the afternoon. Between times we recruits were kept busy
on fatigue details, chopping wood, or doing duty
as cook's police.
At last came the longed-for orders to entrain
and proceed to Tampa, Florida, where the regular army was mobilizing for the Cuban campaign.
Our baggage was packed and stored away in the
barrack basements. As the order had been anticipated, we were in readiness to move at a few
hours' notice.
On the day that we left Fort Sheridan the post
was crowded with friends and relatives come to
say farewell. When the special train that was to
carry us south pulled into the side track, the regiment was drawn up in heavy marching order on
the parade-ground. Colonel Robert Hall, the regimental commanding officer, stepped out of the
headquarters' office and gave a command to the
trumpeter.
"Right forward, fours right, march!" was the
command. After long waiting, we were off to the
front. With the band playing "The Girl I Left
Behind Me," we marched down a lane of cheering
civilians and boarded the train.
Our trip south will always live in my memory as
a succession of patriotic young ladies handing
pies and cakes through the car-windows. It was
fortunate that the girls were prompted by this




ROVING AND FIGHITING


11


kindly zeal in "feeding the animals," as our commissary department was a rank failure.
At one station in Tennessee a young lady
stepped to the car-window that framed my hungry
face and handed me a bundle containing a roast
chicken and a sweet-potato pie. After I had
thanked her, she said:
"I shorely never thought I 'd see myself feedin'
a Yankee soldier. "
"That 's all right, madam," I assured her. "I
was born in Texas, myself."
"Well, I'm glad you got the hen," she answered. "But I guess the Yankee soldiers are
fightin' on the right side this time, anyhow."
After ruining that pie and "hen," Pete Goorski
and I scornfully refused to accept our noon-time
rations of soggy ham-sandwiches.
Upon our arrival at Tampa we realized that we
were in the war-zone. The town was swarming
with soldiers and newspaper correspondents in
almost equal proportions. Our regiment detrained and went into camp near the bay.
That night I was introduced to the "pup" tent.
Every soldier carries half of his tent around his
blanket roll. Unfortunately, I was longer than
the tent, and a lengthy section of my legs protruded into the wide, wide world. The "pup"
tent is designed for economy of space, and that
is the only purpose it fulfils. When I tried to
draw my feet inside, out of the moonlight, there
would be a howl from Pete; if I let them hang out




12   ROVING AND FIGHTING


the entrance, somebody always stepped on them.
After several nights' experience I solved the
problem by placing a barrel in front of the tent at
night and stowing my legs inside. As a result I
was christened "Diogenes," and "as long as
O'Reilly's legs" became a synonym for the longest distance between two points.
My memory of Tampa is a confused nightmare
of exhausting drill, in heavy marching order, on
the hot sands. With maddening monotony we
marched back and forth under the blazing sun,
varying the routine by an occasional charge on a
little hill near the beach. By actual count we captured that hill one hundred and forty times while
we were in Tampa.
Despite the blistering heat, we were still clothed
in our heavy blue uniforms. In fact they were
the same clothes we wore during the entire campaign in tropical Cuba. It was only when we
were shipped back to the cold North that light
khaki clothing was issued to us.
It was at this camp that we made the acquaintance of "embalmed beef." It was a slimy, illsmelling mess, disgusting in appearance and fatal
in effect. Several of the men in my regiment died
after eating it, but the majority of us refused to
taste it, even though we were hungry. The soldiers in the ranks could not understand why our
country, which we had enlisted to defend, could not
afford to feed us.
Although there were mountains of provisions
piled up in the railroad yards, it was a constant




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ROVING AND FIGHTING


15


battle to get rations. The sacred old army "red
tape" had to be unwound before we could get our
beans. Everything had to be done according to
iron-clad rules. Not a pound of bacon could we
get until the requisition papers had passed
through a dozen hands, been signed and countersigned, approved and entered, according to prescribed routine.
The rations were there in abundance. We
could see them, but we could not eat them, because
the clerical force of the quartermaster's department had broken down under the emergency.
After a week of drill we recruits were initiated
into the mysteries of guard duty. We were impressed with the tremendous responsibilities resting upon a sentry and the absolute necessity of
obeying orders.
Late one evening Private Trice, a lanky Georgian, fell into disgrace by taking his orders too
seriously. As he was walking his post, trying to
live up to the letter of the guard manual, a man in
civilian clothes attempted to pass. Trice halted
the stranger and ordered him to advance and be
recognized.
"I am an officer of the camp," explained the
visitor.
"Get out! What are you tryin' to give me?"
responded Trice. "Officers don't wear them
clothes. You might be a spy."
"I tell you I am an officer," retorted the
stranger. "I am Lieutenant-Colonel Roosevelt
of the First United States Volunteer Cavalry."




16       ROVING AND FIGHTING
"Colonel nothin'," replied Trice. "You don't
look like no colonel to me. I '11 just call the corporal of the guard and let him size you up. And
if you try to run away, I '11 bust you over the
haid. "
So the corporal of the guard was called to identify the future President of the United States.
Fortunately for the suspicious Trice, the future
President accepted the situation with good humor.
Although we rookies of the regulars were made
to feel that we were necessary nuisances, we were
inclined to boast of our superiority to the state
militia. They, in turn, sneered at us as professional soldiers who had joined the colors for mere
money. Why any man should be tempted into
military life by "thirteen dollars and a horseblanket," was never explained. This jealousy between the state troops and the regulars led to
many private wars.
In our company we had an old soldier named
Madden, who was always ready to defend the
honor of the service at the slightest excuse. One
evening he dragged himself into camp after a visit
to town. Even the casual bystander could tell
that he had been in a fight. His eyes were in
mourning, his lip split, and his clothing torn and
dusty.
"I want to announce right now," he declared
with mournful conviction, "milish or no milisl,
there ain't no one man can whip that there Seventy-first New York Regiment. I know, because
I done tried it."




ROVING AND FIGHTING


17


A soldiers' camp is always the breeding place
for the wildest rumors. Daily we heard that Admiral Cervera had slipped past the American fleet
and had bombarded New York or Boston. At
last, on May 24, Cervera and his phantom squadron were discovered in Santiago Harbor, and the
American war-ships under Admirals Sampson
and Schley blockaded the port.
One morning an excited orderly came running
through the company streets, shouting:
"We are off at last! Orders from Washington to move to Cuba."
This time it was true. That day our camp was
a scene of busy confusion. We took down our
dog-tents and packed our blanket-rolls, only to
unpack them again and remain another week getting ready to start. Tampa Harbor was filled
with transports, and we saw train-loads of rations and supplies being loaded.
After several false starts we were marched
down to the docks, prepared to go aboard. To the
eyes of a private in the ranks, that embarkation
was a woefully mismanaged affair. Regiments
were put aboard transports and then marched
ashore again to make room for some other regiments. In some instances the property of a regiment was loaded on one ship and the men on another.
After waiting until late in the afternoon, the
Fourth Infantry was assigned to the transport
Cleveland, a converted tramp steamer. A battalion of the Twenty-fifth Infantry, negro sol



18    ROVING AND FIGHTING


diers, was also embarked on the same transport.
That night the Cleveland was towed out into the
bay and anchored. We crowded the decks, listening to the serenading bands and watching the
swarm of lights dancing like fireflies about the
docks. Little, whistling launches darted from
ship to ship, and search-lights were constantly exploring the outer bay.
It was a fascinating scene for a landsman who
had never before seen salt water. Many of us sat
up until dawn, thinking that we were taking a last
look at American soil until we should return from
the war. We might have saved ourselves the
trouble, as we lay in lower Tampa Bay until June
14, seven days later. Rumors of Spanish warships near Key West caused the delay.
When the naval scout-vessels reported the coast
clear, our fleet of twenty transports slipped out to
sea. The ships steamed in three divisions, a gunboat acting as convoy for each division. Off Key
West we were met by several war-ships from Admiral Sampson's fleet. They remained with us
until we arrived at Santiago, where the main fleet
was guarding the harbor entrance. For two days
the transports lay off shore, while the warships
bombarded the Spanish fortifications on the hills
and searched for a landing-place.
When the order came to move inshore and prepare the small boats for going away, we received
the news with cheers. We had come a long distance to fight Spaniards and were anxious to get
at the job.




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CHAPTER II


THE spot selected for our landing was at Daiquiri, where a wharf erected by a mining
company gave access to the shore. Our division,
commanded by General Lawton, was the first to
take to the boats.
We expected to begin fighting at the surf-line
and as the Cleveland pulled in we watched the hills
back of the wharf for signs of the enemy. Groups
of men could be seen moving among the trees. A
gunboat steamed in close to the shore and opened
fire with shrapnel on these men. We afterward
learned that the soldiers we had seen were Cuban
insurrectos, our allies, who had driven out the
Spaniards before our arrival.
Back and forth from the ship to shore puffed the
launches, towing lines of boats filled with soldiers.
A heavy sea was running and the boats were overloaded, but the landing was made without the loss
of a man. After our regiment was ashore we
were marched a short distance inland and deployed.
It was during that afternoon that we had our
first glimpse of the Cuban rebels we had come to
aid. First cautiously by twos and threes, then
eagerly in squads, they came through our ranks,
21




22    ROVING AND FIGIHTING


curiously examining our equipment and begging
for rations. They were a ragged, emaciated lot.
At daybreak the next morning we marched to
the village of Siboney, a short distance up the
coast. It having been reported that the town was
full of Spanish soldiers, we were expecting a
fight. As we neared the place we could hear the
sound of firing ahead. It was the Cubans driving
the Spanish outposts from   the blockhouses.
When we arrived there was no work for us to do.
Our regiment was deployed in open order in the
outskirts of the town.
Reinforcements were landed from other transports on Siboney beach, and General Shafter, commanding the expedition, made his headquarters
in the village.
A few hundred yards away from our station was
a small blockhouse, half-hidden by the trees. A
Spanish flag floated from the roof. When my
friend Trice spied the red and yellow banner, he
conceived a brilliant idea.
"Say, kid, that blockhouse is deserted," he told
me. "Them fool Spaniards was so scared they lit
out and forgot their flag. Let 's you and I sneak
around through the underbrush and get it."
With elaborate caution we strolled back through
the underbrush, circled around our line, and arrived at the blockhouse. Together Trice and I
climbed to the roof and cut down the flag. Cautiously we sneaked back to the company, fearing
that we would be court-martialed for leaving
ranks against orders. Trice carried the flag




ROVING AND FIGH1TING


23


folded inside his shirt. As we stepped back into
line an officer approached.
"Were you the man who took down that flag?"
he asked, stopping in front of the long Georgian.
Though in fear of a reprimand, Trice admitted
that he was the guilty party. As I had not been
detected, I kept quiet.
"Well, my man, it was a brave act," said the
officer. "I will recommend you for promotion."
"Holy cat-fish!" exclaimed the amazed Trice,
"I thought he was goin' to slam me in the mill
for bein' a thief, and here I am a regular hero."
The officer, however, confiscated the flag. I
have often wondered what yarn he told about it
to the folks back home.
That afternoon we pushed on a short distance
beyond Siboney and put out our outposts. I was
one of the men detailed to guard duty. It was my
first night ashore in the tropics. Everything
seemed strange and weird. From the jungle came
noises strange to ears accustomed to the rattle of
city streets. Great beetles droned like spent bullets through the air. The calls of the birds were
unlike any bird-voices I had ever heard. We had
been told that the enemies' outposts were just
ahead of us, under the dark canopy of palmtrees.
Suddenly I heard footsteps coming toward me.
I flattened myself against a tree and slipped a
cartridge into the chamber of my rifle. Whoever
was approaching was making no effort to keep
quiet. The sound first came from the front, then




24   ROVING AND FIGHTING


from my right. A whole army of Spaniards was
advancing.
The leaves of a dwarf palm rattled and swayed.
I threw up my gun. Then a giant land-crab
dropped out of the palm and fell sprawling on the
sand. The bushes were full of them, popping
their claws, scaring the wits out of greenhorn
sentries. During the night occasional shots were
fired along the line, but I believe that the majority were fired at these crabs.
The next day we continued our slow advance
inland, forcing our way through tropical undergrowth. The heat was suffocating, and our thick
woolen uniforms soon became soggy with perspiration. Our heavy blanket-rolls refused to ride
our shoulders in comfort, and chafed raw welts
on our skins.
A messenger came down the line that afternoon
announcing that there had been a battle at Las
Guasimas, on our left. General Young's cavalry
brigade, consisting of two squadrons of the Rouglh
Riders and one squadron each of the First and
Tenth U. S. Cavalry, had jumped a strong force
of Spanish soldiers. Sixteen American soldiers
had been killed, including Captain Bucky O'Neil,
Captain Allyn Capron, and Sergeant Hamilton
Fish. It was the first real fight of the expeditionary force.
During the next few days we were constantly
on the march. It seemed as if the commanding
general had difficulty in making up his mind where
to send us. Several times after a trying hike we




ROVING AND FIGHTING


25


were forced to retrace our steps. Sharpshooters
posted in the trees ahead sniped at our advance
guards.
With every step we took into the interior our
rations grew slimmer. Tons of provisions were
aboard the transports or in Siboney, but the organizers of the expedition had forgotten to provide transportation to bring it to the line. Only
one wagon-road was available from the beach,
and although the few wagons and pack trains
worked day and night, they were hopelessly inadequate for the job. I can truthfully say that
I did not have a square meal in Cuba from the time
we landed until we were back aboard the transports.
On the night of June 3 our division was ordered
to the extreme right of the line, with orders to
storm the fortifications at El Caney the next morning. All night long we climbed the muddy trails,
slipping and falling in the darkness, but keeping
our sense of direction from the curses and complaints of the men ahead.
At daylight the four guns of Captain Capron's
battery opened up on the stone fort that crowned
the heights above the village of El Caney.
Trenches radiating out on either side concealed
the Spanish infantry.
Although we had been marching all night, there
was no time for rest. Back and forth we were
switched, forming into line for the advance up
the hill. General Chaffee's brigade was on the
right and General Ludlow's on the left of the




26


ROVING AND FIGHTING


line. Our own brigade, commanded by Colonel
"Mollie" Miles, was placed in the center. Later
in the day General Bates's brigade came to our
support.
During these maneuvers we were under longrange fire from the trenches. Spent bullets came
crashing through the trees, breaking branches as
they fell. Wounded men were being carried past
us to the field hospitals in the rear.
I have often been asked how it feels to be under
fire for the first time. Confidentially, it is not a
pleasant experience to be under fire the first, last,
or any time. I started nervously at the sound of
every crackling bullet, and had to exert all my
will-power to keep from ducking my head like a
manikin. We were assailed by an unseen enemy,
and were denied the privilege of being able to
shoot back at him.
Finally we began the advance. At a little clearing we were halted and ordered to pile our blanketrolls by the roadside. Again we took up the advance, deploying in skirmish line. The bullets
were coming faster now, whispering overhead or
snapping with malignant sounds into the ground.
It was impossible to keep the line in proper
formation. Sometimes we would be floundering
through dense underbrush, struggling at every
step. Again we would break into a clearing anl
rush in squads for the protection of the trees
ahead. Once our company crossed a ploughed
field and st:opped to fire a few volleys. It was a
great relief to be able to shoot.




ROVING AND FIGHTING


27


Our throats were as dry as the soles of our
shoes. Most of our canteens were empty, and we
were suffering intensely from the heat and continued labor. At the crest of a knoll we halted
and were given the command to fire at will. The
Spaniards were firing high, their bullets going
over our heads into C Company of the Fourth,
which followed us. Several men of C Company
were killed at that spot.
It was here that Lieutenant Bernard, our second
in command, was shot down. He was dragged
behind some bushes and stretched on the grass.
"Water here for a wounded man!" went up the
cry, but there were no Gunga Dins at hand. All
of our canteens were empty. My bunkie, Pete
Goorski, saw a canteen lying in a cleared space
ahead. He ran out and picked it up.
"It 's half full," he shouted, holding it up.
A half-crazed man from another company
dashed out and tried to jerk it from his hand.
Pete struck him with his fist. There on the top of
that hill, under a hot fire from the Spaniards, the
two men fought for possession of the precious
canteen. Pete dropped his man, and running back
halnded the canteen to the hospital-corps man, who
was bandaging the young officer. It was too late
to save him. He died an hour later on the road
back to the field hospital.
Captain "Yankee Dan" walked coolly up and
down behind the line. IIe watched the Spanish
position through his field-glasses, estimating the
distance and correcting our sights. With hat held




23


ROVING AND FIGHTING


to the side of his face, he estimated the windage.
Again came the bugle call to advance, and we
took up the double time. Ahead the trenches and
fort of El Caney were in plain view. There was
no brush now to give us cover. We trotted up the
hill like a mob of automatons. That fort seemed
the only goal in life worth striving for. Behind
me I heard the voice of old Sergeant Dolan say:
"Guide right. Keep your distance. Don't
bunch up."
His voice was as calm as on the drill-ground.
We had been working toward that hill for hours,
but now we were nearing tlhe crest and the enemy
showed no sign of quitting. I was surprised to
notice a negro soldier running by my side. There
was little semblance to battle formation in the
line now. We were a mixed mob surging up that
interminable slope.
The Spaniards were firing in volleys, and at
every crash men were slumping to the ground.
Suddenly a long-accustomed sound left my ears.
Our artillery had ceased firing. We were near
the trenches and the gunners were afraid of hitting their own comrades.
That last climb up to the breastworks was
agony. My lips were swollen and dry, my lungs
heaving, my feet staggering. Gone was the sensation of fear I had felt earlier in the day. I was
obsessed by one thought-to get to that trench and
rest. I was too tired to yell.
A short distance to my right was the fort. Before us loomed the trenches, with broken strands




- ~ ~ ~MHl
p,  i...  i- f




^ T), I i
'7, ' 




ROVING AND FIGHTING


31


of barbed wire looping down the slope. Dimly,
through a film of dust and smoke, I could see the
nodding straw hats of the Spanish defenders.
One last scramble and we topped the trenches.
I stumbled in my weakness and fell to my knees.
Dazed, I knelt and looked down into the ditch. A
Spaniard below me raised his rifle, pointed it at
my breast, and drew back the breech-bolt. Casually, as if watching a scene which held no personal interest, I saw him snap the cartridge into
place. Lifting my gun, I duplicated his actions,
like a stupid recruit learning to drill.
Suddenly I was aware of a figure leaping past
me. It was an American soldier with gun uplifted. The gun swung down and the butt smashed
the Spaniard in the face. As he fell, the bullet intended for me smacked harmlessly into the sand.
With a great effort I dragged myself to my
feet. Looking down the trench, I could see a few
Spaniards holding up their hands, kneeling in
appeal before the Americans who came sliding in
on top of them.
Almost at my feet a Spanish boy about my own
age was crouched with hands held high. I shall
never forget the look of terror in his eyes. Then
the thought came that this boy was afraid of me.
I had come to Cuba to fight Spaniards, yet here
was one I had no desire to kill. Panting from
weariness, I dropped into the trench and sat down
on the bank by his side.
The charge was over; the hill had been captured.
I felt exhausted. My only wish was to rest and




32


ROVINF AND FIGHTING


gulp the air into  y lungs. From the right came
the sound of cheering. Looking up, I saw the
Spanish flag cor e floating down from El Caney
fort.
A non-commissioned officer came running along
the trench above me.
"Take your prisoner over to the left," he directed, pointing.
I turned and 1( oked curiously at the boy beside
me. For the first time I realized that he was my
prisoner.
"Agua?." I said, shaking my empty canteen.
Chattering ext itedly, he handed me his waterbottle filled with real water. It was the finest
drink I have eve r had. Motioning the young soldier to walk in advance, I marched off in the wake
of the non-con.
A few yards away a group of white-faced prisoners were huddled under guard. Turning my
prisoner over to the sergeant in charge, I walked
on, looking for B Company. In the excitement of
the charge I had become separated from my companions, who had attacked the trench several hundred yards to the left.
From far on the left came the steady roar of
firing. In the distance I could see the fight at San
Juan Hill. Little groups of dark figures were
crawling up the slope. It was a duplicate of our
own fight. Finally the American flag went up
over the San Juan blockhouse, and a cheer came
rippling down the line.




ROVING AND FIGb -~TING            33
As I walked up to my mates VB Company, I
heard a tired voice complaining tiUS:
"Noa a chance for any grub to-night. This
ain't such a hell of a trench aftc" we 'ye took it.
Wonder if they 'I let us sleep to — ight 'I"
Gone was the nervous forgetf-it-mess of battle.
We were a weary bunch of mnen ',jiinking only of
the elemental craving for food and sleep.




CHAPTER III


O   UR hope for rest after the capture of El
Caney was a vain one. We were doomed to
another all-night hike.
Part of our brigade had continued on down into
the village, and had driven the Spanish snipers
from the houses. Pack trains brought up rations
and ammunition. Our cartridge-belts were refilled, and each man was issued two days' allowance of hardtack, bacon, and coffee.
Orders were given to cook supper,-which was
also dinner and breakfast,-as quickly as possible,
since no fires would be permitted after nightfall.
While my bunkie rustled an armful of dry wood
and filled the canteens, I sliced the bacon and prepared the ingredients for a "son-of-a-gun" stew.
A "son-of-a-gun" is made of all the edible
scraps in your haversack, fried in bacon-grease.
Our stew that night consisted of a handful of rice,
crumbled hardtack, and a couple of ounces of
canned corned-beef. This we kneaded into a
paste and fried in the crackling grease. While
searching his haversack Pete had a splendid bit
of luck. He discovered two real dried prunes,
left over from  more prosperous days. These
prunes we toasted over the coals.
While we feasted, Pete, with his usual optimism,
remarked:
34




ROVING AND FIGHTING


35


"There 's many a poor soldier in this army tonight who has n't a whole prune for his supper.
They may think that this day will go down in history as the day El Caney was captured, but it
won't. It will be emblazoned in the school-books
as the day the art of roasting prunes was discovered, and you and I are the discoverers. That
meek and lowly vegetable, the prune, will take on a
new significance in our national life. Hand in
hand, the Star-Spangled Banner and the prune
will go marching around the world, blazing the
pathway for American civilization."
Pete's prophecy was destined to be fulfilled.
Since that time I have gone around the world
under the Star-Spangled Banner, and always the
prune has followed the flag.
After our hasty feed we stretched out around
the smoldering fires, resting our aching limbs.
Our rest was cut short, however, by the order to
"fall in." Once more we shouldered our guns
and marched off in the darkness.
Our hike that night was a repetition of the night
before. From dusk until dawn we stumbled over
muddy trails. We were so weary that we dozed
as we walked. Hour after hour we kept up the
slow march, until we became mere automatons.
Like a line of sheep we followed the voice of "Yankee Dan," who kept calling his commands somewhere in the black distance ahead.
When daylight came we were again swung into
lirinish formation before the little town of El
i'ozo. Then we learned that our brigade had been




36       ROVING AND FIGHTING
shifted from one extreme of the line to the other,
and that it was to be our job to drive the Spanish
soldiers out of the town before us.
After a hasty breakfast we began the advance.
Hardly had the line moved forward before the
fight began. During that day's battle I did not
see a Spaniard, but there was no doubting that
they were there in the jungle ahead. Constantly
the bullets droned overhead or smacked in the
ground.
Evidently the enemy were disheartened by the
defeats of the day before. Steadily they withdrew,
keeping up a continuous fire as they retired.
Again we were climbing up the heights that surround the city of Santiago.
That night the firing ceased, and we were
granted the longed-for opportunity to rest. A
heavy chain-guard was posted, and throwing ourselves on the ground, we fell asleep. During the
night the sentries kept up a desultory exchange of
shots with the Spanish sharpshooters, but the
weary men of B Company refused to let anything
short of a general attack disturb their sleep.
At daybreak we again took up the slow advance,
until we had topped the hills. Before us lay the
city of Santiago, looking peaceful in the morning
light. Lines of trenches ahead showed that the
Spaniards had prepared to make another stand.
We were ordered to halt and dig in. With our
bayonets and mess-pans we scooped out hasty
trenches, taking advantage of every bit of natural cover.




ROVING AND FIGHTING


37


During a lull in the shooting we suddenly heard
the sound of cannonading. It was heavy and continuous, but owing to the echoes in the hills we
could not locate its direction. At last this report
ran down the line, shouted from company to compainy:
"Cervera and the Spanish fleet have gone out!
They are fighting our boats!"
Finally, like the thunder of a passing storm, the
heavy booming drifted away, became more and
move faint in the distance, and then ceased.
"Well, one of two things has happened," declared one of our men. "If Cervera has whipped
our fleet, then this army is marooned in this palmgarden without any grub. If Sampson has
whipped Cervera, then the war is pretty near
over. ' 
At noon the shooting back and forth between the
trenches died down, at last ceasing altogether.
Although we did not realize it at the time, the actual fighting of the Cuban campaign was over.
That afternoon and evening we worked to improve our barricades. Details were sent to the
rear for rations. The next morning, July 4, we
learned that General Shafter had sent a demand
for the surrender of Santiago. We also received
the cheering news that Cervera's fleet was no
more. Every ship had been battered into helplessness and driven ashore.
Those days between July 4 and July 17, when
General Toral, the Spanish commander, surrendered, were the most trying of the entire cam



38


ROVING AND FIGHTING


paign. By day we were soaked with rain; by
night we were devoured by swarms of mosquitoes.
At that time our doctors had not discovered that
the bite of mosquitoes causes malaria and yellow
fever. We made no attempt to guard ourseives
from the deadly pests, regarding them as necessary evils.
By the time we captured Santiago heights, fully
half the command was suffering from malaria.
Added to our woes was the constant fight for something to eat. Our transportation system had
broken down. Only one wagon-road led from our
base at Siboney to the firing line, and we did not
have half enough wagons to supply the troops.
We lived from hand to mouth, never having a
full day's rations ahead. Men fought over a box
of hardtack as they would have fought over a box
of gold dollars. On July 4 yellow fever appeared
in the hospitals at Siboney. By the time the news
reached the line, the reports, as usual, were much
exaggerated.
When the Spanish garrison finally surrendered,
we received the news listlessly. The surrender
had been a foregone conclusion from the day Cervera's fleet had been destroyed. We wanted to go
home, where we could eat and rest.
Perhaps the reader may feel that there has been
too much complaint about the shortage of rations.
Food is the one subject ever uppermost in a soldier's mind when he is in the field; mess call is his
favorite tune. Men cannot work well unless they
are properly fed. A full haversack may be heavy




ROVING AND FIGHTING


39


to carry, but it eases the mind. A soldier endures
hardships and danger as a matter of course.
They are part of the routine of his job. Three
things he must have, or he will complain. Those
three things are food, coffee, and tobacco.
With the surrender of Santiago, conditions were
slightly improved. Our troops occupied the city,
and supplies were landed at the docks. The rations were there, but again we were tangled in a
web of red tape.
One thing that was plentiful was native fruit.
We gorged ourselves on bananas, guavas, and
green cocoanuts, and also learned the difficult art
of eating mangos. A mango is the most slippery
land juiciest fruit that grows in the tropics. Only
a juggler with a quick eye can conquer one on
his first attempt.
Day after day dragged on, and still no recall
sounded from Washington. The excitement of
active campaigning was over. In its place had
come the monotonous routine of camp life. The
sick-roll was as long as the company roster, and
those of us who still remained on our feet were
forced to do double-guard and police duty. Every day would come a report that some man whom
Awe knew had died in the hospital.
Realizing the uselessness of keeping the army
at Santiago after the object of its coming had been
accomplished, the general officers sent protests to
Washington. On August 4 the troops were galYnlizod into new life by the longed-for order to
(lt)ark for the United States.




40


ROVING AND FIGHTING


The deck of the homeward-bound transport was
a strange sight. At any hour of the day the gangways would be crowded with men coming up to
sit in the sunlight and have their periodical malarial chill. When the chill was shaken off, the sufferer would move over into the shade and suffer
the burning torments of fever.
Fortunately the chills and fevers abated the
moment we left the Cuban shore. At that time
we blamed "Cuban air" for the malaria in our
bones. Our relief was actually due to the fact
that we were escaping from the swarms of diseasecarrying mosquitoes.
One morning we sighted land; the transport
dropped anchor off Montauk Point, on the eastern
tip of Long Island. Before us stretched a city of
tents, where we were to be held in quarantine until
all danger of yellow fever had passed. As the
camp came into view, I heard a cavalryman standing near me lift up his voice in complaint:
"Look at them, will ye!" he shouted, shaking
his fist at a long line of horses standing on the
picket-line. "For six years I 've been groomin'
an' feedin' an' polishin' that dad-blamed old cayuse of mine. Then when war comes, what do they
do? Take him away when I wanted to ride hlinl,
and send us hikin' on foot, like bloomin' doughboys. And now the minute we sights land, there
they are, switchin' their tails and waitin' for us to
take care of 'em! "
It was a happy bunch of soldiers who marched
from the beach to the camp assigned to us, with




ROVING AND FIGH-TING


41


the band bravely playing "When Johnny Comes
Marching Home." We threw out our chests and
stepped high, for were we not heroes returned
from a foreign war? As we fell out of ranks, a
personable young girl with a lunch-basket spoke to
me. Visions of the fried chicken and pies that had
greeted us on our trip south, came to my hungry
soul.
"Are you a Rough Rider?" she asked eagerly.
"No, I 'n no volunteer," I replied proudly.
"I 'm a regular."
"Huh, nothing but a regular," she answered
scornfully; and hugging her basket as if she expected ine to steal it, she went off in search of a
Rough Rider.
This same incident, with variations, occurred a
dozen times to men of our company while we were
at Santiago. The Rough Riders may not have
done all the fighting in the Spanish War, but they
certainly did succeed in capturing the public
imagination.
Although our camp in the sand-dunes of Long
Island was a model for discomfort and unsanitary;arrangement, we were content, for we were on
home soil. Daily great crowds of sightseers besieged the guard-lines. Only those visitors holdilg passes were allowed inside the lines, but
the pass-holders almost equaled the soldiers in
nulber.
One day a carriage, in which two ladies were
Se-ted, entered the camp and stopped at the head
(f our company street. Calling the men from




42


ROVING, AND FIGITING


their tents, the occupants of the carriage distributed several hundred briar pipes. Each pipe
was accompanied by a tin of tobacco. After the
carriage had rolled away, I learned that one of
the women was Miss Helen Gould. The pipe that
she gave me that day I kept for many years.
Miss Gould was the idol of the army. She gave
her time and money lavishly for the welfare of the
soldiers. During the three years I served as an
enlisted man, I was constantly reminded of her
thoughtful generosity. The hospital ship Relief
was equipped and donated to the government as a
gift. When I was sick in the Philippine Islands,
I slept on a cot presented by Miss Gould. On
Christmas Day, 1898, when we were in mid-ocean,
enroute to the Orient, each man received a box
of candy as a token of her remembrance. Many
a homesick hour in the Philippines has been mnd(l
pleasanter in the reading-rooms she conducted,
and I have written scores of letters on stationery
she provided. In expressing my gratitude, I am
only echoing the sentiment of every old soldier
who wore the uniform in the Spanish War.
After several weeks in the Montauk Point detention camp, our regiment was ordered back to its
home station at Fort Sheridan. On the afternoon
of September 15 we marched back into the old familiar post. As we stood on the parade groundl
I noticed a group of recruits before B Company's
quarters. The sight cheered me; I remembere(l
that I was a "rookie" no longer. By virtue of
service on the firing line, I was an old soldier, en



ROVING AND FIGHTING             43
titled to strut before these benighted newcomers
ndtl show them the error of their ways.
My pride, however, was only riding for a fall.
That night at retreat, when the details for the following day were read, my name was on the list of
cook's police.
"You will report in the morning to the spud
sergeant," commanded Sergeant Tommy Dolan.
Seasoned veteran though I was, my first day
)lbk from the Spanish Main-as had been my
first day in the army-was spent in peeling potatoes for hungry soldiers.




CHAPTER IV


L   IFE at Fort Sheridan soon settled down to
the monotony of army-post routine. We
passed our hours according to fixed schedule, doing the same things at the same time every day.
Drill, guard-duty, fatigue-all were as inevitable
as the sunset gun.
The long evenings in the stone barracks were a
constant delight to me. A group would gather
around the old piano or the billiard-table in the
recreation room and give an impromptu entertainment. We all had our little specialti s, and we
soon learned each man's limitations. Pete could
sing "The Student in Cadiz," and no one was
allowed to infringe on his act. "Sugar" Smith
could sing bass. Private Cook, "The Dancinii
Kid," had the lilt of inspired rag-time in his feet.
At times there would be fifty or more men gathered in the room, singing the old songs. Even
now, as I remember the company favorites, "My
Old Kentucky Home," "Kathleen Mavourneen,"
"Robin Adair," and all the old-timers that wce
liked best, my thoughts jump back to the barrlckroom and the crew of sun-browned young meI
singing and skylarking under the swinging oillamps.
Best of all were the stories that were told. We
had men in the company from every corner of the
44




ROVING AND FIGHTING


45


globe. Some of them had seen service in foreign
armies or had sailed before the mast.
It was not always good-natured fun. When a
hundred men are forced to live together in the
same rooms, there is bound to be occasional
trouble. B Company had a way of keeping the
peace. A set of boxing-gloves was always kept
hanging in the basement for the settlement of
these arguments. Whenever a dispute threatened
to degenerate into a fist-fight, somebody would
sing out:
"Downstairs all hands!"
Down we would go, dragging the principals
with us. Once sentenced to fight by popular
opinion, a man had to fight. There was no other
alternative. It was rude discipline, perhaps, but
it kept the peace.
Shortly after our return to the post the War
Department ordered all infantry regiments increased from two to three battalions, and recruits
began to arrive on every train.
Hazing recruits is a traditional pastime in the
army, and we did not let the custom become obsolete. On one occasion the sport of "rookie-baiting" resulted in a tragedy.
An Italian had joined another company, where
he was hailed with delight because of his ludicrous attempts to speak the English language.
One corporal, in particular, undertook the task of
teaching the Italian to show proper humility before his superiors.
()ne night this corporal entered the basement




46


ROVING AND) FIGHTING


wash-room. The Italian recruit was waiting for
him in the semi-darkness, a carving-knife, stolen
from the kitchen, in his hand. When that rookie
finished the job, the corporal was utterly bankrupt
as to future prospects. The corporal was giveii
a military funeral, and the Italian received a life
sentence at Fort Leavenworth prison. Even a
rookie, like the proverbial worm, will turn.
While we were at Fort Sheridan an incident occurred which came near ending my wandering,
My bunkie, Pete Goorski, came into the dormitory
one morning after an all-night tour of guard-duty.
Finding me stretched out with a book in my hand,
doing "bunk fatigue," Pete ordered me up, emphasizing his command by heaving a pillow at my
head.
"Get up out of that!" he ordered. "Laying
around in the middle of the morning after a nigllt
in!"
Naturally I objected to quitting my bunk land
book. A rough-and-tumble wrestling match ensued. Throwing him off, I again stretched out on
the bed.
"Get up, or I '11 shoot you!" yelled Pete, with
mock seriousness. As he spoke, he took down his
rifle from the gun-rack and pointed it at my head.
Declining to be driven from my book, I calmly continued reading.
"I '11 count three, and then I '11 blow your lazy
head off!" declared my bunkie. "One, two-"
For some unexplained reason I casually threwn
up my hand and brushed the muzzle of the gun




ROVING AND FIGHTING

47


from the point of my nose. There was a jarring
roar, and a bullet sped through the pillow not
three inches from my head. Pete had picked up
the wrong gun. IHe dropped limply to the bedside, clutching my hand.
"My God, Tex!" he cried. "I know my gun
w.s n't loaded '!
I learned two things on that occasion. One
was, never to play with an "empty" gun; the
other, that no coincidence, however strange it may
seem, is impossible.
That gun-rack was inspected every morning by
the non-commissioned officer in charge of quarters.
That morning he had forgotten to inspect the
guns. A rookie had been cleaning his rifle, slip-,iiig cartridges in and out of the breech to test the
mechanism. By some accident he had left one
cartridge in the magazine. Pete had reached
backward and grasped what he believed to be his
gun. His hand had strayed a few inches to the
left, and he had pulled out the loaded rifle.
Pete's foolish horseplay, together with this
strange sequence of coincidences, had nearly cost
my life. As long as I served in Fort Sheridan, I
never before or afterward heard of a loaded gun
being found in the barracks.
The soldiers who had enlisted at the beginning
of the Spanish War had come into the army un(der what was known as "General Order Forty."
'llis order was a pledge on the part of the government that we would be discharged at the end of
the war. A treaty of peace had been signed be



48


ROVING AND FIGhITING


tween Spain and the United States, and we were
anxious to get our discharge and return to civil
life. As long as there were prospects of active
service we were willing to remain in the army, but
army post-life in peace times appealed to few of
us.
One morning a notice was posted on the udlletin-board  announcing that "General Order
Forty' men would "get their buzzards" the following week. Anxiously, we began to count the
days.
"Eight days and a breakfast!" we would gleefully shout at the old-timers.
Then came the news that changed my plans.
We were ordered to the Philippine Islands. It
meant active service again in strange Oriental
lands across the world. Eagerly we hunted up
atlas and encyclopedia, to post ourselves on the
Philippines. I think my idea of a Filipino at that
time was of a cross between a Zulu warrior and a
Malay pirate. My imagination ran amuck among
all the wild tales of far Eastern adventure I had
ever read.
The day that we "General Order Forty" men
were to receive our discharge, Private "Rooster"
Higgins and myself were called to the orderly
room. As we hurried down the stairs old "Rooster" declared:
"Take it, Tex! Don 't be a fool and refuse your
discharge. You '11 see me grab mine so quickl
it'll scorch the paper. I don't see myself




ROVING A`ND FIGHTING


49


spendin' three years out in that tropical jungle.
Besides, there ain't no war on over there. Dewey
settled it."
We walked into the orderly room and stood before Captain "Yankee Dan."
'"Men, you are entitled to your discharges," he
announced. "You may take them if you wish, or,
if you refuse, your time served will count on your
enlistment. Which do you choose?"
"1 '11 stay with the company," I said, although
the moment before I had been half-persuaded by
"Iooster 's" eloquence.
"And you, Private tIiggins?" asked "Yankee
"1 '11 stay too," said IIiggins, and together we
retreated through the door.
"Now why in the divil did I say that?" asked
Rooster, glaring at me, as if the fault was mine.
"There I stood with me mind made up the other
way, and now here I am with two years and a butt
to serve over in them Chinee islands, wherever
tley are. Oh, well, we '11 miss a cold winter, anyWralys. 
The days that followed were full of work. This
was not a few weeks' campaign upon which we
were embarking. According to the plans anliounced at that time, we were going to the islands
to do police duty for two years.
This was before the outbreak of the Filipino
insurrection. The American troops held only the
city of Manila and the navy-yard at Cavite across




50


ROVING AND FIGHTING


the bay. These troops were mainly made up of
state volunteers, and the regulars were being sent
to relieve them.
When the day for our departure came, we again
marched out of Fort Sheridan with the band playing "The Girl I Left Behind Me," the farewell
song of the army. This time we were bound for
New York, where we were to embark on the transport Grant for the Philippines, via the Suez Canal. Our trip across the country was uneventful.
The public had become accustomed to the sight of
troop-trains, and our departure caused little excitement. At Jersey City we marched from the
train to a ferry-boat and were at once transferred
to the transport.
Early the next morning our boat steamed up the
Hudson to a point opposite General Grant's tonib,
on Riverside Drive. Our gunners fired a salute
of twenty-one guns in honor of the great soldier.
Escorted by a fleet of tugs, with flags flying and
bands playing, we moved down across the bay. It
was late December and bitter cold, but we walked
the decks that night until the lights of Sandy
Hook faded away behind us.




CHAPTER V


T   IERE are some things that are worse than
war. One of them is being aboard a ship
with two thousand landsmen who are discovering
f'or the first time that the sea is not all romance.
Three fourths of our regiment hailed from central
states and had never before seen salt water. Before that first night was over most of them vowed
they never wanted to see it again.
When morning dawned, hundreds of wan-faced
soldiers still fought for standing-room at the lee
rail. A scrap of conversation overheard on the
t'oc'sle head will illustrate the general feeling.
"You did that on purpose, ye cross-eyed mutt!"
protested a white-faced corporal. "If I ever live
to get well, I 'm goin' to blow your fool head off!" 
' Would you mind doin' it now? " wailed a weakvoiced recruit at his elbow.
Those of us who were able to make a pretense
at seaworthiness found much to interest us aboard
the Grant. She was the largest transport in the
government service, having been rebuilt especially for this trip. The berth-decks were arraliged with three tiers of canvas bunks, lashed in
iron-pipe framework. One entire deck was given
over to mess-tables, kitchen, and shower-baths.
From the first hour aboard, our life seemed an
(ndless succession of inspections. We were in51




52


ROVING- ANI) FIGHTING


spected at reveille and at retreat. After breakfast our bunks were inspected, and we were
marcher on deck with our blankets, while the
sailors washed down the iron decks. In the afternoon we were the victims of more inspections.
Sometimes we would parade before the doctor in
our bare feet. On other occasions we filed by the
"medicos," with our mouths gaping open for inspection of tongue and teeth.
At the time we violently protested against all
this overhauling, but I have since learned that it
was a wise precaution. When two thousand men
are cooped up in a crowded ship there is much
danger of disease, and unceasing vigilance is the
only preventive. On our ship an epidemic of
measles occurred, but the first cases were quickly
detected and isolated.
In the evening the mess-deck would become {t
miniature Monte Carlo. Ialf of the men aboard
passed every leisure hour in gambling, and some
of the old-timers finished that voyage with thousands of dollars in their money-belts.
My bunkie and I had good reason for not galmbling. It had been several weeks since pay-day,
and we were broke. A bankrupt soldier is a normal soldier; we had plenty of companions in our
class. There was no poverty of amusements,
however. Boxing bouts were held every evenin(,
groups would gather on the upper deck to organize an impromptu sing-song party and occ~asionally the band would give a concert, when we
would dance along the tilting deck.




ROVING AND FIGHTING


After fourteen days on the Atlantic we sighted
the Rock of Gibraltar. The great rock looked like
a sleeping camel, its long neck stretching a ross to
the Spanish shore. As the Grant drifted.around
the point of the peninsula into the harbor, a
feather of smoke lifted from the water's edge and
we heard the faint sound of the first salute. The
flagship of the British squadron followed with
her great guns, and the next minute the French,
(Ierman, and Spanish warships were banging
away in our honor.
As the upper deck was overcrowded, I had retreated to the berth-deck. My head was out of a
porthole, and I was eagerly watching the shifting
panorama. Suddenly there came a deafening
roar, my hat was jerked from my head, and I was
tllrown, dazed and blinded, to the deck. Our own
m11ns were returning the salute, and my inquisitive
head had been just below the muzzle of a threeinch gun. The shock of the concussion gave me a
l]e(adache which remained vwith me for several
hIours.
Despite my aching head, I remained on deck.
This was the Rock of Gibraltar, the strongest
fo(rtress in the world, and I wanted to see it all.
During the morning there was a succession of
irilliantly-uniformed officers coming and going
lrom the warships in the harbor. Major-General Lawton, who had been our division comrlandler in Cuba, was aboard the Grant, and the
sh':) commanders were calling to pay their respeets.




54       ROVING AND FIGHTING
Fortune favoring me that afternoon, an unwelcome fatigue detail became a glorious adventure.
Top-Sergeant Dolan captured me on the upper
deck and ordered me to report at the gangway.
Six men from B Company were sent ashore in a
launch to load several barrels and boxes of fruit
for the commissary. A young lieutenant only a
few years older than myself was in charge of this
party.
The moment I set foot on the shore I determined
to explore the Rock. I had been told that it had
never been done, so I wanted to try it. With a
cautious eye on the lieutenant, I edged away
through the crowd of bumboat men and British
soldiers until I was safely hid behind a pile of
boxes. Then, keeping those boxes in a line between me and the officer, I walked rapidly toward
the streets of Gibraltar.
At the end of the dock I was hailed by a group
of British soldiers. Some of them wore the kilts
of the Black Watch Highlanders, others the red
coats of the Dublin Fusiliers. There is a little
incident in the regimental history of the Fourth
U. S. Infantry that is seldom mentioned in the
regiment. In the War of 1812 the Fourth was
surrendered to the British by General Hull at Detroit, and it was the Dublin Fusiliers who received
our colors. Later in the war, at the Battle of
Lundy's Lane, the remnant of the Fourth captured a portion of the Dublin Fusiliers. Efch
regiment had captured the other.
My friends of the Britsh army received me with




ROVING AND FIGHTING


55


great glee, immediately appointing themselves a
committee to show me the town. My dreams of
exploring the subterranean passages of the Rock
were not fulfilled, but I did explore the town of
Gibraltar. As I was the only enlisted American
soldier ashore, I occupied the center of the stage.
For three happy hours I was escorted about
town, visiting the "pubs" and swapping yarns
with the Tommies. When at last I declared that
I must return to the transport or be listed as a
deserter, three of my new friends marched with
me to the dock.
"Yank, do you think we could slip aboard and
take on with your regiment?" asked one Highlandtr, whose name, by the way, was Kelly.
"It 's tired I am of the Rock, and who knows but
you might have a fight out in them islands."
Both of his friends declared themselves eager
to quit the Queen's service and don the American
blue.
"Well, it 's this way," I explained. "My boat
is gone, and I '11 be taken in at the gangway, anyway. If you chaps come aboard and deliver me
to the sergeant of the guard, why there you '11 be,
Iand perhaps you could sneak forward and hide
out. The boys will take care of you and give you
some clothes."
They declared that the chance was worth taking.
"You may consider yourself under arrest," declared the Irish Kiltie, as we climbed into a bumboat. "Now what kind of an offense against the




56       ROVING AND FIGHTING
peace and dignity of Her Majesty are we goin' to
say you committed."
"I know. He poked the bloody eye out of a policeman," chimed in one of the redcoats.
"There 's no harm in that."
"No, you don't," I protested. " 'Yankee Dan'
would hang me for that. What is the least harmful crime I could commit on the Rock?"
"I got it!" volunteered Kelly. "You tried to
pass the sentries without a passport."
So it was arranged. I was escorted up the
gangplank by my three adventure-seeking friends
and turned over to the quartermaster on duty.
While he was searching for the sergeant of the
guard, the three Britons escaped in the crowd of
American soldiers and hid themselves forward.
For absenting myself without leave I was given
a summary court-martial and sentenced to scrub
decks for three days. I did not complain, for had
I not explored the town of Gibraltar?
The next morning, after we had left the Rock
behind us and steamed into the Mediterranean
Ocean, the three British deserters appeared on
deck, clad in American uniforms. One of the
trio, the Highlander, enlisted in our regiment the
day after our arrival in Manila, and he served
during the Philippine campaign.




CHAPTER VI


A   FTER the rough weather of the Atlantic, the
warm, blue waters of the Mediterranean
were a welcome relief. We followed the north
coast of Africa, occasionally sighting distant
mountain-peaks lifting from the horizon.
By this time we had settled down to a routine
existence, our hourly occupations being governed
by the ship's bell. Much of our time was spent in
washing clothes, and we became expert laundrymen. Each man was permitted to draw a bucket
of hot fresh water from the kitchens three times a
week.
Some ingenious old file discovered a method of
cleansing clothes without the labor of scrubbing.
Tying his garments at the end of a line, he towed
them along beside the ship in the clean salt water.
After an hour or two the clothes would be pulled
aboard and rinsed in fresh water. The idea
p)roved popular, and many of us used the sea for
a washtub. I tried that once, but only once.
One morning I borrowed a rope, tied my day's
Wwashing like the tail of a kite, and dropped it out
of a porthole, knotting the other end of the line
to a bunk-stanchion. Half an hour later "Roostr'" Higgins came to me, chuckling in glee.
"Just watch old Sergeant Nancy Travis," he
said. "Had his clothes hangin' out a porthole,
57




58


ROVING AND FIGHTING


and I cut the rope. They 're a mile astern already. Wait till he finds out, and he '11 blister the
deck. "
Old Sergeant Nancy had the reputation of being the most gifted artist in profanity in the
United States Army. When in form, he could
swear twenty minutes without repeating himself.
"Rooster's" little scheme appealed to me as being a first-class joke.
"Let 's go down by the porthole and wait until
he comes," I suggested. " Rooster" guided me
to the berth-deck, where a rope-end was trailing
from a port.
"There it is!" he chuckled.
"You big, leather-necked lunatic!" I wailed.
"That ain't Nancy's rope; that 's mine!"
"Rooster" continued to find humor in his joke,
but to me the jest had lost its savor. I finished
that trip in borrowed underclothes.
The day before we reached Port Said, at the entrance of the Suez Canal, I had another narrow
escape from getting my final statements. With
my usual good luck, I escaped.
Near the kitchen alley, an electric dynamo was
located. Ordinarily this dynamo was protected
by a heavy wire screen, but on this day the screen
was removed for some unexplained reason. I
canme blundering along in the semi-darkness and
laid my hand on the neuralgic nerve of that bunch
of chained lightning. As I was standing on all
iron deck, I received the full charge.
Some minutes later I recovered consciousness,




ROVING AND FIGHTING


59


to find myself lying on a cot in the sick-bay. Before my eyes reeled drunken armadas of gaudy
stars. The Hospital Corps man explained that I
had been knocked down, and that my head had
been the first part of me to reach thile deck.
"Good thing it was your head you lit on," he
said, cnsolingly. "If you had fell on your elbow,
you might have hurt yourself. Any chump that
ain't got better sense than to fondle a 'live' wire
ought to get shocked!"
It was several hours before I blinked the dancing constellations from my eyes and regained control of my jumping nerves. The effects of that
shock have remained with me to this day. Even
now, if I receive a slight touch of the "juice" from
an electric-light or a telephone, my nerves tingle
for hours.
Early next morning I asked to be returned
to duty. I knew that we were coming into Port
SaYd, the gateway to the Orient, and I wanted to
see it. At that stage of my career I believe I was
the most curious youngster in the world. I
wanted to see everything, to do everything, and
nmy curiosity sometimes led me into strange adventures.
Mty first sight of Port SaYd was a disappointment. This was Egypt, yet not a single pyramid
could be seen. Only a long row of modern buildings, reminding me of the St. Louis river-front.
As we drew into the dock, however, I realized that
at last we had arrived in the storied East.
Our transport was surrounded by a fleet of




60   ROVING AND FIGITING


bumboats, manned by a howling mob of strangelyclad Orientals. Soon the port doctor came aboard
and examined our ship-papers. As we were to
enter the canal that night, there was no inspection, but we learned that the ship was quarantined
and that only a few officers would be permitted to
land.
From the moment that we entered the harbor
I had been laying plans to get ashore. Within
a few hundred yards of us the United States
cruiser Raleigh was anchored. She had taken
part in the Battle of Manila Bay, under Admiral
Dewey, and we watched with envy the sailors moving about the deck.
After a two-hour wait the Grant was towed to
a dock, and we were invaded by the dirtiest gang
of human creatures I have ever seen. They were
the coal-passers, come to fill our bunkers. Back
and forth they swarmed up the gangways, packing
sacks of coal on their backs and keeping up a
deafening chatter.
From the moment we had tied to the dock I had
tried to slip ashore, but the way was blocked by
guards, and a dozen black policemen in red fezzes
promenaded the docks, searching the ragged
clothes of the coolies for contraband.
Disconsolately I wandered to the other side of
the ship. As I gazed over the railing a boatman
called from below:
"Six pence! Go ashore?"
In two minutes I had found a friend in funds




ROVING AND FIGHTING


61


and had borrowed two dollars. Waiting for a
moment when no one was watching, I slid down a
rope and dropped into the boat. Rowing around
the bow of the Grant, the boatman landed me in
dangerous proximity to the policemen. Sensing
that I was afraid of capture, that wily native insisted that the fare was one dollar and threatened
to appeal to the police. Finally we compromised
on twenty-five cents, and I walked away through
the shifting crowd of sightseers.
If the water-front of Port Said had been a disappointment, the crowded streets satisfied my
craving for romance. Turbaned Bedouins, muffled in their negligee gowns, moved mysteriously
about me, donkey-boys ran screeching after their
charges, and enticing Oriental shops opened on
every hand.
During my aimless rambling I met another soldier from the Grant, and we joined forces for the
expedition. Our excursion was interrupted by a
British Tommy. He shouted:
"Hey, mites! Provost guard 's after you
Yanks. Better hoof it!"
We knew that if the guard captured us, we
would be dragged aboard the Grant and punished
as deserters. The remaining hours of our stay
in' Port SaYd were passed in dodging back and
forth through the narrow streets, eluding every
uniform we spied.
When darkness came, we made for the dock.
We wanted to get aboard before our ship entered




62


ROVING AND FIGHTING


the Canal. Upon our arrival at the dock we discovered that the Grant was anchored a hundred
yards from shore.
"There 's only one way," declared my companion. "We got to take a boat and go up the
anchor-chain." 
Climbing a muddy anchor-chain that sways
with every move of the ship is no easy job. My
partner pulled himself up first. Cautiously he
thrust his head to the deck-level and, waving a
signal of encouragement, pulled himself aboard.
I followed his example and found myself on the
foc'sle head.
Just as I started aft, three soldiers stepped out
of the darkness.
"Here 's another one, sergeant!" a voice exclaimed. "This makes twelve."
"Take them back to the brig," ordered the sergeant of the guard.
The wise old sergeant had set a watch on the
anchor-chain, and nineteen amateur African explorers, including myself, were captured, when
using it for a ladder that night.
The next morning I again found myself before
the summary court-officer. For the second time
I was sentenced to scrub decks and polish brass as
penance for my sins.




CHAPTER VII


T IERE may be more pleasant jobs than
scrubbing decks in the Red Sea, but I was
satisfied. I had had my run ashore, and I was
willing to pay the fiddler. We were moving
through a strange Oriental world. Hungry with
curiosity, we wanted to see it all.
The morning after leaving Suez it was rumored
about the ship that we would soon pass Mt. Sinai,
where the Law was handed down to Moses.
When the barren, red-stained mountain lifted out
of the haze of the Arabian coast, the rail was
crowded with watching soldiers.
"Shucks, that ain't such a mountain!" protested one old Westerner. "Pike's Peak has got
that beat four ways. Another thing, I ain't ever
goin' to believe that story about Moses bein' found
up there among the bullfrogs. If a bullfrog ever
got up that hill, he 'd have to have hoofs, instead
of webbed feet."
A few hours later there was another wild rush
for the deck, when it was reported that we were
p)assing the spot where the Children of Israel
crossed the Red Sea. Hundreds of soldiers
leaned over the rail, staring eagerly at the water,
as if expecting to see Pharaoh's chariot-wheels
still floating around on the waves.
Our first stop out of Suez was Perimr, a desolate
63




64    ROVING AND FIG)HTING


coaling-station near Aden. Perim is said to be
the hottest spot in the world, and after one hour
in the harbor I believed the statement. It is a
galvanized-iron town surrounded by red and yellow sandstone hills, radiating heat like a furnacedoor.
The trip across the Indian Ocean was uneventful, with the exception of one incident. A huge
British freighter overhauled and passed us in midocean. When it was abreast of the Grant, a sailor
was slung over the side in a boatswain's chair. In
huge white letters he painted the words "Good
Luck,? and sketched a horse-shoe and a shamrock
on the black side of the vessel.
We afterward learned that this was one of Sir
Thomas Lipton's boats, and that Sir Thomas himself was a passenger. When we dropped anchor
in Colombo, the port of the island of Ceylon, he
came aboard and visited General Lawton, who
commanded our expedition.
As usual, I had planned to slip ashore in Colombo and take a "look-see" at the town. My
plans were forgotten, however, when the quarantine-tug came alongside. As the launch drew up
to the gangway, one of the men aboard cupped
his hands and shouted:
"War has broken out in the Philippines!
Americans are fighting in the streets of Manila!"
There was no wireless communication in those
days, and the native insurrection had started four
days hefore, while we were leisurely plodding
through the Indian Ocean. All thoughts of sight



ROVING AND FIGIITIN(G6


65


seeing were dismissed. In a jostling mob the soldiers crowded around the bulletin-board.
In a rapid succession of bulletins we learned
that the fight had begun February 4 by an attack
on an outpost of the Nebraska volunteers. A
general attack had followed, spreading like a train
of powder in a semicircle about the city. The
Americans were posted in a thin line, seventeen
miles long, around the outskirts of the city.
It meant active service again for the old Fourth
Infantry. We forgot the fever and mud of Cuba;
we were eager to take our place in the line.
That afternoon we left Colombo and raced on
toward Manila. We were afraid that we would
ibe too late-that the Filipinos would be conquered
before the old regiment arrived. We little
dreamed that nearly three years of hiking and
fighting were before us If a person was really
looking for a fight, the Philippines was a good
place to go in those days.
Between Colombo and Manila we made only one
stop-at Singapore, where we again coaled ship.
Entering the harbor at night, we tied up to one of
the docks, and a few minutes later the coal was going into our bunkers.
As it happened, I was on guard that night. A
squad of us were posted on the dock to prevent the
soldiers from  jumping ship. Not a man attempted to desert. They were all too anxious to
get into action. Before dawn the guard was orldered back aboard, and we slipped out of the harboi)r into the Straits of Malacca.




GG   ROVING AN) FIGHTING


It proved a four-day run from Singapore to Manila. Khaki uniforms were issued, and we were
kept busy every hour of the day by numerous inspections. A few hours before reaching Manila
fBay we were met by the U. S. gunboat Heltena.
Wig-wagging signals, she escorted us through the
Boca Chico, past Corregidor Island, and into the
Bay.
As we cleared the island we could see the warships of Dewey's fleet, anchored miles across the
Bay, near Cavite. British, German, and French
warships sprinkled the outer Bay. We could hear
a faint sound of cannonading. The cruiser
Charleston was lying off the coast, bombarding
the native trenches near Caloacan. South of the
city the Astor Battery and Riley's Battery of the
regulars were pounding at the enermy's lines. We
were in time for the fight!
From the time we left the dock in New York until we dropped anchor in Manila Bay, fifty-four
days had passed.
That afternoon Admiral Dewey came aboard to
call on General Lawton. We were paraded on
deck. A few miles away we could see the battered
hulks of the Spanish fleet, careened in the mud
near the Cavite shore. The man who did the job
was a white-haired, slight man, uniformed in
white. His eyes were keen, and his bearing was
youtllful.
While lhe was inspecting the transport, the warships in the harbor fired a general salute. It
sounded like a real naval battle. Even the Oer



ROVING AND) FIGHTING


67


nmans were bombarding us with blank cartridges.
That night, having been inspected by quarantine officers, we packed our haversacks with two
days' field-rations. Early in the morning we
mnade up our blanket-rolls and marched down the
ganugway into the waiting cascos, clumsy, nativebuilt barges.
As the cascos were towed up the Pasig River,
we could hear the distant sound of firing, coming
first from the north and then from south of the
city. Our casco was tied to the dock at the foot of
the Malecon, the seaside drive leading up to the
Luneta.
We were grateful that we were not called upon
to march down the Malecon at attention. Our
eyes were busy taking in the strange sights. On
our left loomed the ancient mass of the old, walled
city, complete with basti:,ns, torreons, and drawb)ridges, as it had been in medieval days.
B Company marched to the Luneta and halted.
Ilundreds of soldiers who had fought in the uprisinlg gathered around and entertained us with
wild yarns of the fighting and the savage ferocity
of the natives. I have found that a fight always
looks worse from a distance. More men are killed
in conversation than in action. The veteran soldiefr seems to feel a moral obligation to frighten
Ite "rookie" with tales of horror.
For hours we sat on the Luneta, waiting for
orders. Several companies of our regiment were
larched away to different points in the city for
Police-duty. We were disgusted. We didn't




68


ROVING AND FIGHTING


want to be "coffee-coolers" back of the line.
After journeying more than half-way around the
world to come to this fight, we wanted to get into
it.
Our hopes were realized that very afternoon.
Shortly after a lunch of hardtack and canned
"Willie" we were ordered to fall in; we marched
over the Bridge of Spain into the main city of
Manila.
Guided by a lieutenant of volunteers, B Company threaded the maze of streets in the Tondo
and Binondo district, headed for the north lines.
The pictures in the school geographies had failed
to do justice to this new world. We marched
through miles of Chinese shops, swarming with
slant-eyed celestials. We were surprised to find
that the native Filipinos were permitted to come
and go as in peace times. Only the presence of
squads of guards on every corner and of cavalry
patrolling the streets indicated that danger threatened.
No one seemed to know our destination, except
Captain "Yankee Dan" Robinson and the volunteer officer, and they did not confide in the men in
the ranks. After a two-hour march we were deployed from the road and ordered to camp in a
little valley back of a great gray church, which
loomed over the mango-trees ahead.
While we were erecting our "pup" tents, a
spent bullet whined overhead and plunked into the
hillside. Half of the men in the company bowed
their heads politely to that bullet. At any rate,




ROVING AND FIGHTING              69
we were near enough to the firing-line for the recruits to boast that they had been under fire during their first day in the islands.
A few men of the Twentieth Kansas Volunteers
visited camp and told us that we were about six
hundred yards back of the trenches guarding
Caloocan Church. After supper the first squad
was ordered to fall in. As the tallest man in the
company, I was naturally a member of the first
squad, my position being number one, front rank,
first set of fours.
We were marched by the First Sergeant,
Tommy Dolan, up the road to the Church of Caloocan. It was being used as headquarters by General MacArthur and Colonel Funston of the Twentieth Kansas. Our squad relieved a squad of that
regiment doing duty as headquarters' guard.
The volunteer soldiers surrounded us, and we
passed a good part of that evening listening to the
story of the outbreak. According to the men who
had been in the fight, a soldier of the Nebraska
regiment had fired the first shot. The American
forces, having captured Manila from the Spaniards, had refused to permit their allies, the native
insurrectos under Aguinaldo, to enter the city.
Residents of Manila were in terror that the city
would be looted by the natives. For months the
two armed forces had been drawn up opposite
each other. Daily the ill feeling had grown.
Frequently the natives lined up and advanced in
mock attack on the sentries.
One day a Tagalog officer had attempted to enter




70   ROVING AND FIGHTING


the city while carrying his side-arms. This was
against orders, and the sentry, Private Grayson,
had stopped him. The officer returned to his own
company only two hundred yards away. The natives pointed their guns at Grayson, cursing him
in English and Spanish, and making threatening
manceuvers. Again and again they repeated the
threat of attack. At last Grayson said:
"If that gu-gu aims that gun at me again, I 'm
going to shoot!"
The native raised his gun, and Grayson fired on
him. Within an hour the fighting became general.
The Twentieth Kansas and the Montanas had
fought their way out to Caloocan Church. After
two days' battle the Americans had consolidated
their line in a semicircle about the city.
I have often heard the home-staying Americans
belittle the campaign in the Philippines. They
seemed to think that the natives were poorly
armed savages and that the insurrection was in
the nature of a picnic for our soldiers.
At the time of the outbreak Aguinaldo had more
than sixty thousand soldiers around Manila.
They were mostly armed with modern Mauser
rifles, manufactured in Germany. Many of their
soldiers and officers had been trained in the Spanish Army. They were the descendants of the old
Malay pirates who had been the scourge of the
eastern seas. They fought bravely, but inefficiently.
When my turn for duty came, I mounted guard




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ROVING AND FIGHTING


73


at the doorway of the church. We were permitted
to sit on a hardtack box while on duty. While I
was sitting there thinking over the stories of the
fight, a little man with a full beard walked out of
the door and spoke genially to me. i-e was
dressed in a blue shirt and tan overalls.
He seemed much interested in the long cruise
of the Grant, and seated himself on another box
by my side. For nearly an hour he questioned
me, smoking a huge native cigar as he talked. As
he arose to leave, I said: "What kind of a man
is this little runt Funston we are supposed to be
guarding? He might come mooching around
here, and I '11 have to give him the salute."
"You might ask the cook over there," he answered, nodding toward a cook-shack a few yards
away. "I have reason to believe that he has it in
for Funston."
When my visitor had departed, I called the
cook and repeated my question.
"Why, you poor rookie, that was Colonel Funston you was chinnin' with!" replied the cook.
"He 's a fine little fellow in most ways, and a
natural-born scrapper, but he 's a darned crank
about his meals."
1 repeated the question I had asked the little
colonel.
"Well, anyway, you went to headquarters for
your information," was all the consolation I received.
Sitting on my box, I listened to the persistent
sound of shooting up and down the trenches. At




74


ROVING AND FIGHTING


times it would stop, and then would resume
briskly, spreading along the trenches toward La
Loma Church on our right, until it died away in
the distance. It seemed to my ears as if a good
fight was in progress, but my friend the cook informed me that "things were awful quiet tonight."
The next day the members of the guard were
detailed on "old guard fatigue." That usually
meant policing up the camp, but we had a more
unpleasant job that morning. Several Filipinos,
killed during the advance, had been hastily buried
near our camp. The rains had washed away the
soil until their bodies were exposed. It was our
job to give them a deeper resting-place. More
than one B Company man went without his dinner that day.
For several weeks we did duty back of the
trenches, and then came the big advance north
toward Malolos, the insurrecto capital. Our company did not take part in the advance, except to
move into the trenches as they were evacuated by
the Twentieth Kansas. We also helped to load
the wounded for transportation to the base hospitals in the city. More than one hundred Americans were killed or wounded in our section of the
line that first day.
The troops under General MacArthur drove
steadily north along the Manila & Dagupan Railroad, until they captured the rebel capital three
days later.
For many weeks after the advance our life was a




ROVING AND FIGHTING


75


monotonous routine of guard-duty. We were
moved two miles east and stationed at La Loma
Church and Blockhouse Number Two. Although
MacArthur's column was operating north of us,
the line of outposts around the city was still maintained. A battalion of the Ninth Infantry, which
had arrived from San Francisco a few days before, was stationed on our left.
One night I was detailed on outpost duty a few
hundred yards in advance of our camp. A corporal and three men were assigned to these outposts. One man would go on post, while the
others slept. The man on guard carried a watch
and called his relief at the end of two hours.
It happened to be my turn on post. Suddenly
I heard footsteps approaching from the west. I
challenged, and was answered by Captain Rocke'cller of the Ninth Infantry. He was making a
tour of inspection. Ile asked for directions to the
next outpost on our right. The corporal pointed
the way, and tile captain walked on.
The next morning we learned that he had disappeared. In the darkness he had wandered off into
the rice-paddies to the north, and had been captured by a patrol of insurrectos. Captain Rockefeller was never released. Months later we heard
that he had died while still a prisoner in northern
Luzon.
On another occasion I had an experience while
on guard that put the shivers in my knees. One
of our sentry posts was in the old, walled graveyard of La Loma Church. Like most Philippine




76    ROVING AND FIGHTING


graveyards, the walls were honeycombed with
little compartments wherein coffins were placed,
their entrances being sealed. When the family of
the occupant neglected to pay rent on the grave,
the bones were pulled out and thrown into a pit,
and the compartment was rented to a family whose
grief was more real or more recent.
When the time came, I was marched to the
graveyard by the corporal of the guard to relieve
Private Denny Casey. Denny had come off pass
that day, and during his trip to Manila had imbibed a little too much beno.
When we arrived at the post, there was no sign
of Denny. We searched the graveyard thorouglly, and at last found his rifle leaning against
a tree.
"One of two things has happened," said the
corporal. "Denny has deserted and gone over
the hill, or some gu-gu has killed him. Keep your
eyes open."
Naturally, Denny's mysterious disappearance
and the corporal's idea did not make me feel too
cheerful. I never did like graveyards at night,
anyway.
It was a damp, moonless night. Clouds of mist
came seeping over the walls from the rice-paddies. Although I knew that scores of soldiers
were sleeping only a few rods away, I began feeling lonesome.
Suddenly I heard a most unearthly moan. It
started low and hoarse, wandered up the scale to
a high, keen note, and ended in a strangling gurgle.




ROVING AND FIGHTING


77


Loading my rifle, I began walking back and forth,
trying to locate the sound. It was an elusive
sound. At times it seemed to come from some
recess in the wall, then from the bushes behind me,
and for minutes it died away altogether.
Now I did not believe in ghosts; but what had
happened to Denny Casey? With my gun held
ready, I walked quietly back and forth, trying to
stalk that ghostly wail. I was passing under a
m-.:ngo-tree when, without warning, I received a
slap on the cheek. Jumping about twenty feet
from a standing start, I wheeled and threw up,yv gun. There was nothing there!
Cautiously I explored the ground around the
tree. It was open, and I could see for a hundred
feet in any direction around me. I resumed my
nervous walk. Again I felt a blow on the cheek,
as if I had been slapped by a cold, clammy hand.
Again I jumped, beating my previous record.
Putting my hand to the side of my face, I was
horrified to discover that it was wet and slimy.
This was more than I could stand. I howled for
tlle corporal of the guard. He came running with
lantern. When I told him about the groans, he
latughed at me, but, aided by the light, we made a
Illore thorough search. Again came the sound,
iut thlis time we located it.
Tired and sleepy, Denny Casey had found an
cnloccupied grave in the wall and had crawled
il, for a little nap. It was his snores that I had
aris did not explain te slaps     re
This did not explain the slaps I had received.




78       ROVING AND FIGIITING
We took the lantern back to the tree and explored.
Suspended by a cord to a limb of the tree was,t
nice fresh fish, hung up by one of the soldiers to
keep cool. In walking past, my face had collided
with that fish.
Denny was dragged off to the guard-house, and
I continued to walk my post. I knew that the
ghost had been laid and that the whole incident
would be a great joke in the morning. Yet I was
glad when my relief came.




CHAPTER VIII


LIFE in the camp at La Loma Church continued to be a routine of guard, drill, and
police-duty. My bunkie, Pete Goorski, had received his corporal's stripes, but we continued to
live together in the same shelter-tent.
Finally we were ordered to prepare for a long
expedition. No one seemed to know where we
were going when we prepared to abandon camp.
()ur cook-stove and extra baggage were loaded on
wagons and sent to Manila. That evening we
were issued two days' rations. Darkness came
before we finally marched out on the eastward
road behind the long line of trenches.
As we marched, we were joined by one company
after another of the Fourth Infantry. It was the
first time since we had landed from the transport
tlhat the entire regiment had been united. For
hours we hiked to the east. It was evident that
we were going into a fight somewhere beyond Maraquina, the waterworks of the city of Manila.
The insurrectos had been especially active in that
neighborhood.
It was after midnight when we reached the
waterworks. We walked into the town through
a long lane vaulted by trees, their branches laced
overhead. Here we saw a sight which has always
lingered in my memory.
79




80


ROVING AND FIGHITING


For nearly a mile those trees were literally alive
with giant fireflies. Millions of them clustered on
the leaves, or flew like shooting stars from tree to
tree. Underfoot they swarmed about our feet, or
dropped from above upon our hats and clothes.
It was like walking down an avenue in fairyland.
Our regiment deployed in a field outside the
town and stacked arms. It was evident that a
big expedition was on foot. Several other regiments were encamped near us. Shortly after our
arrival a wagon-train pulled into the field behind
us, and Riley's Battery also rolled into camp.
While we lay resting on our blanket-rolls, the
word was whispered down the line that we were
going on a general round-up through the mountains surrounding Laguna Bay, an immense
lake east of Manila. The American forces were
to operate in three columns.
While we were sleeping by the gun-stacks, an
incident occurred that nearly cost the lives of two
B Company men. In the company was a man
whose name I will not mention here. We knew
him as "Pop."  He was probably the most unpopular man in the company. He was a sneakthief and a "guard-house lawyer," always in
trouble and always dodging duty.
A few days before this he had had a fist-fighlt
with Private Jesse Conway, who in after years
became a noted newspaperman. Conway was il
the same squad as "Pop," and they were lying
side by side.
During the night "Pop" left his place and went




ROVING AND FIGHTING


81


wandering among the teamsters until ordered
back by a sentry. By some fortunate accident
Conway awoke and decided to fill his canteen.
His next neighbor, a German named Helke, rolled
over in his sleep to the position occupied by Conway a few minutes before.
Some strange madness came over "Pop." He
returned to his place in the line, took a razor from
his haversack, and slashed the throat of the sleeping Helke.
"I got you that time, Conway!" he yelled, and
dashed off through the camp.
He might have escaped in the darkness, had it
not been for a freak of fortune that stopped
his flight. Eluding the guards, he ran down the
line of mules feeding on the picket-line. One of
the mules resented the intrusion and kicked him
into an irrigation ditch.
As the guards ran up and stood over him with
fixed bayonets, "Pop' cut his own throat with the
razor. Neither Helke nor his assailant died.;"Pop" was reserved for a more dramatic finish.
A board of doctors examined him and found him
insane. He was sent back to the United States, to
the "Little Red House," as the government insane
asylum at Washington is called. As the transport
was passing through the Golden Gate, entering
San Francisco Bay, "Pop" leaped overboard and
was killed by the ship's propeller.
At daylight we marched out into the wide Maraquina Valley. The Oregon Volunteers and two
troops of the Fourth Cavalry were ahead of us.




82   ROVING AND FIGHTING


After parading about the valley for some hours,
the enemy was located in the hills. Formed in
skirmish line, we advanced. Soon the bullets
were whistling overhead.
All that afternoon we drove ahead, climbing the
jungle-matted mountains. Not until late that
evening did I see a Filipino, yet we were almost
constantly under fire from the hidden enemy.
Several men were wounded in other companies.
It was dusk when we found our way blocked by
a force of insurrectos intrenched on top of a
sugar-loaf hill, standing in the center of a valley.
B Company was ordered to take the hill. Pulling
ourselves up the steep slope by grasping the
bushes and using our rifles as alpenstocks, we began the exhausting climb.
The insurrectos kept up a hot fire. Fortunately
for us, the Filipinos were shooting high, and their
bullets were going over our heads. Not a man in
B Company was hit, although four soldiers in the
valley behind us were killed.
When we reached the top of that hill, we were
panting with exhaustion. Half-a-dozen dead insurgents lay among the rocks, but the main force
had escaped. We could see them moving far
away on another hill. It was our first real fight
in the Philippines.
For days thereafter we hiked and climbed
through the mountains, chasing the elusive natives. Our rations were gone, and we lived on the
rice and meat found in the villages.




ROVING AND FIGHTING


83


At last we marched into the town of Morong, on
Laguna Bay, where we were expecting a real
battle. We found that Morong had been captured
that morning by troops under General Lawton,
aided by the river gunboats Laguna Bay and
Napidan. General Lawton always had a habit of
getting there first.
That day we rested and cooked. The wagontrain had come up by another road, and once more
we had our hardtack, bacon, and coffee. A soldier
always hungers for hardtack and bacon when he
has not got it, but when he has them, he always
wants something else.
Therefore Pete Goorski and myself organized a
chicken hunting trip. Most of the domestic fowl
in that town had learned fo fly high, but we succeeded in capturing two incautious old hens.
They were too durable for frying, so we decided
to have a stew, with the inc eitable rice and prunes
as a side-dish.
It seemed as if those chickens would never be
cooked. After boiling them for about three hours,
we decided to take a chance. While we were liftillg the pot off the fire, the bugle blew the assembly, and we saw B Company falling in to march
out of town.
"Pete, I have n't had anything decent to eat for
a week," I declared. "I'm going to finish this
stew, if I go to the mill for it!"
"I may lose my stripes," Pete assented, "but
I 'd rather be a full private than a hungry corporal.'"




84


ROVING AND FIGHTING


So we hid in a nipa shack and finished our feast.
Half an hour later we overtook the company resting on the road and slipped into ranks without being detected.
For two days we marched steadily on the back
trail to Manila, following the winding shore-line
of Laguna Bay. A few miles from the town of
Titi I met with a sad accident. At that time it
affected me as a tragedy.
We had halted near a running stream, and it
was rumored that we would canmp there for the
night. For ten days we had been hiking through
the mud and mountains, sleeping in our clotlies
and on many nights forbidden by orders to remove
our shoes. A number of us decided to take a bath
in the clear stream. We splashed around for a
time in the swift water. Then I had a brilliant
idea. My trousers were caked with mud and sodden with perspiration.
Borrowing a piece of soap, I gave them a good
washing. After scrubbing them well with the
soap, I placed them on a flat rock in the middle of
the stream. Another rock, balanced on top of
them held them in place. The water running over
them would wash away the soap.
The idea was ingenious, but when I went for nli
trousers, they were gone! Frantically I searclled
the stream; no trousers could be found.
To add to my distress, the order came to fall ill
and march into the town. There was I in undress
uniform, and not an extra pair of pants in tlhe
regiment! Orders are orders. I had to take nmy




ROVING AND FIGHTING


85


place in line, the tails of my flannel shirt forming
a brief kilt.
As we marched down the road, the men of the
company made me an object of shame and embarrassment by their more than unrefined jests.
At the outskirts of the town the lieutenant in
command halted the company.
"Private O'Reilly," he said. "Titi is a big
town and there will be many ladies watching our
entrance. You do not look exactly dignified. I
can lend you a safety-pin, but even that has its
limitations. You will wait here until we find a
pair of trousers in the town. You will then rejoin
the company."
For an hour I waited by the roadside. You
never miss a pair of trousers until they are gone.
At last my bunkie, Pete Goorski, returned with a
bundle under his arm. When unrolled it proved to
be a pair of sky-blue Chinese trousers. They were
yards too generous in latitude and were skimpy
in longitude. Necessity breaks all laws, so I
donned the balloons and entered the town looking
like a Zouave.
B Company was lined up to greet me. A soldier loves a joke, so I knew that I would have to
listen to their "rawhiding" for weeks to come.
That evening a companion came to me with a
cheering bit of information. One of the teamsters had a new pair of trousers hidden in the
feed-box of his wagon. To save these trousers
t',tr a better day, he was wearing a tattered pair of
overalls.




86       ROVING AND FIGHTING
I watched that teamster as a hawk watches a
sparrow. When he strolled away from his wagon,
I stole the trousers. I had them on before he discovered his loss. With the aid of two of his
friends he tried to take them from me by force,
but I was a desperate man and kept the pants.
By forced marches we returned in two days to
our old camp near the La Loma Church. For
several days we rested and washed our clothes.
Our old commanding officer, Captain Robinson,
was now Acting Major of the Second Battalion.
A new officer, Lieutenant Benny Nicklin, was assigned to B Company.
After a week in camp we were again ordered to
prepare for a move. There had been hard fighting on the south line, and General Lawton hadl
taken command. After the Battle of Zapote
Bridge the Fourth Infantry was ordered south to
replace the Thirteenth Infantry.
Marching through the streets of Manila, we embarked aboard cascos and were towed across the
bay to Bacoor, a town in Cavite Province. We
heard rumors of fighting a few miles away. Tlle
town of Imus, four miles inland, had been captured the day before by the Fourteenth Infantry.
That night our regiment went on to Imus and relieved the Fourteenth.
Early the next morning a skeleton battalion was
formed, consisting of parts of A, B, K, and T
Companies of the Fourth. We were ordered to
go on a reconnoitering expedition to the south,
toward the town of Das Marinas, where a large




ROVING AND FIGHTING              87
body of insurgents were said to be mobilizing.
Our instructions were to scout through the country, but not to bring on a fight.
Private Herbert Mifflin of B Company, a boy of
nineteen, was on sick report when the orders were
issued. He took his name off the sick-list and
asked to accompany the battalion. We left early
in the morning, with fifty-five men of B Company
in line.




CHAPTER IX


T  IE eight-mile road between Imus and Das
Marinas is practically a continuous village.
A row of nipa-and-bamboo houses lines the way
on either side. Beyond lie the swampy ricefields. Nearer Das Marinas the country is
rougher and more densely wooded.
At route-step we plodded along through the
mud. Major Bubb, commanding the battalion,
had thrown out an advance guard and flankers
after leaving Imus. We marched leisurely, halting often, while the advance guard scouted the
yards and houses ahead or questioned natives.
During one of these halts Pete and I were talking on that subject of perennial interest to soldiers: what we would do when our enlistment expired.
"Only forty days and a breakfast, and it 's back
to old Chicago!" Pete said. "If we get into a
scrap to-day, it would be just my luck to get my
final statements, just because I 'm the shortesttime man in the outfit." 
We had covered about half the distance between
Imus and Das Marinas when we noticed that tlhe
houses by the wayside were deserted. Every
shack had a white rag tied over the door, but not
a native was in sight. If we had been longer in
88




ROVING AND FIGHTING


89


the Islands, we would have known that this was a
sure sign of an attack.
The battalion was halted, resting in the road.
Major Shields, an army doctor, came riding along
the line, mounted on a tiny native pony. He was
accompanied by Richard Henry Little, a war-correspondent. Suddenly he raised himself in his
stirrups and shouted: "Pass the word forward
that a party of armed men are marching past our
right flank!"
Almost at the same instant a shot was fired by
one of the advance guard. In an instant that road
was crackling with bullets. They seemed to come
from every direction.
Our skeleton battalion of two hundred men had
mnarched straight into a trap laid by General Pio
Del Pilar. With three thousand insurrectos, lie
had been marching to attack Imus, when the advance of our party was reported. He formed his
troops into a U-shaped line, his men concealed
by the brush-hedges bordering the rice paddies.
When we obligingly marched into his trap, the
lines closed behind us. The battalion was completely surrounded by an enemy numbering more
than fifteen to our one.
Our troops were ordered to deploy, B and K
Companies going to the right of the line, and A
and L Companies to the left. Breaking through
the bamboo-fences, we advanced through the
yards bordering the road. As we ran, I heard
somre one shout:
"Man down! Bring the stretcher!"




90


ROVING AND FIGIITING


Clearing the houses, we could see a long line of
insurrectos half-hidden in a hedge not more than a
hundred yards away. Halting to fire a few volleys, we advanced. They retired farther into the
brush. A short distance beyond was a deep irrigation-ditch. The natives took refuge behind the
bank and raked our ranks with a hot fire as we
charged in and drove them out.
After capturing the ditch, Lieutenant Nicklin
halted the company for orders. We all now realized that we were up against a tough proposition.
From the sound of the firing and the number of
insurrectos we had seen, we knew that we were
opposed by a heavy force.
While we were halted at the ditch, a body of natives crept into a cornfield behind us and to our
left, cutting us off from the battalion on the road.
When they opened fire, young Herbert Mifflin, on
the left of the line, doubled up and fell into the
muddy water of the rice-paddy.
As I was near him, I ran forward and dragged
him out of the water to the protection of the bank.
He had been drilled by a Mauser bullet. The bullet had made a hole through his tin cup, passed
through his stomach, and came out near his backbone.
A Hospital Corps man came crawling to where
we lay and began to bandage the wound. At that
moment the bugle sang the charge. Yelling like
Indians, we ran at the cornfield, drove the natives
out, and formed a new line resting on the yards
bordering the road.




ROVING AND FIGHTING


91


I walked back to where Mifflin lay. He had always been a close friend of mine; we had enlisted
on the same day. Before he became unconscious
he asked me to visit his people in Chicago, if I
ever returned, and tell them how he died. Years
later I tried to fulfil my promise, but I was never
able to locate his family.
Lieutenant Nicklin ordered several of us to
carry Mifflin into the road, where Major Shields
had established a first-aid station. My friend,
Lee Crowell, helped me carry the wounded man.
In the road we found a scene of wild confusion.
Wounded men were lying about, waiting for treatment. Our one ambulance was full of wounded.
Private Paul Wagner, of our company, was on the
seat. He had been shot through the jaw. While
I was talking to him another bullet, coming from
the opposite direction, again hit him in the jaw.
The two wounds on either side of his face could
lhave been covered by a silver dollar.
Suddenly a heavy volley swept down the road
from the south. The natives were closing in on
us. Captain Andrus of L Company called for the
able-bodied men near him and rushed back to aid
the advance guard, which now had become the
rear guard. For a few minutes we had our hands
full. The insurrectos charged in, until we could
almost hit them in the face with our hats. We
held our ground, however, and they broke and retreated.
Then came the order to retire. We were to retire about half a mile, to a point where we would




92


ROVING AND FIGHTING


have better fighting ground and where the
wounded would be protected by high banks.
Slowly the rear guard fell back, until we were
about one hundred yards from our former position.
I was lying flat beside the road, shooting into the
bushes, when I saw a hand lift from the ditch by
the roadside. It was Sergeant Lang. lIe had
fallen unobserved in the thick weeds, a bullet
through his neck.
The next few minutes will always be hazy in
my memory. Instinctively I ran down the road
to save Lang. I had caught him by the arm, when
a squad of insurrectos leaped out of the thicket
and closed in, slashing with their bolos. Before
I had time to shoot I was surrounded by a circle
of yelling natives, swinging at me with their long,
keen knives.
Back and forth I danced, guarding myself wilth
my gun. As if by instinct I was going through
the movements of the bayonet manual-headguard, butts to the front, advancing and retiring'
-as if on the drill-ground. There is only a vague
recollection of a ring of flashing bolos. One incident I remember, however. A Filipino in a blue
jacket stood not ten feet from me, aiming his gun
at my head. I could see his yellow, grinning face
and his eyes squinting over the sights. IHe fired.
The flame blazed in my face, but the bullet, by
some freak of luck, missed me.
I do not know how long I had fought-probably
not over two minutes-when Lee Crowell ca1me




ROVING AND FIGHTING


lighting to my side. With a group of L Company
n1me he had run back to my rescue. The Filipinos
quit the job and ran off into the brush.
"It was the neatest bit of bayonet practice I
ever saw in my life," Crowell said, panting.
Yet I had not consciously used the movements of
the manual. Those hours of drill on the paradeground had saved my life. My gun was chipped
and scarred with bolo cuts, but I had not received
a scratch. Carrying Sergeant Lang back to the
first-aid station, we turned him over to the doctor.
The sound of firing continued from the right,
where B Company was stationed.
"Let 's go back to the Company," suggested
Crowell, so we started off.
On our way out the cry came again:
"Mlan down! Bring the stretcher!" 
"Who is it? some one called.
"Private Cook, B Company; shot through the
heart," was the answer.
My friend, the laughing, good-natured "Dancing Kid,' would never again entertain us around
the camp-fire.
We found B Company strung out in single file,
marching parallel with the road. I stopped to
show my battered gun to Pete Goorski as I passed,
and fell into my place at the head of the line.
The fence that we were following bent into the
road in the form of an inverted L.
A call came from Sergeant Paddy Geeting, right
guide at the head of the line:
"IHere they are, with their stingers out!"




94


ROVING AND FIGHTING


Drawn up in perfect formation across our line
of march were several hundred insurrectos, standing as if waiting.
"Blow the charge!" yelled Lieutenant Nicklin
to the bugler.
Breaking through the fence into the open ricefield, we charged. Looking back over my shoulder
as I ran, I saw Pete jump through the fence.
" It 's a knock-down and drag-out I he shouted,
laughing and waving his hand.
Shooting as they went, the men of B Company
closed in on the insurrectos. Feeling at my belt
for more cartridges, I discovered that it was
empty. Borrowing five rounds from Corporal
Duever, who ran by my side, I loaded the magazine
of my gun.
Although we could see the Filipinos falling, they
did not break ranks until we had come almost lhand
to hand. Then the line seemed to melt away and
stampede for cover. After driving them from
the field, we were ordered back to cover behind the
line of fence.
"Man down; bring the stretcher!" Again the
familiar yell.
"Who is it?" somebody called.
"Corporal Pete Goorski; shot through the
head. 
Pete had died almost on the spot where I hla(1
seen him wave his hand and heard him call to ne.
The company formed behind the bamboo fence.
Our ammunition was almost exhausted. Lieutellant Nicklin went along the line, collecting a few




ROVING AND FIGHTING


95


cartridges in his hat and distributing them to men
who needed them. I received three.
Looking through the bamboos, we could see the
Filipinos forming for attack. They seemed to
sense that we were short of ammunition. Marching into the open field not three hundred yards distant, they formed in squads, their officers walking
up and down and giving instructions. We were
ordered to hold our fire until they charged. The
enemy was also closing in on the other side of the
road.
"Would n't be surprised if this here would be
another Custer affair," drawled a lanky Westerner. We waited and watched, throwing aside
our haversacks, preparing for the grand finish.
Suddenly a weird screech sounded over our
heads. Amid the ranks of the insurrectos shrapnel broke, scattering them in panic. It was
Riley's Battery and a column coming to our relief.
We were too weary to cheer. In a few minutes
"Yankee Dan's" battalion swept up on the right
and took the fight off our hands.
The skeleton battalion had marched into a welllaid trap, but for five hours and a half had
kept the jaws from closing. We had lost eight
men killed and thirty-two wounded. Four of the
killed and eight of the wounded were from B Company.
In these days, when nations meet in battle, the
fight of Das Marinas may seem insignificant. To
those who took part in it, however, it seemed hot
enough.




96


ROVING AND FIGHTING


Bull-carts followed in the wake of the relief
column, with extra ammunition. Those boxes
were about the most welcome sight we had seen
for some time. With our belts refilled, we
marched on and again took our place in line.
Until after dark we drove the army of Pio Del
Pilar before us. That night it rained. Heedless
of the downpour, we curled up in our sodden
clothes and slept the heavy sleep of tired men. In
the morning we advanced and captured the town
of Das Marinas after a sharp fight. B Company
had another man wounded that day.
In the afternoon we marched back to Imus and
camped in the plaza. That night I cooked my
supper alone. Pete, my bunkie, was gone, and
there was no one to help me. As I squatted over
the crooning coffee-pot, the commanding officer's
orderly called me.
"Major Bubb wants you at headquarters," he
said.
At headquarters I was informed that I would be
recommended for a Medal of Honor, the most
coveted honor in the Army.
"Three officers who saw your defense of Sergeant Lang will sign the recommendation," said
the major.
"Thank you; I 'm glad they were looking," was
my awkward reply.
Returning to my fire, I sat down to a lonely supper. I was not insensible to my good fortune in
winning the medal, but I felt downhearted and




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ROVING AND FIGHTING             99
homesick. Three of my best friends had died that
day, and I was only a boy of eighteen.
For a year Pete and I had been the nearest of
chums. We had slept together, eaten together,
worn each other's clothes, and fought each other's
fights. He was a good soldier and a loyal friend.
While I was sitting there, Lee Crowell came and
sat down beside me.
"You lost your bunkie to-day," he said, "and
I lost mine when Cook was killed. What do you
say if we throw in together?
"Suits me," I replied.
From that night until the day of our discharge,
Crowell and I were partners.




CHAPTER X


A  FTER the battle of Das Marinas, we settled
down to garrison duty in Imus. A general
advance was being made on the north line, but the
regiments in the south were ordered to hold the
ground gained and not attempt an offensive until
after the rainy season.
That first rainy season in the Islands was a
nightmare to most of us. For months the skies
leaked continuously. It varied from an ordinary
rain to a torrential downpour, sometimes lasting
for many days without a clear hour. The ground
was sodden, and the roads became quagmires,
where we waded above our legging-tops. The
very air seemed a blanket of moisture, soaking our
clothes and bleaching our skins. A pair of shoes
left standing for one day would be coated with a
film of mold.
We soaked our shoes in cocoanut-oil, and cleaned
our rifles morning and evening to prevent rust.
Mosquitoes swarmed, and we had no protection
against them. As in Cuba, tropical diseases made
a general attack on the ranks. In a short time the
majority of the men in the regiment were suffering
from malaria. We had no way to combat it, except with quinine. We literally fed on quinine by
the handful.
Malaria, except in the extreme stages, was not
100




ROVING AND FIGHTING


101


considered sufficient excuse for absence from duty.
The men would do their guard-duty between chills.
Dysentery, however, proved a more serious problem. It is almost impossible to prevent a soldier
from eating anything he can get his hands on.
Tropical fruit is especially dangerous. We
feasted on bananas, mangos, duhats, wild guavas,
-anything that the natives brought into the market.
It is a matter of official record that ten times the
number of soldiers killed in battle died of dysentery during those first two years in the Philippines. Later the army doctors learned to curb
the tropical diseases; the soldiers learned, also,
through bitter experience, to be more careful in
their diet. Unfortunately we were there the first
two years.
Our stay in Imus was monotonous. There were
more than one thousand young soldiers set down
in a steaming, tropical jungle, with not a white
woman or a white civilian in the town. We welcomed a scouting trip, even when it meant continual wading through the flooded rice-paddies.
A score of cantinas were opened by native
women in the market-place. Near-beer, soda-water, fruit, tobacco, and deadly Chinese candy, was
the stuff peddled to the incautious soldier. These
cantinas became social centers, their popularity
depending upon the attractiveness of the women
presiding at the bamboo counters. Many of these
women were really beautiful, especially the wnestiZos of Spanish blood. One of these fair-skinned




102


ROVING AND FIGHTING


charmers caused the downfall of an artilleryman,
serving at the time in Cavite.
I understand he now has a family living in Philadelphia, so I will not mention his real name. We
will call him Jaleksonl.,Jacksoin was a silent, l{Morose man, who lhad few friends in the battery. lie
was evidently of good education, and he spoke
Spanish fluently. Ordinarily he was a first-class
soldier, doing his duties efficiently. He had one
failing, however, that made him unpopular. Occasionally he would break out in a wild spree, always ending in the guard-house. When drunk, he
was a fighting lunatic, quarreling with everyone.
Jackson fell in love with a pretty young mestizo
girl who, with her mother, conducted a canti1}na
in the plaza. In time they were married in clurlc
by the native padre. After that wedding, Jackson was shunned by his comrades. There is ani
unwritten law among soldiers that a white nma
must not wed a native.
The artilleryman resented the scorn of his fellow-soldiers, became more sullen, and spent more
time than was good for him in the company of
the Filipinos. One pay-day he went on one of iis
mad sprees. While the fighting madness was on
him he attacked a young lieutenant, striking him'
in the face.
To attack an officer is a grave crime in the arnmy.
Jackson was courtmartialed and sentenced to six
years in military prison. While hle was confined
in the guard-house, awaiting transportation to the
United States to serve his sentence, a member of




ROVING AND FIGHTING


103


the guard permitted him to escape. It is a hard
(Iuty to mount guard over a friend and treat him
like a caged animal.
Jackson was supposed to make his way to Maxilla and stow away on an outgoing steamer for the
China coast. Instead, he made his way by night
to the casa of his wife, and together they stole
away to the insurgent army.
A few weeks later we began to hear stories of
the white renegade. He was in command of a
comnpany of insurrectos. He moved like a ghost
about the country, appearing in the most unexp(cted places. Again and again his command attacked American outposts. On one occasion he
captured two army-wagons loaded with supplies,
killing several members of the guard.
For months we were kept busy chasing Jackso)n. The natives protected him, and he was always warned of our approach. One night the
llmini army of insurgents surrounded the town of
Ilins and made a general attack. The fight continued for several hours in the darkness.
As I lay in the trenches, I could distinctly hear
the voice of Jackson swearing and calling to his
troops to advance. The insurrectos were driven
off, and by daylight they had disappeared.
Months later, when I was with the native scouts,
I witnessed the tragic end of Jackson's career. A
Co)lumn under General Swan attacked the Filipino
trenches near Noveleta, west of Tmus. The scouts
wvcre in the advance guard.
When we went over the trenches, we found Jack



1()4


ROVING AND FIGHTING


son lying by the roadside. He was twice wounded,
-through the lungs and abdomen. Although it
may read like fiction, it is a fact that his native
wife was crouched in the mud of the road, holding
his head in her lap. lce refused to speak to us and
died defiant, fighting against the flag he had sworn
to uphold.
A few months later his wife became the mother
of a blue-eyed boy. She always seemed to hate
the Americans, and would never afterward speak
to an American soldier.
An interesting sequel to Jackson's story followed in the visit of an American lawyer to the Is
lands sometime later. Ile hunted up several of
the men who were present when Jackson died, and
asked them to aid him in locating the body. It
had been buried in a trench with about sixty Filipinos who died in the fight. The lawyer had the
body exhumed, placed in an iron coffin, and shipped
back to the United States.
Jackson's tragic escapade was due to two reasons: acute homesickness, which is a real disease,
and too much potent native beno, which is damnation to the brains of white men.
While we were stationed at Imus, General Lawton, commanding our division, ordered the formation of regimental scouts. Much to my delight,
Crowell and I were selected for this independent
organization. Lieutenant Knabenshue was put in
command of these scouts.
Day by day the insurrectos were becoming
bolder. They would steal up on our sentries at




ROVING AND FIGHITTINNG


105


night, fire a few shots, and vanish in the darkness.
When we hiked out on their trail in the morning,
we would find only peaceful hombres working in
their rice-fields.
The scouts were kept busy exploring the surrounding country, making maps and guarding
wagon-trains from Bacoor, a town four miles distant on the shore of Manila Bay. Occasionally
we would be fired on from ambush, but for months
we had had no actual fighting.
One day the scouts were ordered out on the
B3acoor road as escort to a party of signal corps
men. The telegraph-wire had gone down, and
communication with the coast was shut off. At
the Big Bend, where road and river meet, we found
the break. While we rested along the road, a signal corps lineman climbed a pole to splice the
break.
Suddenly the road was swept by a volley from
across the river. The natives had entrenched
themselves in the bamboo-thickets beside the river,
and had cut the wire for the purpose of leading a
party of Americans into the open stretch of road
at the bend. The man on the pole fell at the first
volley, shot through the leg. Dragging his leg,
he crawled back to the protection of a ditch.
During the next few minutes that section of the
road was as hot as any spot on the map. Taking
cover as best we could, we answered their fire.
There was no mark to shoot at; only a wall of
green jungle from which Mauser bullets poured
in a continuous hail.




106


ROVING AND FIGHTING


Our party numbered barely twenty men. It
was evident that the insurrectos were in strong
force, and it was necessary to get help. Bacoor
was the nearest point. Lieutenant Knabenslhue
called for a volunteer to cross that open space with
the message. The first man who tried it was
wounded before he had taken two steps. He was
pulled back under cover, and Sergeant Brad
Hughes tried to make the trip. He, too, was
wounded as soon as he appeared in the open.
It was my turn next, but I had no notion of attempting to cross that deadly gap. Every maii
who had shown himself in that bend had been shot
down. Deciding to try strategy, I circled back
through the rice-fields, crawling through the
sprouting rice behind the dikes. My plan succeeded, and I found myself behind cover on the opposite side of the bend.
As I rounded a turn in the road, a comical sight
greeted me. An old army teamster riding one
mule and leading another, had been approaching
Bacoor when theofight opened. He had catapulted
into the ditch, still clinging to the leading-ropes
attached to the mules. Every time a volley rang
out, those mules would try to depart in haste from
that spot, dragging the harried teamster from Ihis
haven of refuge. He would drag them back a:nd
again crouch behind the bank, only to be jerked
up at the next jump of the mules. He wanted to
stay in that ditch more than he wanted anything
in the world at that moment, yet it was his instinctive duty to stay with those mules. I never ha ve




ROVING AND FIIGTING


107


seen a man more torn between desire and duty
than that profane old teamster.
I asked him if he would ride one of the mules
back to Bacoor and carry the message. Without
tanswering, he thrust one rope into my hand,
iumpned on one of the mules, and disappeared in a
splatter of mud. I had no intention of playing
tag with a single-minded mule, so I tied him to a
mango-tree and let him jump, while I preimpted
the teamster's ditch.
ILad we but known it, this frantic effort to get a
message through was unnecessary. A lieutenant
of the signal corps had already done the job. He
had succeeded in raking in the broken end of the
wire behind a rice-dike. By tapping the end of
thle wire he had been able slowly to spell out a
message. He tried to take the reply by touching
the ends of the wire to his tongue, but the electric
current was too strong. Thrusting a bayonet into
the ground, he looped the wires around the steel,
tihus grounding the current. This reduced the
strength of the current, and he held the wires to
his tongue, feeling the dots and dashes.
This is the strangest telegraph-message I have
ever heard of, but it is proven by the official report
of that day's fight forwarded to Washington. In
anlswer to his message, reinforcements were already coming from Bacoor and Imrns. Those from
Bacoor arrived first. They consisted of two companies of the Fourteenth Infantry and Captain
lil ',-s b:ittery from the Sixth Artillery.
I was still crouched in my ditch a few yards




1(8


ROVING AND FIGHTING


from the open space when the infantry came up
running at double-time. Captain Eldridge was in
the lead.
"Where are they located?" he asked, as he
ran up.
"Across the river, Captain," I replied. "Don't
go into the open. Five men have been hit out
there."
Not heeding my caution, Captain Eldridge
stepped out from behind the screen of bamboos and
raised his field-glasses to his eyes. At that instant a bullet struck him squarely in the forehead.
He fell back into the arms of a sergeant who followed him.
In a few minutes Captain Riley's battery was
dropping shrapnel into the Filipino trenches.
The natives, always bashful in the presence of
big guns, soon withdrew. While the infantry was
making preparations to cross the river, the scouts
were ordered back through Imus to attack the insurrectos from the rear.
At the head of a battalion of the Fourth Infantry, the scouts struck the main body of the insurgents at Benicayan and drove them through Cavite Viejo. We slept in the mud that night. At
daybreak we again took up the advance, but the
enemy had withdrawn.
A repetition of these skirmishes would prove
monotonous. It is enough to say that that week
the scouts were almost constantly in action. li
seven days we were in eight separate engagements,
but we lost only two men during the week.




ROVING AND FIGHTING


109


It was about that time that an incident occurred
which was peculiarly tragic because it was so unnecessary. A company of soldiers was intrenched
at the Big Bend to prevent a repetition of the
ambush. One night the commanding officer at
Bacoor wished to send a message to this company.
As there was no telegraph-operator at the Big
Bend, it was necessary to find a messenger. A native of Bacoor, named Francisco, was selected.
Francisco was a young fisherman who was a great
favorite with the Americans at Bacoor. He did
odd jobs around the camp, and sold fish to the
cooks. As it happened, he had been married that
day to a golden-skinned mestizo girl, named
Dolores. Many Americans attended the wedding.
That night the commanding officer's orderly
came to Francisco and asked him to take a letter
to the Big Bend, only two miles away. He offered
him two dollars for the trip. Now two dollars is
four pesos, great wealth for a native in war-times.
So Francisco agreed to carry the letter.
Dolores went with him, stopping at the edge of
the village to wait for his return. She was still
dressed in the white garments of a bride. Francisco hastened down the road, promising to return
quickly.
There was a recruit sentry on duty that night.
He had heard weird tales of the treachery of the
natives and their habit of boloing sentries in the
dark. Therefore, when Francisco came walking
down the road, looking like a wraith in his white




110


ItOVING AND FIGHITING


clothes, the sentry forgot to challenge and killed
him.
The next night another sentry had a fright. A
woman in white came and peered into his face,
muttering native gibberish. Hle happened to be
an old soldier and did not shoot. It was Dolores.
She was taken to the doctor, who declared that she
was insane. For a day and two nights she had
waited at the turn of the road for her lover. Nobody had thought to tell her that he was dead, and
now she was too crazy to understand.
After that she daily took her lonely post in the
road, still watching for Francisco. She still wore
the white garments of a bride, with the good-luck
marks woven in the pifia cloth panmela. Nihrllt
after night she paced that road, stopping the passersby and pleading for her lover.
It was a miracle that she was not killed. I hiav
seen her come strolling down that road when fthi
bullets were popping through the bamboos and
every gun was seeking a mark. Yet some one
always recognized her and sang out:
"Look out! Here comes the Bride!"
She was still keeping her lonely vigil when T
left the Islands two years later. She may still
be haunting that road, although Francisco died
seventeen years ago.




CHAPTER XI


BOUT this time General Lawton had ordered
the organization of a company of division
scouts, under Captain Percival Lowe and Lieutenant Joseph   Castner. They   were   known
throughout the Islands as Lowe's Scouts. Much
to our joy, Crowell, Corporal Duever, and myself
were selected to join them.
As I was with the Scouts during the next year
anld a half, I want to give sonic idea of this organization. Captain Lowe was a noted Indian fighter,
whlo had won his commission from the ranks.
With his friend, Lieutenant Castner, he had made
tlle first map of the Yukon River in Alaska.
The Scouts were about forty in number. Some
of them were civilians, carried on the pay-roll as
packers, while others were soldiers from differe(1et regiments of Lawton's Division. It was one
of the strangest bunches of adventurers ever
hlecrded together. There were men from almost
every army in Europe.
Captain tHector McAllester, a sea-captain, had
l!(eni an ivory-hunter for years in Africa; Felio
11ad been a sergeant in the famous French cuir&ssiers; old "Yellowstone" Kelly was a scout of
the "Buffalo Bill" type; McKay had been in the
lordon Highlanders; Paddy Walsh had been a
11I




11_2


ROVING AND IiIGHIITING


Catholic priest and later a soldier in two armies;
and Mnanners had been a Methodist minister in the
South. Most of them were from the western part
of the United States. I was the "kid" of the
outfit, but when I received my assignment, I
would not have traded places with the general.
Our first expedition was back through the olt
stamping-ground at Imus, where B Company was
still stationed. On this trip we enlisted thirteen
Tagalog scouts. This was an experiment, the first
time a native had been enlisted as an American
soldier.
Acting as advance guard for the Thirteenth Infantry and part of the Fourteenth, we marched
through Cavite Viejo and found the insurrectos
at Noveleta, a few miles beyond. The "gu-gus"
were well intrenched behind a deep irrigation ditch
emptying into the salt lagoons near the bay. At
one point a narrow, stone bridge crossed this
ditch.
An old-fashioned, muzzle-loading, brass cannon
had been planted on this bridge, commanding the
road. It was loaded with nails and iron scraps,
backed by black powder.
When that old cannon was touched off, it killed
one officer of the Fourteenth and wounded eleven
enlisted men. It was near this bridge that we
found the dying Jackson, the renegade whose story
I have already told.
After that first battle the insurrectos never
made a decided stand. We kept them on the run
for about a week, marching through San Fraln



ROVING AND FIGHTING


1. 13


cisco de Malabon and over to Das Marinas, past
the old battle-ground where my bunkie, Pete Goorski, had been killed.
It was on this hike that a get-rich-quick artist
came to grief. He was a civilian who appeared
the first day with a cart-load of pies and other
necessities. We were cut off from our base and
feeding on light field rations. Those pies were
a picture to hungry eyes.
Unfortunately this pirate demanded a dollar
apiece for his pies. In a few days he was also
selling tobacco at a dollar a sack. As far as we
were concerned he owned all the pies in the world,
and before the second day his stock was exhausted.
We protested and abused him, but it was of no use.
lie had a monopoly, so prices went up.
About the fourth day, however, this pie-pirate
came smiling to our first sergeant, Frank O'Leary.
"Would you mind if I messed in with you boys
to-night'?" he queried.
"Certainly not," Frank agreed. "Better get
our scale of prices before you begin, however.
Hardtack is one dollar a biscuit, bacon one dollar
a slice, and coffee one dollar a cup. Now go ahead
and bust yourself, but pay the cook before you
begin to eat."
The monopolist wailed like a roped steer, but
it was of no use. He went to other companies,
but we passed the word along. He couldn't go
back, because he had to stay with the column for
protection. For four days he was forced to pay
our scale of prices. It was like pulling a tooth




114


ROVING AN) FIGIITING


every time he parted with a dollar, but he had to
do it or starve. In this manner we got many of
our dollars back.
To cap the climax of his woe, this merchant rmet
with more disaster in Imus. After he had fed
himself at a Chinese restaurant, he met Denny
Mason, one of our Scouts, who is an old army
gambler. It seemed that the pie-man had one
weakness. He rather fancied himself as a pokerplayer. Denny and several of the boys obliged
him, and before nightfall the Scouts had the rest
of his money.
From Imus we returned to Manila, andl from
there went to San Fernando on the north line.
The big drive on the main insurrecto army w;as
about to begin. It was planned to attack tlie
army of General Emilio Aguinaldo, then at tie(o
insurgent capital of Tarlac, from three angles.
Generals MacArthur and Funston were to drive
straight north along the Manila & Dagupan R!ailroad. General Lloyd Wheaton was to land hlis
forces from transports near Dagupan. General
Lawton's Division, which included the Scouts, wls
to make a great circling movement to the east, in
an effort to block the roads into the mountains.
When we left San Fernando, we were starting
on the longest hike ever made in the Philippine
Islands. The march of the Scouts did not eiid
until we reached Apari, a port at the extremlse
northern end of Luzon.
I will not repeat the story of the different fighlts
we had on that trip, but merely recite a few inci



ROVING AND FIGILTING


115


dlcuets which were of interest. At one stage of the
nmirchl a detachment of the Scouts were acting as
alvaince guard for a battalion of the Twenty1tourtlh Infantry, who were negro soldiers. Tle
hleadquarters staff and band were also in this
collumin.
The road wound across an open rice-field about
a mile in width and bounded by a creek heavily
woo-ded along its banks. As we approached, an
excited caraboa stampeded from the bushes. We
strung out in open order and investigated. A
nervous Filipino in the ditch fired a shot, and the
light began. There were several hundred insurgents concealed behind the banks of the creek.
At that moment the battalion of negroes was
trellnhing in sets of fours about half a mile behind
us. Thrown out in skirmish order across the
rice fields, they began to advance. As the order
to advance was given, the band unlimbered and be1':n to play "A Hot Time in the Old Town Tonighlt." I have seen several charges, but never
anlything to equal that one. Yelling like Indians
indl singing the song, those negroes ran over that
bunch of insurrectos as if they were rabbits.
They did not stop chasing them for several miles.
At San Isidro we found the first trace of the GiliTore prisoners, who had been captured at Baler,,n the eastern side of the island, many months
l'fore. The party consisted of Lieutenant Gil-,111re and a number of sailors, who had been taken
w\tlile trying to relieve the Spanish garrison at
Baler.




116


ROVING AND FIGHTING


In the prison we found their names written on
the whitewashed walls. At this town we also
found the first trace of Captain Rockefeller, the
story of whose capture I have already told. His
name was written in the roster of prisoners. Several civilians and soldiers from other organizations were also on this list.
Lieutenant Gilmore and his party were not released for many months. They were finally
tracked into the mountains by General Hare, then
commanding the Thirty-third Volunteers. The
story of that expedition is one of the great exploits
of the campaign.
At the risk of seeming to insert a bit of free advertising, I am going to tell of the manner in which
the party was trailed through the mountains
where the "Iead-Hunters" held the trails. One
of the prisoners was a salesman for a well-known
brand of American beer. In San Isidro we found
the following legend inscribed on the walls in several places: "The Beer that Made Milwaukee Famous."   For nearly six months our soldiers followed that sign. Scrawled on walls, cut into the
bark of trees, scratched on rocks and cafion-walls
in the mountains, it was always a finger pointing
the way. When at last the prisoners were found,
far in the northern mountains, where even the
Spanish soldiers had never ventured, this enterprising salesman was still with them, carrying
on his unique advertising campaign.
While camped at San Isidro an incident occurred which gave me faith in the soldier's creed




ROVING AN)D FIGHTING


117


— "You never get hit till your time comes." A
detachment of the Scouts was ordered out as an
escort to a bull-train going from San Isidro to
Alagua. We were told that we would probably
meet a detachment of Maccabebee Scouts on the
road.
It w'.s the back trail, the enemy was operating
in the other direction, and we anticipated no
trouble. About half-way on our trip we sighted
a squad of natives with rifles in the road ahead.
At that moment we were in a flat, barren field, with
a lot of tall grass just ahead.
Crowell, who spoke excellent Spanish, called
out, asking if the men ahead were Scouts. The
answer was a volley from the grass. There were
only eight men in the advance guard,-four Tagalogs and four white men. The main body was
several hundred yards to the rear with the carts.
We "hit the ground" as quickly as we could, and
returned their fire.
A few feet to the right of the road was an antlill a couple of feet high. It was of sun-baked
clay, as hard as rock and it gave excellent cover.
I dropped behind it and rested my rifle on the top,
trying to locate something to shoot at. One of
the Scouts, a Frenchman named Bargereau, had
dropped in the open road.
"Ts there room for two behind that hill?" he
Yelled.
"Sure; come on!" r answered.
Crawling over on his hands and knees, he settled
Clown beside me. I moved my shoulders to give




11_8


ROVING AND FIGIITING


him a share of the protection. He had not been
in his place two seconds when a bullet passed(
through his right lung. If I had not moved, it
would have struck me squarely in the heart. Fortunately, Bargereau recovered from the wound.
After leaving San Isidro, we hiked on to Cabanetuan. At this point I was put in hospital for
several days. For weeks we had been wading
through mud or marching on the hot roads, without an opportunity to change our shoes. Som(etimes we were forced to go several (lays without
removing our shoes, because of the constant danilger of attack. My feet had become blistered antl
raw, and the slimy ooze of the rice-paddies 1had
poisoned them. Many of the men in the outfit suffered from the same trouble.
After several days' rest in the hospital, I determined to make an effort to catch up with ti1h
Scouts. A kindly officer presented me with a pair
of shoes large enough to hold my swollen feet, and
I was told that the Scouts were resting in the town(
of Humingan.
On this trip I performed a feat for which I received great praise, but for which there was absolutely no credit due me. When I left the hospital
I was put in charge of four Tagalog Scouts who'
had been left behind. A battalion of infantry was
ordered to Humingan on the same morning. Thle
major of this battalion asked me whether I couldl
guide his troops over the short route which tlt
Scouts had taken. I told him I would try. For
three days I guided that outfit over hills and




ROVING AND FIGHTING


119


thrl)ough jungles, at times when there was not a
itr'ce of a trail. When the trip was finished the
a.ijor wrote to Lieutenant Castner highly commelnding my ability as a guide.
The facts in the case were that I had simply followed a line of telegraph-posts which I had been
told led over that trail. The line had been erected
VyeSrs before by the Spaniards, who had abaniloned it, and the wire was gone. Whenever I
missed the trail I halted the column, sent my Tagdlogs to left and right of the road, and hunted up;intother pole. During our entire trip not an officer of that battalion noticed those guide-posts.
I did not rejoin the Scouts until I reached
Tlnyug. That same day we hiked on to San Nicholas, six miles away. This town is at the foot of
t!ie mountains, only three miles from the trail
whlere Aguinaldo had escaped into the Igorrote
clmntry. We had been there two days when Aguilialdo's famous buried treasure was discovered.
1 have seen this story printed in several magaziles, but I have never heard the true story told.
II re are the facts of the incident.
A Tagalog bull-cart driver came into the camp
of the Scouts one night and asked for something
to eat. After he had been fed he was questioned,
ai(l admitted that he had worked for the insur"'lt os. Finally, after two hours of cross-examination,, he told the following story.
Iie had driven one of the caraboa carts which
ldl haluled the baggage of the insurgent governl'nlt-officials. This had included three cart-loads




120


ROVING AND FIGHTING


of silver money, many loads of furniture, and numerous boxes of documents. The money had been
buried in a canion a mile above the beginning of
the mountain-trail. He had seen it buried.
All of the carteros had been herded under guard
after the money was buried and taken into the
mountains. Fearing that he would be shot because he knew too much about the treasure, this
particular cartero had escaped into the mountains
and made his way back to San Nicholas. He had
arrived there footsore and hungry.
When the story was finally told, Lowe's Scouts
jumped for their guns and started for the caion.
Every man had visions of great chests of silver
pesos and sacks of Spanish gold.
We were about halfway to the canion when a
troop of the Third Cavalry passed us on the gallop. In some mysterious manner the story of the
treasure had circulated through the town. We
were on foot, and of course the cavalry left us far
behind in the race.
When we arrived at the cafion, we saw the boxes
of silver being packed on commandeered carts.
A box of gold coin was also found. We learned
afterward that more than two hundred thousand
pesos had been turned over to the officers of the
Third Cavalry. To my knowledge this was not
all of the treasure.
We were an angry and disappointed bunch of
men. We watched those cavalrymen with war in
our hearts. Every time a cavalryman moved he
clanked like a sack of money. Even their saddle



ROVING AND FIGHTING


121


pockets were stuffed with silver. Drearily we
liiked back to town.
The troopers knew that they would be searched
when they returned to San Nicholas. Therefore
they tried every scheme to hide the coin before
their arrival in town. Tying the coins in handkerchiefs, they dropped them into the bushes by the
roadside, or behind rocks. The troop was drawn
up in the plaza and every man was searched by
the officers. Many thousands of dollars were
taken from them.
As it happened, the Scouts were on outpost duty
on the side of town nearest the trail. That night
several cavalrymen were seen stealing out past our
lines, and the wise members of the Scouts realized
what was going on. A number of our fellows
formed a chain-guard and awaited the return of
those wealthy cavalrymen. It was a case of stand
and deliver, or get arrested and taken to the
guard-house. Thus it came about that the Scouts
did not altogether miss sharing in the treasuretrove.
A few days later we discovered the cache of furniture from the insurgent government headquarters. In a cleared space in the jungle, a few yards
from the trail, we found a great heap of desks,
chairs, and furniture of every description. Most
of it was made of beautiful hardwoods,-mahogany, nara, rosewood, and teak. We could n't
s-eind furniture at the canteens, so we left it in
tlp jungle.




CHAPTER XII


WO days after the discovery of the treasure
we were ordered to cross the mountains into
the Cagayan Valley. We left San Nicholas as
the advance guard of a battalion of the Twentyfourth Infantry. A detachment of cavalry was
also crossing into the valley fromn San Jose to the
south, over a trail which was practical for horses.
That trail was a heart-breaker. In many places
it was washed away. Every few minutes we
would be forced to cross the mountatin streamls,
which were icy cold. We walked and slept in our
wet clothes. After a four days' hike we descended
through the foothills toward the town of -Bayolbong, which was reported to be held by General
Canton and a large force of insurrectos.
The capture of this town was a spectacular performance. It has been given wide publicity in
American magazines and newspapers, but the nTcn
who really deserved the credit did not receive it.
During our march across the mountains we ltd
gained a day on the battalion of the Twentyfourth. Without halting, Lieutenant Castner,
since Captain Lowe was then in hospital, ordered
an immediate advance on the town. Our force
consisted of about thirty-five white men and seventy-five natives.
122




ROVING AND FIGHITING;


123


Four miles south of us the San Jose trail
emerged from the hills. Lieutenant lonro, commanding a troop of cavalry, had arrived at the
foot of this trail two days before. Here he discovered an old Spanish telegraph line leading into
Bayombong. Attaching a field-instrument, he
found that the line was in working order into the
town. For two days he had been negotiating over
this line for the surrender of General Canton.
Believing that a large force was at the trail-head,
Canton had been working for delay, but up to the
time of our appearance he had refused to surrender.
Lieutenant Castner did not know that the cavalry had arrived. Nevertheless he ordered an imlediate attack. As we appeared on the open road
leading into town, we were sighted by the Americall cavalrymen. The troop immediately followed
us. When the Scouts sighted the approaching
cavalrymen, a race ensued for the honor of capturing the town.
We double-timed down the hot road until we
were almost exhausted by the heat and dust.
Steadily the cavalry gained on us. Sergeant Wilnitz of the Scouts then did a thing which I believe
was one of the nerviest performances ever recorded in the Philippines.
Sighting a small native pony in the fields, Wilnitz ran out and confiscated it. He was an old
cavalryman who had seen service in the Indian
Wars. Improvising a bridle with his belt and
canteen-strap, he jumped on the bare back of this




124


ROVING AND FIGHTING


pony and galloped on ahead into the town. Te
arrived alone in the plaza twenty minutes before
another American reached the town.
lie found General Canton with fifty-three nll
drawn up in line before the church. A force of
several hundred insurrectos had marched north
out of the town only a few minutes before, refusirng
to surrender with their general. Wilnitz rode up
to the insurgent commander, drew his pistol, and
demanded the surrender of the town. General
Canton stepped up, saluted gravely, and hanided
him his sword.
A few minutes later the American party rushed
into the plaza, a mixed mob of cavalry and running
Scouts. Lieutenants Castner and Monro rodle
side by side. We found Wilnitz calmly clltting
with General Canton, while a piratical looking insurrecto was serving him a drink of limeade.
Of course, when an officer is present an enlisted
man cannot accept a surrender. Although Lieutenant Castner was the senior officer present, 11e
insisted on Lieutenant Monro formally accepting
the surrender. Castner then assumed comnimnd
of Bayonibong.
In a magazine article which appeared several
years later, based on this incident, Lieutenalnt
Monro is given credit for capturing the town lby
telegraph and Yankee bluff. It was little Sergeant Wilnitz, with the aid of a canteen-strap and
a six-shooter, who really captured Bayombo1ll
and he did it singlehanded.
While the formalities of the surrender were b0 -



ROVING AND FIGIITING 


125


iiig staged, the weary Scouts threw themselves on
Ilie ground, gulping for breath. For four days we
had been climbing over a mountain-trail, and for
thle last two miles had tried to beat a troop of
cavalry in a foot-race.
An hour later we had our fires going, cooking
eurr first meal that day. The usual egg-andchicken hunt was also going on in the outskirts of
tlhe town. Wherever the Scouts camped, the
chlickens quickly learned to fly high.
While we were eating, First Sergeant Frank
()'Leary announced that a volunteer had been
called for to take the news of the town's capture
btack across the mountains to General Lawton at
San Nicholas. About half of the Scouts volunteered, each of us hoping that he would not be
selected. With my usual bad fortune, I was the
one selected.
"Finish your feed and be ready to start in two
1hours,'? T was told. "You will take two natives,
alnd make the trip as quickly as you can. Don't
try to return alone. Wait until some outfit is com1 -illg over. "
After eating everything the camp afforded, from
fried chicken to stewed prunes, I lay down for a
brief rest. At the hour designated I was ready.
MAI haversack was stuffed with bacon, canned
"Willie," and hardtack. I was given a letter to,:oliver to the first American officer I met on the
Otller side of the mountains.
Accompanied by two natives, I started that eveoing on the back trail. For three days we hiked,




126


ROVING AND FIGHTING


wading the same icy streams, and climbing the
same steep cliffs we had encountered during the
trip over. We hiked night and day, resting infrequently and eating only twice a day.
On the evening of the third day we approachel
a spring where we had camped before. Fromt
that spring it was only half a day's march to Sran
Nicholas. I intended to camp there for a few
hours, and then push on by moonlight.
As we neared the spring, we saw the light of a
camp-fire feebly blinking through the darkness.
That fire might mean friends or enemies. If tlhe
campers were a force of American soldiers, I told
myself, there would be more than one fire. Cautiously we investigated. One of the Filipino
Scouts crept through the tall mountain-grass anld
investigated. lie reported that a small party of
men were sitting around the fire, but that tlhey
were not white men. We advanced nearer to a
hilltop a few rods from the fire. Looking down,
I recognized the campers as American negro soldiers.
"Hello, there!" I yelled. "Don't shoot! I am
an American."
With unanimous haste the negroes scrambled
for their guns and took cover behind a clump of
bushes. Their guns were trained in my general
direction.
" How many of you is they?"' shouted a voice.
"One white soldier and two Filipinos," I niiswered.
"What 's a white man doin' runnin' around




ROVING AND FIGHTING


127


with Filipinos?" queried the voice, suspiciously.
"White man, you advance slow, with your hands
up. Wait a minute! You keep whistlin' all the
wa:y, so we know where you is. If you stop whistlin', we begin to shoot."
Laying down my gun, I began to advance, and
then s- )pped short. For the life of me I could n't
think of a tune to whistle.
"Whistle, I tells you!" came the warning.
Suddenly the air of a then popular song popped
into my head. With hands held aloft I marched
into the firelight, whistling with all my might,
knowing that those guns were pointed straight at
thait whistle. The tune that I whistled to those
friglhtened negroes was not an appropriate one.
It was, "You be My Sweetheart and I Will be
Thine! 
When I had been properly identified, the two
natives were called in. We found that the camping party consisted of four negroes who had been
l1)st in the mountains for many days. They were
ne:-lrly dead from starvation, and were leg-weary
iroun climbing over mountains in search of the
tril. One grizzled old sergeant had almost succurnled. He was stretched near the fire, delirious
with fever.
There was one can of corned-beef, a small piece
(f bacon, a handful of rice, and some hardtack
lift in our halversacks. Finding a big earthenm
l1la at the spring, we dumped the whole mess into
it and made a stew. By adding plenty of water,
it rnade a fair supper for seven men.




128


ROVING AND FIGIITING


After a few hours' rest I called the two Scouts,
land we again started across the trail to Sal Nicelolas. Before leaving we gave the negro soldiers 8
nmap of the trail, with instructions to follow us by
daylight. The next day they arrived safely at
San Nicholas.
After delivering my message, I led my two ntatives in a charge on a Chinese restaurant. We
waded through the bill-of-fare, from ham anld eggs
to sweet-potato pie. For three days I did nothing but eat, sleep, and bathe in the river.
While at San Nicholas the quartermaster demonstrated to me the strength of army red tlap:e.
TMy clothes were ragged and my shoes were worn
by the hard hiking, so I went to headquarters ani
asked permission to draw clothes.
"Where is your descriptive list?" I was asked.
Now I had never seen my descriptive list. It
was at Scout headquarters. On this list was
marked all the clothes I had drlawn and a record of
my service. It is against regulations for a soldi.er
to carry his own list.
"No descriptive list, no clothes," was the edict.
There were boxes of new clothing piled in the
quartermaster's office. They were bought by
Uncle Sam for his soldiers. Here was one of his
soldiers who sadly needed clothes, but who could
not have them. Fortunately, another soldier wit]h
clothing and shoes to spare, fitted me up with a
new outfit.
The officer could hardly be blamed, as he wsvS
held personally responsible for all property in lis




ROVING AND FIGITING


129


care. Any shortage would be taken from his pay.
In those days every soldier was tethered to the
regulations by strands of non-elastic red tape.
Army business seemed an endless chain of papers,
boards of survey, and a constant effort to pass
responsibility on to the other man.
On one occasion a regiment had been many
months in the field, and much of the regimental
property had been lost without property accounting. There was no question of graft; the property had been used in campaign without property
receipts, vouchers, signatures, counter-signatures,
and official approval by the swivel-chair highrankers. There was much uneasiness among the
ofieers of the regiment. Some one was in danger
of losing a year's pay. This regiment was crossing the Agnew river on one occasion. Some of
tle regimental property was piled on a raft, and
the raft obligingly sank in the middle of the river.
A list of the lost property was at once prepared,
and a board of officers officially declared the missilg goods as "expended in service."  When this
list reached headquarters, it is said the Quartermaster General exclaimed: " Great Scott, that was
no raft; it was Noah's ark!"
There must be some check on the distribution of
army supplies, in order to prevent misapproprialion and wastage. To the soldier, however, it
)appeared as if book-keeping were the main object
'td supplying the troops Ilthe secondary. Of
course T am speaking of the old army of nineteen
years ago.




CHAPTER XIII


A   FTER a three-day rest in San Nicholas I
learned that another battalion of negro
troops were going over the trail to Bayombong.
With my two native scouts I again made the trip
across the mountains with these troops.
Upon rejoining the Scouts, we proceeded down
the fertile Cagayan valley to the north. This is
one of the richest districts of Luzon, where much
of the finest Manila tobacco is grown. Our column
met with little resistance during the march. Skirmishes with the retreating insurrectos occurred
on several occasions, but they were of small importance.
At last we arrived at Apari, a port at the extreme northern end of the island. For a time our
hiking was over. In a few days we embarked oit
the gunboat Helena and were transported to
Vigan on the west coast, the second largest city on
Luzon.
For many weeks we remained idle. During the
months of campaign that had passed, the organization of the Scouts had changed. Gradually the
white men had dropped out, civilians resigning
and soldiers transferring back to their regimeits
or going to the hospital. The number of Tagalogs
had increased. By this time the natives numbered
130




ROVING AND FIGIITING


131


more than two hundred, while the white men were
less than twenty.
Captain Lowe had been invalided back to the
United States, and now Lieutenant Castner was
detailed to other duty. Capt!ain John Green of
the Thirty-third Volunteers was placed in commmand of the Scouts. Captain Green was a native
of Texas, my old home-state, and was one of the
finest officers I have ever served under.
At the battle of San Fabian, some months earlier, le had been severely wounded, and he had
just been returned to duty. The morning before
that battle Captain Green, with several other
officers and enlisted men, partook of the most exl)pensive breakfast on record, although it only consisted of coffee and bacon.
According to the story of the men present, Captain Green and two other officers had camped for
tlie night in a deserted Filipino house. Adjoining
tIhis house was a nipa-thatched shed where a num)ber of soldiers had camped.
It was during the rainy season, the ground was
sodden and the skies leaked constantly. No dry
wood could be found, and despite all their efforts
1 he men could not make the damp thatch burn. A
fight was expected that day so the men wanted
tlieir breakfast before the order to fall in was
given.
Finally a soldier reported to Captain Green.
"Captain," he said, "there is an old cedar-chest
tied up to the rafters of this house. It is full of




13~2


1 ROVING AND FIGHTING


cigar-box labels. It would make a fine fire and
would dry out the otler wood.,
Captain Green directed him to cliop up the chest
and burn the bundles of labels. These labels welre
about the size of:1he top of a cigar-box. Tley
were printed in Sl m:nish and were red, blue, wltid
yellow in color. The old chest and the dry paper
made a fine fire, and soon everyone was huddled
about the blaze sipping their hot coffee and eating
bacon and hardtack.
A half-breed interpreter chanced to stroll upl
to the fire. A few of the labels which had escaped
the fire were scattered about the ground or were
trampled in the mud. That interpreter made a
wild scramble for the pieces of paper.
The bundles of "cigarr-labels," which had grone
up in smoke, were bank-notes of the Ban-co De Espana, worth about fifty cents on the (lollar. It
was estimated th at that lbrealkfast cost about $50,000 in American money. Only a few hundred dollars were saved.
To add to his tale of woe, Captain Green was
wounded that afternoon a}nd taken to the hospital.
After his $50,000 breakfast lie was sentenced to a
liquid diet for twenty days, his meals consisting of
three cents' worth of malted milk.
When Captain Green took command of the
Scouts in Vigan, he appointed me acting quartermaster sergeant. It was now my job to draw 1ations for the outfit and to care for the property ()t
the organization. The majority of the regular




I.t,()VJN0 ANI) PI-GHTI-N(I


133


army nmen had left the Scouts })y tlis time, so a
1'w \lll ere wdetaled!fro} Ut th]e T'Irli ty-tlhird Vollutl teers.
O)ur lhet dquLarters were tratsferre(d 'ronii Vigan
to the town of Santa Maria, thirty nliles south, on
tlhe coast.  Sanlta Maria was onf of the niost beautiful spots I have seen in the lPhilippinles, but it
was the seat of trouble. T]he natives of thtat district were   " rice-p.addy'  insurrectos. Wllen
Ameiricean soldiers were near, the homl)bre) posed
"s peaceful workers in the fields. Wlhe the soldiers were gone, thcey dugo up their gunis anld took
to the war-path.
Wagon-trains had been wa:yltaid, and small parti(es of soldiers butelered. The co:astal road here
being an important link in the American line of
communication, it was necessary that it be made
safe. It was our duty to run down these small
bands of insurrectos anl ladrones.
One of the most noted of tle ladrone leaders
wa-s Capitan Cornelius. He had organized a small
company of local warriors, who, refusing allegiance to the organized insurgent government, operated as partisan bandits. Two Americans had
been killed near Santa Maria and thleir bodies had
bleen mutilated. Ca pitan (ornelius was accused
of these murders.
As quartern-imaster sergeant, it was my job to buy
rice, forage, and other supplies from the natives.
In this way I came to be on friendly terms with
some of the leading citizens of the town. The




1 34


ROVING AND FIGITTING


town presidente was in jail, accused of secretly
working with the insurrectos, but the vice-prcsidentc was very friendly to us.
One day I received an ilnvitation to attend:
baile, or dance, at the home of a wealthy Filipino
about a mile from town. That evening I dressed
for the festival. A civilian always likes to masquerade in soldier clothes, but a soldier always
likes to pose as a civilian. Possibly this is due to
the contrariety of human nature. At any rate,
tlhat night, after adorning myself in white duck
civilian clothes, I walked to the home of our host
with the vice-presidente.
I was wearing my gun, an old fashioned, singleaction, forty-five revolver. As it is hardly the
proper thing to wear arms at a feast, even in a liostile land, I removed the pistol when we arrived at
the house and had my host conceal it in a sideroom.
The dance proceeded, and I was enjoying myself hugely. Suddenly the music and laugllter
ceased. Silence fell upon the room. At the moment I was seated beside the sister of the vicepresidente, facing the entrance, with my back toward an open window. Glancing up, I saw two
natives in uniform standing bowing in the doorway. My first impulse was to do a high dive out
of the window, but one look proved that the yard
was filled with armed men.
"Capitan Cornelius,"  whispered the mestizo
girl.
Visions of those two murdered men camne to my




ROVING AND FIGHITING


1.35


mind(. It looked as if I was due to get my final
statements.
'Go get my gun! Quick!" I whispered.
I"No; if you move, they will kill you!" she answereed.
Capitaii Cornelius, a pock-marked half-caste,
was bowing and shaking hands with the guests.
Apparently he had not noticed me. IIe walked
around the circle, gallantly saluting each one with
exaggerated politeness. At last he stood opposite me.
"Ah,l it is Serjeanto O'Reilly!" he said bowing
low. "I have heard of you. I hope you are having a very pleasant evening."
Now that was a foolish thing for him to say. If
he had glanced at my trembling knees, he would
h1ave known that I was not enjoying myself. I
admitted that it was a beautiful evening, or made
some other fool remark, and he passed on to the
otiler guests.
For nearly an hour lie remained at the festival,
(daicing with the ladies, strutting around in his
uniitorm, like a game-cock in the pit. Each moment I expected to hear the order for my demise.
I do not mind admitting that my entire evening
was spoiled. Somehow the savor had gone out of
tl1e festivities.
At last the Capitan announced his intention of
l"ving.
"We are too close to the soldiers of the hated
illvaders," lie said, tlie "hlated invaders" being
11y companions in the barracks only a mile away.




136


ROVING ANI) l'VIGiTING


Walking up to me with a bow, Hi true story-book
fashion lhe said:
"PIerhaps, Sergeant, you have wondered why I
have not treated you as the enemy that you are.
To-night you tare under the roof of my friend;
therefore you are safe as his invited guest. SoIme
day we will meet on the road, and then it will be
another story."
After a round of farewells he disappeared, taking his bunch of bandits with him. I waited half
an hour, and then started back to quarters. The
statement, "some day we will meet on the road,"
stuck in my brain. With my pistol in my hand
I walked that mile, watching every shadow, jumping at every creaking bamboo.
My social career in Santa Maria ended that
night. Such good fortune does not come twice.
There is a sequel to this story. A few months
later Capitan Cornelius was captured by a party
of the Thirty-third Infantry.  lie was brought to
Vigan and imprisoned. At his trial he was proven
guilty of the murder of the two American soldiers.
A number of natives calme forward and testified
against him, and lie was sentenced to be haniged.
A few days before his death I happened to be
in Vigan with a pack-train, drawing rations. I
visited the Capitan in the guard-house and asked
if there was anytlling I could do for him. Still
polite and posing, he replied that the only thliug
he wished was some cigarettes of a certain Manila
brand. I sent the cigarettes to his cell. A few
days later he was hanged.




CIAPTER XIV


IIIERE would be little of interest in the story
of our work around Santa Maria. Half of
thle Scouts were in the field constantly, while the
othier half rested in the town. The story of these
hikes is much the same, almost always ending 11
failure to catch up with the elusive enemy. One
trip, however, was of unusual interest, because it
led us into the homes of the igorrote 'headhlunters. I
The Scouts, under Captain Green and Lieutenant Way of the Fourth Infantry, the latter having
recently joined us, marched to Bangued, where a
big expedition was being organized. The insurrectos, unrder Generals Tinio and Villamo, had
I)en giviing trouble, and a general round-up was
llanned.
Th}e expedition was organized in three columns.
As the country was too mountainous to permit the
use of pack-trains, we employed a number of Igorrete packers to carry our rations. These sturdy
little mountain men packed a load of sevtenty
Pounlds all day over mountain-trails, finishing
fresh and strong in the evening.
For many days we hiked through a rough district which had never been explored by white men
lbfore. The insurrectos unldr rTiio eluded our
column, but the command of Major Peyton March
137




1.38


ROVING AND FIGhITING


had better luck. They located Tinio, and finally
scattered his forces in a spectacular battle on flhhe
mountain-tops.
Our outfit at last camped at an Igorrote town
called Balballoson. These Igorrotes were of a
different tribe from our packers. They were the
real "'head-hunters'" we had heard about. In
several of the houses we found dried heads hantging in wicker baskets.
It had always been our policy to treat these ltorrotes well, paying for everything that we used.
Without their aid we could never have traveled
through that country as we did.
That afternoon I noticed that the Igorrotes were
following me about in groups, staring as if at anl
apparition. This attention made me nervous. 1
knew that I did not possess a handsome head, but
there is no accounting for tastes. Finally I
hunted up the interpreter and demanded the reason for my popularity. Here it is.
As it happened, all of the white men in the command were rather short, and I, with my six feet
four inches of ungainliness, loomed a good six
inches taller than any of my companions. As tlie(
Igorrotes are a people of short stature, I foulnd
myself a giant among pygmies.
As I walked about the village, the natives would
follow me, talking in awed whispers of this nioester who had come to visit them. They sent for
the tallest man of the tribe, and it created a sea -
sation when he walked under my arm. The Igo1 -rotes would shake their heads, as if to say:




ROVING AND FIGTIIING,


139


"Well, I see it with my own eyes, but still I
doubt it."
Finally the old chief, a grizzled veteran of many
battles, whose left arm hung withered at his side,
sought out Captain Green and made a request.
IHis main village, he said, was four miles up the
valley. Would I consent to go with him and let
hiis people view this strange white giant. I consented to be put on exhibition as a freak, and, escorted by the chiefs, started for the upper village.
The naked little war-lord sent a runner in advance to warn his people that Goliath would soon
lbe among them.
When I rode into the little clearing, the center
of the town, I found myself confronted by about
sixty warriors, lined up in a semicircle, spears in
hand, leaning on their pronged shields, and with
their head-axes stuck in their belts. Silently they
circled about me, and the way they handled their
weapons was altogether too expert to suit me.
Offhand, without any effort, I could think of a
thousand places where I would rather be than the
center of that gang of "head-hunters."  The old
chief made a speech, then motioned me to dismount
from my pony.
I complied, and several of his tallest warriors
stood beside me, comparing their height. Clicks
and grunts of astonishment went around the circle.
lThen his majesty beckoned, and I followed him to
tlhe royal palace. It was a tiny hut made of boards
of teak and rosewood, and covered with thatch.
As I could not stand up in the castle, I sat on




140


ROVING AND FIGHTING


the doorstep while the crowd gathered about me.
Chancing to glance up at the rafters, I saw something that sent shivers down my spine. A basket
of bamboo hung from the ceiling, and grinning at
me through the lattice were three shrunken heads.
The sightless eyes seemed to be pc::king at me
through the openings.
"Now, you 've got yourself into trouble again,"
I thought to myself. "Your old head may not be
much use to you, but it 's better where it is than
hanging up as a parlor ornament."
Soon the natives forgot their shyness, and a few
of the bolder spirits began asking questions. As
1 understood no Igorrote, nor they any English,
we both missed a lot of information. Evidently
they wanted to hear me talk, so I recited a few
stanzas of Kipling's "Gunga Din." When I finished, they all laughed, and the more timid headsmen, who had viewed me from a distance, crowded
into the circle.
After interviewing me for half an hour, the old
chief led me to the feast. Two huge iron kettles
were simmering on the fire. One was filled with
rice and the other held a kind of Irish stew.
Like all Filipinos, the Igorrote eats with his
hands, but I fished a tin spoon out of my saddlepockets and gave them a lesson in table-manners.
They watched every bite I took with amazement.
After the meal was finished, the spoon was passed
around and carefully inspected. Seeing that the
old chief was greatly interested in this new-fangled




ROVING AND) FIGHITING(


141


instrumnent, I presented it to him in a neat afterdinner speech.
lie accepted with delight. Having no pockets,
lie stuck the spoon through a hole in his ear, where
he wore it with a jaunty pride.
Then came the dancing. Hour after hour they
kept it up, beating their tom-toms and little brass
kettles and( circling about the fire. They danced
in ordered formation, going through evolutions
that would have done credit to a Broadway chorus.
In the shadow of the huts I could see the women,
standing with arms outstretched, chanting in subdued monotone and swaying to the rhythm.
When the dancing ended my pony was led forward, and the entire population gathered around
in silent awe while I saddled it. When I had
mounted, the old chief gave an order and a guard
(f spear-men formed about me, the chief at their
l(ied. Together we marched back to camp.
It was night, and a number of the men carried
flalninig torches. As the light flickered over my
strange escort, spears in their hands and headaxes in their belts, I felt as if I had slipped back in
1t dream to the days of the prehistoric troglodytes.
From Balballoson we returned to Santa Maria
with little incident, except for many days of hard
Iniking. At one of our camps a little Igorrote boy
about thirteen years old crept into our line and
asked for something to eat. His village had been
lburned, and his people had been scattered by a
l)and of insurrectos. The cook fed him, and the




142


ROVING AND FIGHTING "


next morningl he announced that he was going with
us. When tie interpreter asked him   why he
wished to accompany the foreign soldiers, he answered, "Because I have no place else to go."
IHe was placed in my care, and during the rest
of the march he became a water-carrier, being
festooned with canteens. As this little boy afterward saved the lives of every man of the Scouts
I am going to tell his story.
Iis name being a kind of asthmatic cough impossible to our tongues, we named him "Jack."
He became my faithful shadow, doing odd jobs
around the cook-shack and following me on every
hike.
At this time our outfit consisted of about three
hundred natives and only seven white men. One
day we received a bunch of recruits from Manila,
twenty-five in number. As it turned out, these
men were insurrectos sent to Manila for the purpose of enlisting in the Scouts to betray us.
Our natives had made a splendid record. They
were good fighters and loyal to the cause in which
they had enlisted. For more than a year we h-ad
campaigned with them, and the idea of suspecting
their loyalty never entered our minds.
One day little Jack came to me, jabbering the
mixture of Igorrote, Tagalog, and a few English
words which served as his vocabulary. HTe was
so excited that I could not understand him, but I
knew that he was trying to tell me something
which he considered of vast importance. I called
old Sergeant Belmonte, one of our original thir



ROVING AND FIRIITING1T


143


teen native Scouts, and told him to get the story.
When little Jack's tale was told, it opened his
eyes.
It seems that he had been asleep in the pony
corral, when lie was aroused by the sound of
voices. Listening, he overheard several of the recruits planning a wholesale massacre. Jack did
not know the details of the plan, only that we
were to be exterminated.
I went to Captain Green with the story, and we
evolved a little scheme to get the information we
needed. Sergeant Belmonte was a man we could
trust in any circumstances; he agreed to perform
lis part in a stage-play arranged for the benefit
of the conspirators.
That evening at retreat Captain Green called
the old sergeant before the company, abused him
lbliely for supposed neglect of duty, and tore the
cllevrons from  his arm. For days Belmonte
mingled with the traitors, pointed out by Jack.
lie railed at his officers, cursed the American govelrnment, and declared his intention of deserting.
One day one of tlhe recruits took him into his
confiflence and told him the plot. Eagerly Belmonte assented, until lie was possessed of every
d(etail of their plans and the names of every man
ilvolved.
Thle conspirators proposed to wait until a majiity of them were on guard at night. They were
tlhen to give the signal to a company of insurrect(,s who would be waiting in the foothills. Two
nen were to be detailed to kill each white soldier




144


ROVING AND FIGHTING


in his bed. The insurrectos were to rush the barracks and massacre the loyal scouts before they
had time to resist. It was a plan that could have
succeeded.
A few (lays later Captain (Green obligingly detailed the traitors to guard duty. From B3elronte
we learned that the attack was planned for that
night. Then we quietly disarmed the treacherous
guards and locked them in a stone guard-house.
The signal was given, and the company of insiurrectos came marching into town and into our tral).
We captured thirty-two guns that night without
the loss of a single man.
The conspirators were tried by court-martial a
few weeks later. Seven of them were hainged,
and the others received prison sentences.
Little Jack had saved us, and we wished to reward him. Captain Green asked him if there was
anything that lie wanted. He replied thatl his only
wish was to be a real soldier, wear an American
uniform, and carry a gun. His wish was granted,
and he was officially enlisted as a member of the
Scouts.
When it came to making out the papers, however, we were at a loss for a name. Ic declIared
that, as an American soldier, he wanted a real
American name. Therefore he was enrolled o(1
the records as "Private Jack O'Reilly, A Colpany, First Battalion, Native Scouts."
Several vears later I heard from Jack. IIe was
still with the Scouts, had made a good record, and
was then a sergeant.




ROVING AND FIGHTING


145


In following my memory back to those distant
cliys, it is the little incidents that stand out clearest. An unexpected letter, a story told by the
camp-fire —these will sometimes remain, when tihe
details of a battle grow dim. I remember one
such incident that occurred while we were at
Santa Maria.
It was Christmas time, and rations were slim.
I Iiad been sent to Vigan with a bull-train to draw
rations, buy tobacco, and, if possible, beg a few
old newspapers or magazines. When I returned
it was Christmas day, and the entire command
was anxiously watching the road for our appearance. It meant their Christmas dinner of army
rations.
At the quartermaster's depot in Vigan I had
seen a pile of Christmas boxes, addressed to the
soldiers stationed there. They had been sent by
relatives and friends at home. As I was leavirig, the old sergeant said to me:
"Iere is a box that I guess belongs to you
Scouts. You are the only orphan outfit in this
district. 9
The box was addressed, "To the Soldier Who
(ot No Christmas Box." On tile evening of my
return to Santa Maria, the white men of the commnland sat down to their Christmas dinner. As
dinners go in the Philippines, it was an elaborate
()oe, with chicken and eggs to help out the army,'ultions. In the center of the table stood the
(hristmas box. We planned to open it after the
feast.




146      ROVING AND FIGHTING
While we ate, we held a guessing contest as to
the contents of the box. At last dinner was finished. With elaborate ceremony Sergeant Harvey Neville pried the lid off the box. Alas for
our hopes! It was filled with millions of little red
ants.
The kindly soul who had packed the box had enclosed a box of candy and a big fruit-cake. Unfortunately the ants had been first in the field.




CHAPTER XV


HAT the Filipino makes a good soldier when
trained, is the verdict of everyone who has
worked with them. Two fights that occurred
while we were at Santa Maria will help to illustrate this point.
Companies A and B, under Captain Green, had
returned the week before from an expedition in
pursuit of the wily General Juan Villamor and his
brother Bias. Lieutenant Way had taken up the
trail, and he was then supposed to be near a small
Inountain barrio called Pilares.
One day we received a telegragh message that a
flw stragglers had come into Bangued, announcing the defeat of the Scouts and the death of Lieutenant Way. Within fifteen minutes we were on
tloe road.
The next day we found the Scouts near Pilares.
From the men who had been in the fight we learned
tlhat Lieutenant Way had received word that the
ilsurrectos were encamped in a canion a few miles
away. He had divided his forces, taking about
thirty men with him, and had marched straight up
thie calion. With his small force he had run into
Juan Villamor's command, numbering several
hulndred men. Lieutenant Way was killed at al1ost the first volley. The little handful of native
8couts had fought against overwhelming odds for
147




148


ROVING AND FIGlTING


over five hours, or until their ammunition was exhausted. Five had been killed and several were
wounded.
They had carried the young officer's body back
nearly a mile, but were finally forced to abandon
it. Due to a mistake, the main body of Scouts
had been sent on a trail which led in the wrong direction. When they discovered their mistake they
returned to Pilares, but it was too late. The fight
was over.
Sergeant Wilson of the Scouts led them up the
caion to the battlefield, in an effort to recover the
bodies. Before he arrived, the insurrectos had
disappeared.
That night an insurrecto appeared at Bangued
under a flag of truce. IHe carried a letter fr(,o
Juan Villarror, who offered to guide a rescue
party to the grave of Lieutenant Way. Tlie
messenger also carried a package containing the
lieutenant's West Point class ring, his watch, a'(l
some letters found in his pocket. The next day
the body was recovered,,
I was not present at this fight, but the story wa;s
told me by companions who were in the thick of it.
It was this same Villamor who was in commalld
at the second fight I have mentioned. A company
of the Scouts were then stationed at the town of
Santa-not Santa Maria-eight miles from Vigan. From   Santa the Bangued road led up
through the San Quentin Pass along the Abra
River.
Earlier in the war the insurrectos had built




ROVING AND FIGHTING


149


trenches across this pass, and a fight had taken
place there. The Scouts had orders to patrol
this road occasionally, although no insurrectos
had been seen in that neighborhood for several
montifhs.
One day a small detachment consisting of
twenty-five natives, a white man named Duncan,
an officer temporarily attached to the Scouts from
the Twentieth Infantry, and myself, made the
patrol.
We marched along through the mountain pass,
not expecting any trouble. Suddenly a few shots
whistled over our heads from   the hills. It
sounded as though a small party was firing. We
sepi)arated into two squads, Duncan taking one, and
I tle other. Then we began to climb the hills on
either side of the road, in order to get above our
assailants.
As I neared the top of 'lie hill, one of my legs
creumpled up and I fell to ny knees. At the momient I thought I had sprained my ankle, for the
hillside was covered with loose rock. A momellt
later I saw blood staining my legging. I had reeeived a slight flesh-wound above the left ankle,
the bullet grazing the bone.
The insurrecto who shot me was scarcely more
tllan a boy. He had been shot through both legs,
lnt had propped himself behind a rock and fought
t( the last. One of the Tagalog Scouts killed him.
By this time we realized that we were up against
n large force. The insurrectos we,(~ volley-firing,
but as usual the bullets were flying high. I gave




150


ROVING AND FIGHTING


the signal to retire, and Duncan and I withdrew
our squads a couple of hundred yards down the
cafion to where a huge pile of rocks made a natural
fortress.
We knew that reinforcements would soon arrive, as the officer, who was the only man mounted,
had gone for help. During all this fighting our
Scouts acted like veteran soldiers. The hardest
test of a soldier is to retire under fire.
We lay among the rocks, tending our wounded
and replying to the fusillade which swept down
the cafion. Once the insurrectos charged, but we
stopped them. Duncan was a few rods to i1m
right, shooting from  behind a rock. I    lhad
propped my wounded leg in a comfortable position, and was also hugging a rock.
A sound like a baseball striking the catcher's
glove caused me to ti; ~. Duncan was lying on
his back, his shirt {arkening with blood. I
crawled to him, tore o, n: his shirt, and lookel for
the wound. It was one of the queerest I have ever
seen.
A bullet had struck the steel ring on the side of
his carbine, tearing it loose and driving it into his
side. The bullet ~had not touched him, but tlhe
ring had broken one of his ribs and 'knocked tlil
wind out of him." In a few minutes he was all
right and again in the fight.
About a hundred yards down the cation lay thle
body of one of our Scouts. IHe had been sll(,t
through the head in the earlier part of the fight.




ROVING AND FIGHTING

151


Suddenly a little native, Corporal Fernando,
jumped from his hiding-place and ran forward
toward the body. IHe was the target for every
insurrecto on the hills, but he ran on untouched.
When he reached the body of his comrade, he
stooped and unfastened the cartridge-belt, picked
up the fallen rifle, and ran back to our position.
It was a nervy deed.
After a couple of hours' hard fighting there
came a lull in the attack. We could hear hoofbeats coming up the road behind us, and we knew
that reinforcements were at hand. It was the
"mosquito fleet "-mounted infantrymen-of the
Thirty-third, commanded by General Luther R.
Hare, brigade commander at Vigan. They took
the fight off our hands. A company of infantry
soon followed, accompanied by an army doctor
and several hospital corps men.
When we checked up our losses, we found tlhat
we had lost four native Scouts and that five had
b)een wounded. Both white men, Duncan and myself, had been wounded. Several of the wounded
Ihad been dressed, when I heard a quiet voice callilg to me from the rocks. It was from Fernando
who had been twice wounded, through the leg and
through the shoulder, his shoulder-bone being
broken,. He had patiently waited until the other
wounded had been attended to.
There is another chapter to the story of that
skirmish. General Juan Villamor commanded
the insurrectos in the carnon. He was the same




152


ROVING AND I) IGHTING


man who returned Lieutenant Way's body. Although he was a hard fighter, we always found himt
a courteous and fair soldier.
After peace was restored in the Islands, Villamor was elected governor of Bangued Province.
Some years later he became a member of the Philippine Commission which toured the United
States under the auspices of the Government. At
that time I was a reporter on a Chicago newspaper. I called on Villamor at the Auditorium io)tel, and we had dinner together. We found considerable to talk about.
He told me that a premature volley from hlis
outposts had saved our detachment that day. If
we had marched a few hundred yards farther up
the carion, his men would have closed in behind us
and there would have been little chance for escape. Villamor, I have been told, is still occupying an official position in the Insular Government.
May he make as good an official as he did a soldier!




CHAPTER XVI


A   FTER many months of work the Scouts had
driven the roving bands of insurrectos from
our district, and for a time our duty consisted
mainly of patrolling the roads and trails we had
cleared. I grew homesick for old B Company of
the Fourth Infantry. Lee Crowell, my chum, had
returned to the regiment some time before, and I
was the last regular army man left on duty with
the Scouts.
One morning an important piece of news came
over the wire. It told of the Boxer uprising in
China and the siege of the legations. We also
learned that an American expedition was to be
sent to Peking to the relief of the legations. A
few days later I received a letter from Crowell
saying that the Fourth Infantry was slated to go
with this expedition.
That settled it for me. For a year and a half
I had hiked with the Scouts. I had watched them
grow from an experimental squad of thirteen men
to a battalion of nearly five hundred. But now
there was another war in sight, and I wanted to
lbe with the old company.
That day I asked Captain Green for a transfer
b)tck to my regiment. A few days later I boarded: Slpanish steamer at Vigan, bound for Manila.
\hlen I arrived at Manila, the first man I met on
153




154


ROVING AND FIGHTING


the dock was Captain Hector MacAllester, the
sea-calptain who had belonged to the Scouts in the
early days. IIe had secured a job as teamster in
the Quartermaster Department, and was bound
for China.
My company was still stationed at Imus, in Cavite Province. The next day I crossed the bay
on a quartOrmaster 's launch and hiked up the road
where we had had our first fighting in the Isla:nds
two years before. All was changed now. Tile
district was peaceful and quiet; it was the first
place where civil government had been established
in the Philippines.
My old chums gave me a great welcomre.
Everyone was busy packing up for the expected
trip to China. At Imus we were nearer civilization than I had been in the north, and could get
the daily  Manila newspaper. Anxiously we
watched the cables.
Then came the disappointment. Our orders
were countermandcd,-the Ninth Infantry twas
detailed for the expedition in our place. There
was nothing to do but unpack and go back to
monotonous garrison duty.
I immediately put in an application for a traisfer back to the Scouts, with the approval of Captain Green. For some reason our new commaniling officer refused to approve my transfer. In all
my experience in the army this was the only oAficer who was unfair to me. I will not mention h1is
name; le was later forced to resign from the arlly
on a serious charge.




ROVING AND FIGHTING


155


Somehow the old company did not seem the
same. Many of the old-timers who had been in
Cuba with us had been discharged and gone back
to the United States. The outfit was filled with
recruits. Life was again the same old round of
guard-duty and fatigue. Pay-days were two
months apart, and there was nothing to do with
your money after you got it, except to gamble or
buy ham and eggs at the Chinese restaurant.
One day our old top sergeant, Tommy Dolan,
came to me. "Tex," he said, "how would you
like a little sea-trip back to the States?"
"Lord knows I would like it, " I answered, "but
I have only a few months until my discharge, and
I want to get my buzzard from the old outfit."
"You can do that and still take your sea-trip,"
lhe replied. "The quartermaster has called on
B Company for a non-com and three privates as
part of the transport-guard. You go to San
Fr1ancisco, stay a few weeks, and then come back
on the same boat. If you want to go, I '11 put you
in charge of the squad.'
Would I go? I could hardly wait for that
transport to sail. Visions of real American
streets, with real American girls walking on them,
trolley-cars and restaurants, and all the sights and
sounds of the United States, filled my mind. A
week later we reported on board the transport
Lo(gan to the officer in command of the guard.
After we had gone aboard, we found that we
wrre expected to guard forty prisoners who were
being sent to Alcatraz Island near San Francisco.




156


ROVING AND FIGHTING


Several hundred sick and discharged soldiers were
also aboard, and a dozen or more insane men were
being sent back.
Details from  other regiments reported that
same afternoon, the total guard consisting of
twenty men. The next morning the prisoners
were marched aboard. Much to my disgust, I
found that one of them was a man who had been a
good friend of mine on the north line. He had
been sentenced to fifteen years' hard labor for
striking an officer.
One of the hardest duties of army life is guarding prisoners. On a certain occasion I saw a man
standing guard with a loaded rifle over his own
brother.
As the transport pulled out past Corregidor
Island there came a yell, "Man overboard!"  One
of the insane men had vaulted over the railing into
the sea. A boat was lowered, and he was rescued.
As the transport Logan steamed up the coast of
Luzon, I could see the mountains where I had
hiked so long with the Scouts. They looked
strangely different from a distance.
Our first stop was at Nagasaki, Japan. Here
we had a little trouble with the prisoners. There
were some hard characters in that gang, some of
them with life-sentences for murder and other
crimes. We had locked them below decks while
we were in harbor. Some enterprising bumboat
men had smuggled whiskey and saki through the
portholes, and many of them celebrated with a
wild mixed-drink celebration.




ROVING AND FIGHTING


157


Soon they began to fight among themselves,
settling real or fancied grudges. It was our job
to separate them, and it was not a nice job. Many
of the saner prisoners, among them my friend,
aided in restoring order. By way of footnote I
may add that this man was pardoned the next
year, and is now a successful lawyer in Houston,
Texas.
Nagasaki, in my opinion, is the most beautiful
harbor in the world. It lies like a crooked arm
of the sea in a winding crease of the hills. After
the prisoners had been quieted, we were allowed
a few hours' shore-leave. I had my first ride in
a jinrikisha, wandering about through the gaudy
bazaars and banner-decorated streets.
The Logan coaled ship at this port. Barges of
coal were towed alongside, and bamboo scaffolding was erected on the ship's sides. The women
did the work,-hundreds of them,-passing the
little baskets of coal from hand to hand in an endless stream. Despite this primitive method, the
work was quickly accomplished.
We were passing out through the Narrows by
MIassacre Island, when again came the yell, "Man
overboard!" The same aquatic lunatic had
jumped into the sea again. Once more he was
rescued, and we headed out into the Pacific Ocean,
with the homeward-bound pennant flying.
The voyage was uneventful. We stopped for a
few hours at Honolulu, but our time was taken up
in guarding the prisoners. At last we sighted
the Farallones Island light and knew that we were




158


ROVING ANI) FIGHITING


almost home. As we sailed through the Golden
Gate, the decks were crowded, all eyes strained for
a first look at the "States." It was a silelit
crowd, mostly sick men, hungrily drinking in their
first view  of the bay. For years they 1had
dreamed of coming home, and here it was before
their eyes.
Our dreams were suddenly shattered by that familiar cry, "Man overboard!"  That persistent
lunatic had jumped overboard again. HIe could
swim like a duck, and he would paddle along, yelling for help, until the boat arrived.
"This thing is gettin' monotonous," growled
the old bo'sun, as they lowered the boat. When
the lunatic was hauled up the gangway, one of tlhe
hospital corps men gave him a scolding.
"The next time you do that, we '11 let you sink,"
he declared.
'There won't be any next time; that 's land,"
replied the lunatic, pointing to the skyline of San
Francisco. He was a sensible lunatic.
The prisoners were transferred at the quarantine station, and the transport pulled in to the
Folsom Street dock. From the deck I could sec
the sick soldiers greeted by friends and relatives.
The discharged soldiers made a wild race for
headquarters to get their final statements cashed.
We of the guard had no friends or final statements. We remained on guard until evening, all(
then went to the Presidio and reported.
The next morning we drew two months' pay and
were granted three weeks' furlough, with a caution




ROVING AND FIGHTING


159


to report aboard the Logan for the return trip.
Our chief amusement during the voyage had
been planning meals. For over two years we had
lived on army-rations and native provender of the
Islands. About the only American dish that
could be bought in the Chinese restaurants was
lara and eggs. We had caught up on ham and
eggs; we never wanted to see the combination
again.
So we had sat on deck when off duty and
planned  imaginary  meals. Many   wonderful
menus had been constructed during that trip.
The four men of the Fourth Infantry had planned
to buy the best meal in San Francisco when we
drew our pay. Upon our arrival we had inquired
l)about the best eating-place in the city. We were
tol(d that the Palace Hotel was "not so bad."
With our two months' pay wadded into our
pockets, we headed for town and the Palace Hot(l, visions of a wonderful feast in our minds.
One of the boys had gone so far as to refuse to
eat breakfast that morning, in order to have a fine
i)apetite for that dinner.
We marched into the Palace Hotel, a gorgeous
structure infested with flunkies. At last we were
seated at a real American table. A solemn-looking waiter who must have had much trouble in
his life, to judge from the settled look of sadness
(on his face, handed around the menu cards.
Stelpping back two paces to the rear and standIug at attention, le gazed mournfully at the ceiling.
One look at the menu and the look of woe was




160      ROVING AND FIGHTING
transferred to our own faces. It was printed in
French, and not a man in the crowd could read
French. We put on our poker faces and tried a
guessing contest. Finally the man who had gone
without his breakfast surrendered in despair.
Rolling his eyes toward the dignified waiter, he
whispered,
" Bring me some ham and eggs," adding impressively, "and have them well done."
We refused to stand by and see a fellow-soldier
treated that way. Appealing to the major-general waiter for help, we at last managed to or:der
a first-class feast.




CHAPTER XVII


OR three glorious weeks we saw the sights
of San Francisco. It was a real pleasure to
stand on a street-corner and watch real Americans
go by, or to listen to the English language. For
nearly three years we had been exiled in foreign
lands. While it is interesting to wander in alien
lands, a rambler is always homesick for his native
land and his own people.
At the end of the three weeks our pay was gone,
so we turned in our furloughs at the quartermaster's office in Presidio and reported for duty.
Tpie Logan was not scheduled to sail on her return
trip, and that week we were detailed to drill recruits.
On the day the Logan was to sail, the members
f the guard-fifteen men, as some of them had
bleen discharged-were ordered to report to the
United States subtreasury. There we were informed that the Government was shipping a consignmlent of gold coin to the Islands and that it
vould be our job to guard it. The gold-four million dollars-was packed in heavy, iron boxes. It
wvs loaded in wagons, and we rode in them locked
hehind wire screens, with shot-guns across our
knees.
A troop of cavalry, surrounding the wagons,
escorted us to the Folsom Street dock. At the
161




162


ROVING AND FIGHTING


dock the boxes were piled in a heap, and for half
an hour we sat there guarding the golden fortune,
while the locks of the strong-room were tested.
It was the nearest I have ever been to millions.
Sitting there without a cent in our pockets, it was
small consolation to realize that only a quarter of
an inch of steel separated us from four millions in
gold.
The return voyage was uneventful. It was
broken only by a short stop at Honolulu. At Nagasaki also we were given a short shore leave.
Then the Logan headed down the China Sea to
Manila. We were immensely relieved when that
hoard of gold was turned over to the paymaster
general and we were free from    interminable
guard-duty. Our squad from B Company discovered that the old outfit was now stationed in the
city of Manila, acting as headquarters' guard for
the Department of Southern Luzon. It was the
first time since coming to the Islands that the coInpany had been withdrawn from the firing-line.
Our pleasant duty in the city came to an end a
few weeks after our return from San Francisco.
We were again ordered to the south line, and took
our station at Das Marinas, near the battlefield
where my bunkie, Pete Goorski, had been killed.
The next few months we were kept busy hiking
after small bands of ladrones, or were engaged on
map-making details in Batangas and Cavite provinces.
The day of my discharge was drawing nearer,
and I eagerly counted the weeks. For some time




ROVING AND FIGHTING


163


I had been sick, suffering from chronic malarial
fever. I had always prided myself on my
strength, and I dreaded going to the hospital.
The decision at last was taken out of my hands.
After a march to Taal, near the famous volcano
wllich later devastated that district, killing thousands of natives, I suffered a severe attack of
the fever and was removed to the hospital by order of the commanding officer.
For weeks I lay in my bunk, shaken by chills and
scorched by fever. Dysentery also came to add to
my troubles. Finally the doctor in command ordered me removed to Corregidor Island at the
mouth of Manila Bay. This division-hospital
was known among the soldiers as "the graveyard," since only serious cases were taken there.
In those days the doctors knew little about
tropical diseases such as dysentery and fever. In
later years they learned how to fight these climatic
diseases; it was the American army physicians in
Clba and the Panama Canal Zone who banished
these scourges of the tropics.
For a time I grew steadily weaker. My weight
went down from 200 pounds to 137 pounds, and
the treatment I was getting did not check the maladies. Corregidor was the first hospital where I
had seen American women-nurses. In stories the
sick soldiers always worship their nurses, watching8 impatiently for the visits of the "angels of
mIiercy. '"
It was my experience, however, that the opposite
is true. There were a few men-nurses on duty in




164


ROVING AND FIGHTING


the ward, and there was constant rivalry to get the
services of these men. I am not reflecting on thie
ability of the ladies, but old "Rooster" Higgins
used to say,
"You don't want 'em around when you 're sick;
you dassent even cuss 'cm!"
There was one hospital corps man named Jerry,
who was the favorite of the ward. Always goodnatured, always anxious to lend a hand to a suffering companion, he gained the good-will of
every man in the hospital. With a grin on his
face, Jerry would lecture a sick man with humorous profanity that would be accepted as a conpliment.
One day Jerry came to my cot with a stretcher.
"You big stiff," he said, "we are going to take
you into the little room where ther can keep lan
eye on you. Pretty soft for you lads that have
nothing to do but lay on your backs and get
waited on!"'
The little room was known as the "morgue."
Only the most desperate cases were taken there,
and the majority of them were carried out to the
embalming room. For several days I lay in a
half-delirious condition, so weak I could barely
raise my hand. Jerry would sometimes slip in
to tell me a funny story or to do some kindly little
office for my comfort.
One night I felt a groping hand come over to
my bunk from the adjoining bed. Reaching out,
I grasped the hand of the man next to me. For




ROVING AND FIG'HTING ( I


165


liours he had lain in a stupor, and I knew that 11e
vwas dying.
In the corner, working over her charts, sat a
woman-nurse. I tried desperately to call to her,
but it seemed that my voice would not come. It
seemed to me that I held that sick manm's hand
for hours, though it was probably only a few ninutes, when she looked up and caught my eye. She
came and separated our hands. When the nightsirgeon was called, the lman was dead. The
screen went up, and Jerry and his assistant carriecd out the body.
During my stay in that little room, four men
died in the seven beds. The night after my neighbor had died, Jerry came and sat down beside me.
"You big lobster, I am going to bawl you out,"
he declared. "Listen. You know     you 're a
sick man, but you are going to get well. Now you
liy there thinkin' too much, and you don't sleep.
You 've got to sleep. Stop thinkin' over your
troubles and think of somethin' funny. Remenmber that. Somethin' funny."
I took Jerry's advice; I racked my memory for
"i'unny" incidents. At last a picture came to
Ti(: of old 'Rooster" Higgins when lie was caught
stealling chickens. Chuckling over "Rooster"
lld Ilis predicament, I fell asleep. In the nlorni". tlle fever had lifted, and from that day I
aine:dl in strength. That picture of "Rooster"
is as clear in my mind to-day as it was during my
lltlf-delirium. I never met Jerry after I left the




166


ROVING AND FIGHITING


hospital. Unfortunately I do not even recall his
surname.
Within a few days I was removed from the
"little room" to a cot in the large ward.
One of the worst features of a hospital seitenlce
is the galling monotony of lying in bed with notliing to do to help pass the hours away. The convalescents were very ingenious in devising
schemes for entertainment. A man with a pack
of cards was a courted favorite; an old magazine
was a guarded treasure.
Back of our ward was an improvised storeroom
made of old tents. It was against the rule to gamble in the wards, but it is difficult to keep a soldier
from gambling. At night one of the more active
of the patients would steal a lantern from tle
diet-kitchen and creep back to the storeroom.
Another man, who was the proud owner of a pair
of dice, would soon follow him. Tllen, singly
the men would slip out of their cots and crawl (on
hands and knees back to "Monte Carlo." O()n
would be detailed as sentry to watch the nurses.
One night a small group were huddled around
the lantern " shooting craps."  Some of them, too
weak to stand, would crouch on their knees while
they rolled the dice. So preoccupied were they
with the game that they did not notice the 'approach of the major doctor until it was too late.
The next morning there were several bedside'
court-martials, and every man in the game was
fined one dollar of his next month's pay.




RIOVING AND F1IGITING


167


Anotlher favorite "time-killer" was fishing.
After the morning round of inspection, the men
who could get permission crept down to the small
(tock, and with tackle borrowed from the natives
they would pass an hour angling for the little sunperc1h.
No one was permitted to go to the dock who did
tnot possess fishing-tackle. As it was pleasant to
sit in the sun and watch the sport, even if you
could not fish, the men soon evolved a plan for
eluding these orders. They would tie a cork to the
endl of a string, throw the cork into the water, and
sit for hours holding the hookless line.
Slowly my weight and strength came back to
nm. I passed through the stages of liquid diet;an(d light diet, until finally I was promoted to a full
meal. Impatiently I watched the calendar, waitilg for the day of my discharge.
"A week and a butt" soon became a day and a
l)rt'eakfast. Then my last meal in the army was
(fCl ore me. I remember the menu. It was
corned-beef hash, rice and prunes. The ever-.lasting prunes had followed me through my army
career. I do not wish to belittle the useful prune,
but —
That morning I was called to the commanding
officer's desk and handed my "buzzard."
"You are now a civilian," said Major Gardiner.
"Wllat are your plans? You will be permitted to
r(main in this hospital until you feel that you
l(;Ive completely recovered."




168


ItOVING AND FIGHTING


'Thank you, Major,'" I replied, "but there is a
boat going back to the States next week, and t
am going to be on her.'
The next day I boarded the tug and crossed the
bay to Manila. After cashing my final stateeniits
at the paymaster's office, I hunted up my former
bunkie, Lee Crowell, who had been discharged
several weeks before. Crowell was a civil engineer, a graduate of Purdue University, and he
had landed a job as engineer on the dock-extension work. We visited together until the time
came for the sailing of the boat.
For a time Crowell and I corresponded. After
working in Manila for a time, he bought an interest in a pearling schooner and cruised in the
South Seas. The boat was wrecked on the Borneo coast, and the investment went to the bottom
of the sea. Crowell later became an officer in t!hw
Chinese army, where I also was serving, altlhough
we were not stationed together. Later he went
to India about a mining proposition, and I have
never heard from him since.
When I boarded the transport Warren for tle
homeward trip, I found several of my old cronlies
of the Fourth Infantry, who had also been discharged. There were, in addition, several lhundred sick men aboard, and the usual guard. As
time —expired men who had been discharged we
rather lorded it over the long-timers. We were
civilians, with money in our pockets, free to roami
and go broke at our own sweet will.
A few hours before reaching Nagasaki our




ROVING AND FIGHTING


169


transport cracked a propeller-shaft; we were
doomed to lie in that port for a week while repairs were being made. My friend "Biddy"
M\oore of the Fourth and myself lost little time in
getting ashore. Our first visit was to an English
tailor, and the next day we bloomed forth in
civilian clothes.
While we were seeing the sights and enjoying a
holiday free from discipline, the famous "Nagasaki fight" took place. With my usual luckless
f'aculty of being " among those present," I was on
tle spot when it occurred. This battle between
Fr(nch soldiers and British sailors has passed
into sea tradition, has become, indeed, one of the
legends of three armies. I have never seen a
printed account of it, although it was the cause of
an international investigation.
At that time a French transport, with soldiers
firom the French colonies bound for North China,
was anchored in the harbor. The British warslhips, the Balfour and the Ocean, were also on
station. Contrary to custom, five hundred French
soldiers and about three hundred British bluejackets were given shore-liberty on the same day.
lI'There were also a few American soldiers ashore.
Trrllt afternoon I chanced to meet a British
sailor who was one of the biggest men I have ever
iet. Ile topped me by several inches in height
l1,d was built in proportion. We introduced our>,:lves. By an unhappy coincidence his name was
()' eilly and my name was O'Reilly. Naturally
wv, joined forces for a tour of the city.




170


ROVING AND FIGHTING


A few hours later this man O'Reilly and myself were standing in the bar of the "Flag-of-AllNations."  Seated at the table were eleven
French soldiers. A   small American hospital
corps man, one of the invalids being sent back to
the "States," wandered into the bar. Accideintally he stepped on the foot of one of the Frelnch
soldiers. The Frenchman responded by knocking him down.
The giant British sailor saw this incident, and
before I realized what had happened a general
fight was well started, with O'Reilly and O'Reilly
as parties of the second part. That husky sailor
was a past-master in the art of truculence, while
I lent my earnest cooperation.
Along about midway of the second minute of
this battle something happened which temporarily
ended my usefulness. Some object sailed throlugh
the air and struck me on the side of the head.
From the way my ears rang the next day I have
always suspected it must have been the "Great
Bell of Moscow" that hit me.
The next few minutes of the battle-royal I call
only retell from hearsay evidence. A party of
British sailors broke through a side-door and
came to our assistance. When I regained my
vision, the fight was still under way, but victory
was now with the Britishers.
Beginning with that little melee, the fight spread
throughout the town. All night it raged, and
when morning came the two forces were still exchanging compliments. The British made their




ROVING AND FIGI-TING


171


stand on one side of a creek which divides Nagasaki, and for twelve hours held the bridges against
the assaults of the French. The Japanese policemen, after a first attempt to stop the affray, left
the foreigners to work out their own salvation.
That morning both the French and British ships
landed armed marines, by permission of the Japanese authorities, and separated the factions.
Seven men were killed during this fight, four
British and three French. Practically every man
engaged was w ounded. "Biddy" Moore, who had
g'iven his moral assistance, escaped more fortunaltely than nyself. He received only one black
eye and a broken rib.
After that battle "Biddy" and I took a trip a
few miles up country to a summer resort, where
we visited the "Hot Wells" at Takio. We needed
a rest. The repairs to our transport required a
lolger time than was at first estimated, and it was
not until two weeks later that we left Nagasaki.




CHAPTER XVIII


T seemed as if some malignant fate was working to prevent my return to the United States.
The day after leaving Nagasaki our boat struck a
rock in the Straits of Simonisaki, the entrance of
the Inland Sea of Japan. The transport arrived
at Kobe with all pumps going, and we were told
that another week of delay would be necessary in
order to make repairs.
I had no desire to spend that time on an army
transport, when the wonderland of Japan lay before me. That afternoon I transferred myself
and baggage ashore. Old residents had told me
that the real Japan was not to be found in the
treaty ports, but inland off the beaten path of
tourists.
That evening I met a young Japanese named
Namikawa, a clerk in an English import house,
who spoke excellent English. At the time he was
enjoying a two weeks' vacation from his office
duties. After talking over my proposed trip into
the interior, we made a bargain. He agreed to
accompany me as guide and interpreter for t]le
modest salary of five dollars a week.
The next morning we left for Kioto, the ancienl
capital of Japan and the present artistic capital
of the country. I could not have selected a better
traveling companion than Namikawa. He was a
172




ROVING AND FIGHTING


173


student of the folklore alnd history of his country,
and he lid the knack of making his tales interesting.
Kioto is an immense city, almost untouched by
the modern commercialism of Japan. It is a city
of ancient temples in a mountain setting of wonderful natural beauty.
Upon our arrival I went to a hotel, while
"Nami" hunted up an uncle who lived on the outskirts of the town. After registering and leaving
my baggage, I went for a stroll about the business
section. Having searched through a dozen shops
for somn  American tobacco, I returned to the hotel.
On the veranda I found "Namil' and his uncle,
a gray-haired, dignified old gentleman, dressed in
the ancient costume. "Nami" informed me that
his uncle insisted that I be his guest during my
stay in tie city. Accepting the hospitable invitation, I piled my baggage into a ' ricksha" and we
proceeded to his home.
My reception in this Japanese home was a delightful one. The old gentleman's wife met us
at the garden gate with many bows and genuflections and ushered us into the reception-room,
where tea was served with elaborate ceremony.
After the tea ceremony, the other members of
the family were presented.
First came the elder son, a graduate of the Imperial Tokio University. After asking me a number of questions about my trip, with Namikawa
acting as interpreter, the son pulled a tablet and




174


ROVING ANI) FIGHTING


pencil from his sleeve and did the rest of his talking on paper. He wrote excellent English, but
could not pronounce it. I hlave found many such
eases in Japan. The students learn the language
from books with Japanese teachers but never have
an opportunity to practise pronunciation.
The youngest but most interesting member of
the family was little Couaroo, a tiny miss aged
six years. She was the exact counterpart of the
Japanese dolls sold in our toy-stores, even to the
shaven spot on the crown of her little head.
Couaroo and I became the best of friends. She
accompanied me in my "ricksha" trips about the
city, riding in my lap and keeping up a constant
chatter. One day we discovered a book-shop
where foreign books were sold, so I purchased
several American primers. After that I had a
job on my hands. The little midget could find
a hundred questions to ask about each picture.
The second night after our arrival the old gentleman arranged a theater-party in my honor.
We squatted on the matting in a private box and
watched a modernized version of the "FortySeven Ronins," one of the ancient classics of
Japan. During the performance a servant entered the box with a glowing hibashi, or charcoalburner, and served tea between the acts.
When the performance ended, the manager of
the theater entered the box and invited us to the
stage. He said that I was the first foreigner wllo
had ever visited his theater. We were presented
to the actors, who greeted us with elaborate bows




ROVING AND FIGHTING


175


and hissed greetings. Again the inevitable teacups were produced, and we partook of the steaming (ha.
Like all educated Japanese, the nmanager was a
living interrogation point. lie had evidently
made a study of foreign drama and lamented the
fact that his people could not appreciate foreign
classics.
"Some years ago I produced 'Hamlet,'" he
told me, "but the people could not understand it.
They thought it was a comedy and laughed all the
time. 
When you picture the squat little actors strutting in doublet and hose, with the part of Ophelia
taken by a man, as is the custom, it is small wonder
that "H amlet" was received with a smile.
The next day our family party made a trip to
the famous maple-groves and fox-temple a few
miles from the city. It was like a trip to fairyland. This wonderful grove has been a shrine
for centuries. In the autumn, when the trees put
on their gaudy foliage, it is one of the beautyspots of Japan.
Our outing including a visit to the open-air
theater where the "Dance of the Maple Leaves"
is staged every year. More than one hundred
geisha girls take part in this dance. Their kini0onos are colored to represent the varied tints of
autumn leaves. They danced upon a huge stage,
\withl the real trees and foliage as the only scenery.
It was a performance of consummate art and
beauty.




176A


ROVING AND FIGIITIN (


In the afternoon our party adjourned to a quiet
glen, and our lunch-baskets were opened under the
trees. Scattered through the grove were numerous parties like our own. It was wholly unlike an
American picnic. The visitors would sit for
hours watching the changing shadows on the trees,
seeming to absorb the beauty of the scene with
awed appreciation.
One old man near us, who had sat as if halfasleep, took a piece of paper from his sleeve and,
writing something upon it, pinned it to the trunk
of a giant tree. I asked Namikawa the meaning
of his act. He told me that the old nature-worshipper had penned a poem to the tree, thanking
it for the pleasure it had given him. As we
walked through the groves, I noticed many of
these fluttering bits of paper clinging to the bark.
While we walked through the winding paths,
little Couaroo rode on my shoulder. She talked
to the trees as if they had been living beings,
bidding them a respectful greeting and promising to come again next year. At last she fell
asleep, and rode home curled in my arms like a
drowsy little manikin.
A few days after our visit to the maple-groves,
"Nami" suggested a trip to Lake Biwa, a long,
narrow body of water curled in the creases of the
mountains. Lake Biwa is often called "The
lHeart of Japan." There is an ancient saying
which runs thus:
" He who has not seen Lake Biwa at night cannot say the word ' Beauty.?"




ROVING AND FIGHTING


177


We left the train near the shores of the lake,
and that afternoon chartered a tiny house-boat
for our voyage. For two days and nights we
drifted about the lake, visiting the temples and
quaint fishing villages. That voyage always lingers in my memory as a dream.
At night the moon would come up behind the
mountains, revealing the hundreds of little temples scattered on the hill-crests and turning the
lake into a sheet of black, gold, and silver. The
scene was constantly changing. Every movement
of the boat presented a new picture; every gaunt
pine and ripple from the oars was a brush-stroke.
Willingly I would have lingered for many days
on Lake Biwa, but the day for the sailing of the
transport was drawing near. We dismissed our
sampan and took the train for the return journey.
I forget the name of the station, but it was here
that I was shown the spot where a crazy Japanese policeman had attacked Nicholas of Russia,
afterward the Czar.
In Kioto we were welcomed by our hosts. As
a mark of appreciation for their hospitality I
wished to give presents to the family, but "Nami"
said that this would not be the proper thing to do.
He suggested, however, that I entertain them at
a foreign dinner in the railroad restaurant, the
only place where foreign "chop" was served.
His uncle had never dined in a foreign restaurant.
My invitation was received with delight, and
we adjourned that evening to the station. With
rigid dignity the family party sat on the unaccus



178


ROVING AND FIGHTING


tomed chairs, while the dinner was served.
Covertly they would watch me manipulate the
knife, fork, and spoon, and then would imitate
me. If I took a bit of bread, every one at the table
would do likewise; when I picked up the fork,
they all would follow suit. It was a trying meal.
The next morning "Nami" and I returned to
Kobe. After leaving my baggage at the hotel,
I hastened to the hatoba to inquire about the sailing of the transport. When I arrived at the
water-front, I saw the old tub moving slowly out
to the open sea. I had been left behind. It was
a serious proposition to me, as my money was
almost gone and it is a long way from Japan to
the United States.
That night I had the following business conversation with Namikawa:
"Nami, I have a premonition. In the not far
distant future I am going painfully broke. Today, having audited myself, I find that the total
capital is fifty dollars gold. Therefore I must
fire you, with deep regret and pleasant memories. "
But Namikawa had a dream of his own, which
he described in detail. IHe declared that there
were hundreds of young men and boys who were
employed or wished to be employed in foreign
offices. All of these youths had a craving to learn
the English language, in order to win place or promotion. As they worked all day, they had no opportunity to attend school. Why not start a




It~:i~(~ t i  i-iii::~ii~,-:iii;~r~   w~i,? i~  iii  *~;:: ii,~r i~ isvI   11 I   ---- --— i~l.



>   c




ROVING AND FIGHITING


181


night-school, which was sure to attract hundreds
of Ip)ils and many yen 
As I had fallen in love with Japan and wished
to see more of it, I agreed that it was a fine idea.
With the remnant of my fortune we rented a
big, barren house in the Hiogi quarter of Kobe,
not far from  the railroad station. Advertisements were inserted in the Japanese newspapers,
and a sign was erected over the door inscribed in
1bolt the English letters and Japanese ideographs,
as follows:
"The O'Reilly School of English."
On the opening night the house was crowded
witlh fifty pupils, paying a tuition fee of one yen
a month, equivalent to fifty cents American
money. Many of the students spoke fair English, hut the pronunciation seems a stumbling
block in the way of the Japanese.
It was their ambition to learn English "as she
is spoke.'
(Gradually our classes increased until more than
one lhundred students were enrolled. Our weird
English idioms were a constant puzzle to the Japan1se, but, once explained, a lesson was never forgotten. Their great trouble was the strange prolnleiation of the dana san. They would struggle
for hours to wrap their tongues around a consonant.
I lived in the schoolhouse and for a time subsitfil on Japanese food. But the Japanese are
(alinty feeders and it seemed as if I was chronic



182


ROVING AND FIGHTING


ally hungry. My school was barely paying my
expenses, and I was all out of future prospects,
Then came another Japanese friend, Tachiban by
name, with a glowing offer.
Tachiban conducted what he fondly imagined
was an American restaurant near the passenger
hatoba, or landing-place for steamships. For a
short time he had worked as assistant cook on an
American boat.
"Every American, Englishman, sailorman see
my name, Tachiban. He say, 'Hell's bells, this no
American chophouse. This is only darned Dago.'
Now I want one fine American name."
After lengthy explanation he made his offer.
If I would consent to have my name printed on
his card and on the sign before his restaurant, lie
would provide me with free foreign grub. I
jumped at tie chance; therefore the sign bloomed
forth over the chophouse as: "O'Reilly & Tacliban, American Chophouse. To get ready quick
inside."
So it came to pass that I feasted on real halm
and eggs and pork chops while I remained in
Kobe.
After two months at the night-school I grew
homesick for other scenes. I was barely making
a living, thanks to Tachiban 's inspiration, although my name did not seem to have the magic
drawing power he expected.
One morning I called Namikawa and told 1h;1
I was going to leave.
"There is a month's rent paid on the school,'




RIOVING ANlD FIGHTING


183


I told him. "Also the furniture and blackboard
are paid for. So if you think you can do anything
with it, you may have the school."
"Nami" pleaded with me to stay, pointing out
thalt I was earning nearly $50 real American
money a month, but I was tired of it. I left Kobe
shortly afterward and started for the United
States, but a few weeks later found myself in
Shanghai, China.
For many years T have had an annual letter
from Namikawa. I will quote from the last one,
received nearly two years ago:
As to the school, I must report with most excellent
satisfaction. It is now occupy seven buildings, nearly
one-half block. Three Englishmen work for me, two
men and one lady. Also seven Japanese assistants.
\We therefore teach English, French, and some German.
It pleases me to know this, as you recall our comic struggleis many years of the past.
The school is still with the name "O'Reilly School of
English."  And we celebrate your birthday as the
founder. Always I am most grateful to you for teaching me the splendid English which I now possess to
use.
After reading that letter I have sometimes wondlered if I did not leave an unfinished job in Kobe.
Upon leaving the school, I had planned to go to
Nagasaki, where all American transports stopped
for coal, present my credentials and secure transportation back to San Francisco. That day, howeVer, the whimsical finger of fate again sent me
011 a new trail.




184


ROVING AND FuIGHTING


By chance I met an English minister, head of
the Kobe seamen's mission, on tie street. When
he learned that I was leaving my school, he offered
me a position as manager of the sailors' honle.
As no transport was due for nearly a monthl, I
accepted his offer.
After a few days' experience I discovered that
it was not a manager he needed, but a "bouncer."
My predecessor, a young man who was studying
for the ministry, had been mauled by a gang of
drunken sailors, and had resigned. The Seamen's Institute was the last port-of-call for sailors
ashore. They came there after they had spent
their money and packed their cargo.
One night, shortly after taking charge, I
had occasion to eject a British sailor who wal
conducting himself in a manner unbecolming
a mission. A few hours later I was seated il
my room   reading, when I heard an unearthly
uproar coming from    the assembly-room.   1}y
sailor-friend had come back with the intentionl
of getting revenge on the blankety-blank Yankee.
I was in the room before I fully realized N'what
was going on. The next few minutes were:)bsy
ones, with chairs, Bibles, and profanity flying
through the air. The melee ended with the llnager in possession of the mission, and the sailjors
locked outside. By way of repartee, they bonIbarded the house with rocks, breaking nearly
every window in the place.
That mission was a sight when the reverend (de



ROIVING AND FIGtlTINI G   8


185


itr appeared the next morning. He declared that
I. ws at fault.
"Why, I have always been able to lhandle these
lmen by moral suasion! " he declared.
If lie could have handled that bunch of bluejl(kel:ts by moral suasion, he would have been a
w1lder. In order to save myself from being dischllargd, I promptly resigned.
After this brief experience in missionary work,
I (lecided to follow out my former plan and go to;agtasaki. As there was a marked hiatus betweeno the size of my bank-roll and the price of a
raiilroad-ticket, I sold my watch to raise the necessairy funds.
A cockney Irishman had haunted the mission
for several days. He, too, was anxious to get to
X'Nagtasaki, where he said he was assured of work,
so 1 agreed to take him with me. All night we
ride, jammed in the corner of a second-class car.
In tle morning we arrived at Moji, a few miles
awaNy from  the spot where the Warren had
i o(,unded on a rock in the straits.
I\ (o discovered that a five-hour wait was schedI ulc1,,beore we could cross the Straits of Shimoni1 aki and go on to Nagasaki. As we had been sitilnr up all night in a seat many times too small
frT us, I decided to take a room at a Japanese hotl a:nd treat myself to a nap.
1l'l1 cockney had talked all night of his friends
ta1 Sitlsaki. He now declared that he must be
~:i(1d, 1in order to be presentable upon our ar]val'. Reluctantly I gave him my last ten-yen




I


186


ROVING AND FIGHTING


bill, cautioning him to return with the change. It
was all the money there was in the world, as far
as we were concerned.
An hour later I discovered that he had tried to
buy all the saki in Moji. I don't know how far
he succeeded in his enterprise, but I do know that
lae bought ten yens' worth and I was broke.
That night as I sat in the railroad-station waiting for the train that would carry me on, I was
considerably downhearted. No supper and no
breakfast were in prospect; only a second-class
railroad-ticket and a two hours' wait lay before
me.
Two little Japanese boys came to where I was
seated, bowing and inquiring anxiously regarding my health. Having been assured that I was
able to sit up and take nourishment whenever the
opportunity arrived, they sat down beside me and
pulled some school-books from their sleeves. Politely they asked me if I would read to them.
After reading several pages about the cat aln
the rat, I asked them where they were studying
English. They informed me that they were
studying at a night-school conducted by several
Japanese who were graduates of Tokio universities. Every night they came to the railroad-station and talked to American and English tourists,
in order to learn the pronunciation of the words
in their books. This is an instance of Japaln'
thoroughness and indicates their craving for foreign education.
My visit with the two little chaps ended in a visit




ROVING AND FIGHTING


187


to their teacher, a man named M. Tagawa. He
explained that Moji is the great coaling port of
Japan, and that the town swarms with coolies.
lie and several other young men had organized
a settlement-house where they taught the young
boys of the poorer classes.
After a long talk he offered me a place as
teacher in the school, adding that I would have
no difficulty in getting a job in one of the coaloffices. As I had had no supper, I accepted. So
once more I found myself teaching in a Japanese
school.
I remained two months in Moji. During that
time I lived with a Japanese family, ate Japanese
food, and had a chance to make an intimate study
of Japanese life.
Up to that time I had imagined that Japan was
one great pleasant playground. In Moji I discovere(l that there are slums in Japan as terrible as
those in more civilized countries. The great ships
passing through the Inland Sea all stop at Moji
for coal. The job of coaling the vessels is done
}y hand, and the laborers are largely women.
They erect scaffolding upon the side of the vessel, and the little baskets of coal are passed from
hand to hand. At night the streets were filled
With hordes of these begrimed, exhausted women,
returning to the hovels which surround the city.
The! districts wherr  ese coolies lived are an obict lesson in filthin. These laborers work for: f'w cents a day, an, they are too tired to keep
clean.




188


ROVING AND FIGHTING


Tagawa San's prophecy that I could get woirk
in Moji was not fulfilled. I did get a job with l
ship-chandler selling fresh water to the ships, but
there was little money in it. As a wanderer abou
the world, I have held many strange jobs, but sell
ing water was about the least profitable of the lot.
Selling water to a ship that sails the seas soerms
like the zenith of nothing to do, but I managed to
make a few dollars at it.
Tagawa and Iwata, his companion, were graduates of the Imperial University of Tokio, anll
both spoke good English. The former was a great
lover of poetry and read Shelley, Keats, or Swiburne every night. One night he told me he would
like to find a volume of English poetry written
especially for children. Ie wanted to translate it
into Japanese and then use it in the school.
The next day I wrote to a foreign book-shop il
Kobe and had the good fortune to find Stevelnso's
"lChildl's Garden of Verses."  Tagawa was telighted and translated many of the verses.
At last I grew weary of Moji. I was homesicl
for a beefsteak and had become tired of sitting
cross-legged on the floor. As I had no money, I
shipped to the China Coast on a Nova Scotia windjammer, the Howard D. Troop. After my experience on that "blue-nose" boat, I came to tle ctlelusion that as a deep-water sailor I was a go(0d
teacher.




CHAPTER XIX


EVER since my arrival in Japan I had heard
wonderful tales of the Chinese coast. It
was a white man's paradise, with wonderful foreign cities and golden opportunities. As there
was no hope of saving money in Moji, I determined to ship on one of the west-bound ships and
work my passage.
It was easy to get the idea, but hard to put it
into practice. Day after day I visited the ships in
the harbor, told my story, and was rejected. At
last I signed on a Nova Scotia '"blue-nose " bound
for Liverpool. It was my intention to jump ship
at tong Kong and seek work in that colony, as I
had no craving for a five months' voyage on a
sailing ship.
I signed up as an able seaman, but it did not
take the officers long to discover that I was neither
able nor a seaman. Often I have read tales of the
hard life of the sea, describing the cruelty and
terrible conditions that are the lot of a sailor. I
hl1:a thought that these tales were exaggerated fiction, but on that voyage I found that the storywriters had told only half the truth.
Our rations were scant and sickening. If we
atte the food served to us, we were half-killed; and
if we went without, we starved to death. My pay
fur the trip was to be four pounds a month.
189




190


ROVING AND FIGHTING


As in the story-books, there was a fighting man
aboard to manhandle the sailors into the obedience of fear. His name was Hogan and his
nominal job was bo'sun, although he drew extra
wages for doing the captain's fighting for him.
The second day out I was sent to the wheel. A
little Scotchman, seeing my ignorance of the ways
of the sea, had taken a kindly interest in me and
had coached me in the work. When the wheel was
turned over to me, I was told to "sail by the
wind.   Now I knew no more what sailing by the
wind meant than a cow does about rhetoric.
For a time all went well. I was just congratulating myself on my success as a wheelsman, whlen
something happened. Suddenly the wind seermed(
to change from behind the sails to the front of
them, and the old ship danced around like a dervish with a fit. "Flat aback," I believe, is the
nautical term for this phenomenon.
The captain, who was pacing the deck near 1y.
jumped and struck me on the side of the bhe(d.
From this act I concluded that the captain wanted
to fight and felt it no more than common politenless
to oblige him. Letting go of the wheel, I bore him
to the deck to knock the anger out of him.
As we lay in a tangled heap, with the captain
between me and the deck, Hogan the bully camel'
aft on the run. HIe was wearing heavy, leatl,"'
sea-boots. Deliberately he kicked me several
times on the head, and from that time I took a
passive part in the proceedings.
When I groped back to consciousness, I foul11




ROVING AND FIGHITING


191


myself in irons down in the paint-locker. This
paint-locker was a filthy hole that was used as a
store-room. My head was jammed against a
leaking keg of linseed oil, and my hair was gummy
with oil and blood.
For five days I lay in that hole. It was the most
horrible experience of my life. There is no exIerience in life so terrible as that of feeling absolute physical helplessness. Three times a day
lIogan would come down with a handful of shipbiscuits and a can of water. He would stand over
me cursing and threatening, while I lay helpless,
with irons on my hands and feet.
AMy little Scotch friend remained loyal. I believe that he saved my life. Although it was
10against orders, he would sneak down during the
iight, wash the wounds on my head, bring me some
soup or a cup of coffee, and make me a comforttl)le bed of empty sacks.
One morning Hogan came in and unlocked the
irons.
"Go forward and change your clothes!" he ordered. "We are coming into Shanghai, and
yo 'll1 have to stand quarantine inspection. Renlember this: if you try any of your tricks, I '11
make you a hospital case for life!"
Without replying to his abuse, I went to the
fo'e'sle. The Scotchman cut my hair and I
Caingred my clothes. By good fortune I had a
slit-case containing a new suit of clothes and
('.1n linen. Imagine a sailor going to sea with a
S it-case! That suit-case also held something




192,


ROVING AND FIGHTING


more important to me just then-my old army
"six-shooter."
We had dropped anchor off the quarantine station at Woo Sung by the time I had finished dressing. The examination proved perfunctory, and
the ship pulled in closer to shore and prepared
to transfer some of her cargo. A lighter pulled
alongside, and the goods were sent over the side.
When the lighter was ready to leave, I walked
up to Hogan and said:
"Hogan, I am going ashore. You are armed
and I am armed. I don't want to murder you, but
there is nothing in the world I want so much as
to have you start something. You kicked me
when I was a helpless prisoner. This will be an
even break and I '11 let you start it."
"You 'll sing another tune, my Yankee bucko,
when the police pick you up for jumpin' ship,"
he muttered, and walked away.
Climbing down over the side of the ship, I
seated myself in the lighter. None of the officers
of the ship made any attempt to stop me. Despite
the protests of the Chinese lauda, I rode in that
lighter fourteen miles up the river to the docks of
Shanghai.
Although I was expecting arrest, I was not
molested. Sailors afterward told me that the
reason the captain did not swear out a complaint
was that he had struck me while at the wheel. It
is supposed to be a capital crime for a sailor to
strike an officer, but it is also a grave offense for
an officer to touch the man who is steering the ship.




af. a   r. 
111  Iri       B ll. i   l   X.               rE n i * | _ ' ~i 
*   il  hl*| _   II  1 1
g  #f_.i  1a  i*|_ rlli!
t       i~~gi  { ]_ | B * | _ t}.r~
"'ri  (l _ * _ t 




!




ROVING AND FIGHTING


195


Whatever the reason, I heard no more of the
"blue-nose," although I waited for several days
on the docks, hoping that Hogan would come
ashore.
Shanghai has always been the wonder-city of
the world to me. As I walked down the Bund,
carrying my suit-case, I passed representatives
of almost every nation in the world. The Boxer
Rebellion had ended a few months before, and
twelve different nations had troops quartered
about the city.
My position was not exactly an enviable one.
My capital at that time consisted of exactly fifteen
cents in Japanese money. I hunted up a Jap barbershop and invested my entire fortune in a shave.
Then I wandered over the bridge and hunted up
the IHongkew Coffee-House. This was a sailors'
boarding-house conducted by an American named
llenuing.
Leaving my suit-case in the coffee-house, I
tasked directions to the office of the American consul. John Goodnow of Detroit was consul-general at Shanghai at that time. After a long wait
in the anteroom, I was summoned into his office.
"Mr. Goodnow, I am an ex-American soldier,"
1 announced. "I landed here broke this morning,
and 1 do not know a person in China. I am not
asking for charity, but I would like your assistance to get a job. Here are my papers of identification., 
"IHow do I know    you re an American?"
growled the consul.




196


ROVING AND FIGHTING


It had been a hard day. My anger at Hogan
and my sore head had set my nerves on edge.
"Do I look like a Chinaman?" I retorted. "L
won't trouble you any more!"
With a desperate attempt at dignity, I stalk(ed
out of the consulate and walked back to tile coffee-house. Sitting in a chair near the window, I
began to plan my next step. It was a gloomy outlook. I was hungry and broke, also a long way
from home. While I sat there, HIenning, the malnager, came and seated himself beside me.
For a time we talked of the United States, the
war in the Philippines, and other topics that were
of little interest to me at the moment. At last
the dinner-gong sounded from the dining-room.
"Are you going in to dinner?" asked Hennilig.
"No, thanks, I had a late breakfast," I replied.
It was not true, but I did not want to confess nm
bankruptcy.
Henning laughed, and said:
"I know all about you, my friend. Consul
Goodnow has just telephoned that he will stadil
good for your board and room until you get a jo).
The way you called him down made a hit with lim.
He talks roughly, but he 's the best-hearted mai
in Shanghai. Come on in and eat."
I obeyed orders. It was a fine dinner. This
man Henning and Consul Goodnow were the two
best friends I found in Shanghai. The consul
was an enthusiastic baseball fan; he had formerly
been one of the owners of the Detroit team. IIeCning was an expert trap-shot and was fond of box



ROVING AND FIGITING


197


ing. As I played ball on the Shanghai team, was
a fair shot, and liked to put on the gloves in those
days, we three soon became fast friends.
My first concern was to get a job, and I had
some humorous experiences in my hunt for work.
The day after my arrival Consul Goodnow gave
me a letter to the Chinese Imperial Customs, presided over by an Englishman, Sir Robert Hart.
T'lhere were no positions open at the time, and I
was told to return in a few weeks. There are
tinmes when a few weeks seem like a few centuries,
and I searched elsewhere.
A few days later a Chinese rent-collector came
into the coffee-house and announced that he
wanlted to employ a foreign body-guard to take
care of him on his collecting expeditions. The
salary was to be four pesos a day. I eagerly accepted this situation.
)uring the next few    hours we wandered
thrllough the slums of Shanghai, while my Chinese
employer gouged a few dimes of rent from the
po)or people. At last we came to a hovel inhabited
vby a ragged family of laborers. There were only
(i few quilts on the floor by way of furniture.
lThese people could not pay the rent, and the collector ordered me to throw them into the street.
I refused. Then he attempted the job, striking
a crying woman with a stick. Thereupon I threw
ylt employer into the street, speeding his departIre with the toe of my shoe. In his haste he forgot to pay me for my half day's work. Jobless,
1 returned to the coffee-house.




198


ROVING AND FIGHITING(


My next experience was as "bouncer" in a
Chinese theater. This was a modern theater on
Foochow Road, where a kind of vaudeville show
was staged. It was patronized by the rougher
element of the native population.
As is the custom, the audience sat about tiny
tables where tea and the fiery samshu was served
during the performance. The patrons had a playful habit of throwing tea-cups at the actors when
displeased with an act. It was my duty to eject
these disturbers. When trouble started I would
collect the pigtails of the offenders in my fist and
start toward the door. They always followed me,
wailing at the top of their voices.
For four nights I held this position. Then Mr.
Goodnow announced that he had secured a more
dignified position for me. When I announced my
intention of resigning, tie half-breed PortugueseChinaman made the queerest proposition that has
ever been presented to me.
"The way you have throw out the loafers have
please the people very much," he said. "Now if
you will stay, I will hire a bunch of men to come in
every hour and make the bobbery. Then you cal
start the fine row. I will give two dollars more."
It was a fair proposition, but I had no desire
to entertain a bunch of Chinamen, so I reported to
the consulate. Mr. Goodnow told me that thlere
were several vacancies in the police departniellt
and that if I wished to try the force, he would give
me a letter to the chief. I accepted, and reported
that afternoon to Chief Boisragon, a British army




ROVING AND FIGIITING            199
officer on a three-year leave, who was head of the
department. After an examination, I was sworn
in as Police Constable 47, Shanghai International
Police Department.




CHAPTER XX


IN order to understand our work in Shanghai,
an idea of the organization of the city is necessary. Shanghai is actually divided into three
cities-the old, walled, Chinese city, where nearly
a million people are huddled behind the ancient
ramparts; the narrow French Concession, which
is governed by French officials; and the International Concession, the main foreign city, where
twelve nations have treaty rights.
The foreign policy of the International Concession is handled by a board of twelve consuls. Municipal affairs are conducted by a secretary atid
board who are elected by the taxpayers. Although over half a million Chinese live in the international Concession, only foreigners are allowed to vote. As the majority of the taxpayers
are English, the government is British in complexion.
At the time of my arrival, in 1901, the police department consisted of about one hundred white
men, three hundred Indian Sikhs, and about six
hundred Chinese police. The white men acted as
sergeants, with a number of Sikhs and Chinese
constables under each man. They were also expected to attend to foreign offenders, as it is considered bad luck in the Orient for an Indian or
Chinaman to attempt to arrest a white man.
200




ROVING AND FIGHTING


201


Our winter uniform was the same as that worn
by the London police. In summer we wore cotton
lkhaki. We had splendid quarters, with private
rooms, dining-rooms, and canteens in each station. I was assigned to the Central Station on
o1'oochow Road, the Broadway of Shanghai.
The International Concession is a model city.
The business district would do credit to an enterprising American city. At that time it was the
largest seaport in the Orient, and the docks and
river were always crowded with ships. Warships
of many countries were stationed there, and the
Istreets were filled with sailors on shore liberty.
While this added to the picturesque scene, it did
(otl add to the happiness of a policeman's life. It
s'.,(rned to be the ambition of every sailor to whip
a policeman, and often this ambition was realized.
The city was also filled with soldiers. The British were represented by the Royal Welsh Fusiliers, the Bengal Lancers, a detachment of Ghoorkafs, a battery of the Royal Horse Artillery, and
several battalions of Royal Marines. The French
Concession was guarded by two of the so-called
'"criminal regiments" from the colonies of Annam
a1(l Cochin China. These regiments were made
1p of men who had been sentenced to short terms
t'or petty crimes, but who had been permitted to
serve their sentence as soldiers in the tropics.
((iermany, Russia, and Japan also had strong
torces stationed near the city. The United States
l(Il1 one battalion of marines on guard.
After I had served my probation period, I was




202


ROVING AND FIGHTING


assigned to a beat on the Bund, or water-front,
extending from the French Concession to the public gardens on Soochow Creek. This was the fashionable promenade of the city, and the officers of
the various armies congregated there in the evening.
A few days later I fell into disgrace because of
an encounter with Field Marshal Count von Waldersee, the German officer who was in command
of the allied armies in China. Strolling down the
Bund one evening, I chanced to pass the field marshal, who was taking the air accompanied by a
member of his staff.
Hle halted me. Glaring at me as if about to
shrivel me with the lightning of his glance, he said:
"Are you a policeman?"
"I am," I replied.
"'Then why don't you salute me?" he demanded.
Now we were not supposed to salute army
officers. On that particular beat it would have required three pair of arms to salute all the officers
who passed.
"Why should I salute you? Who are you?" I
queried, although I knew well who he was.
"I am the Field Marshal Count von Waldersee!" he sputtered. "I will not permit such insolence from a common policeman!"
"Well, Count, you 've got a danged fine job," I
answered. "My advice to you is to behave yourself and hang on to it."
IHe almost choked in his indignation, while I
walked on. The next morning I was called before




I  ~
II~
I




, jf




ROVING AND FIGHTING


205


the chief. When my story was told, he said:
"You were right not to salute. It is not expected of you. But you were wrong in showing
impudence to an officer. You must be punished."
Visions of a fine, or of losing my hard-earned
job, came to my mind.
"You are officially reprimanded, and the reprimand shall be written into your record. Dismissed!" was his verdict.
Thanks to a strong constitution, I managed to
survive the shock of this reprimand. On another
occasion I had more serious trouble with a German officer. It was in our orders never to arrest
an officer, unless it became absolutely necessary to
prevent serious trouble. Instead, we were supposed to secure the name of the offending officer
and summon him to court the next day.
Late one night I was strolling down the Kukiang
B]oad when I heard yells coming from a side-street.
tBushing around the corner, I found an intoxicated
(erman captain flogging a "'ricksha" coolie with
Iis cane. Catching him by the shoulder, I pulled
hinm away from his victim.
"You pig! You would lay a hand on me!" he
roared, and pulled his sword. Fortunately, I was
standing very close. I took him in my arms and
disarmed him. During the scuffle he struck me in
the face.
"Now turn around, Captain, and walk up that
street to the station. You can tell your troubles
to the sergeant," I directed.
"Never! A German officer cannot surrender!"




206


ROVING AND FIGHTING


he shouted. He meant it, too, and it required
some little effort to convince him. As I kept the
sword and used the flat side of it as a reminder,
he soon consented to forget his dignity.
With his own sword at his back, I marched the
captain into the Central Station. The old sergeant was scandalized. He took me aside to give
me a warning.
"Don't you know you 're not supposed to arrest these fellows? I '11 just give him a talking
to and summon him for the morning."
As the sergeant walked up to the captain, that
worthy seemed to come to life and slapped him in
the face. There was another fight, but this time I
acted as referee.
"Grab hold of him, O'Reilly!" yelled the irate
sergeant. "We '11 put him   in the beggars'
cell."'
We did, and the turbulent captain stayed there
until the early hours of the morning. Toward
daylight the sergeant called me back to the station.
"That Dutchman is pacified and pleading for
mercy," he said "It 's this way. If his superiors hear that he has permitted anyone to take hlis
sword away, he must resign from the army  le 's
a singin' a fine tune this morning. Now I suggest
that we let him go, give him his sword, and put him
on the docket for disorderly conduct. It is considered perfectly gentlemanly for a German officer to raise hell with anybody, but it is eternal disgrace if anybody raises hell with him!"




ROVING AND FIGHITING


207


I consented, and the officer was released. In
court a few hours later he was fined ten dollars for
beating the " 'ricksha" coolie.
At the time that I was a member of the Shanghai
police there was only one other American in the
department, a man named Joe Riddle, who had
been a sailor under Dewey. Joe was a great student of the Chinese language, and he handled the
Shanghai dialect fairly well. He persuaded me to
accompany him to a night-school and make an attalck on the puzzling Chinese idioms. After a few
w'eeks' trial I threw up my hands and quit. There
are many foreigners who speak Chinese, but mastery of one of the numerous dialects requires years
of study.
Our salary in the department was sixty-five dollars per month, with board, room, and uniforms.
As everything on the Chinese coast is much
cheaper than in the United States, it was a living
wage. We also earned something in legitimate
side-lines. One of the most lucrative of these perquisites was the Chinese funeral.
Whenever a wealthy Chinaman dies, his relatives spend a fortune on his funeral, in order that
lie may go to face the gods properly attended and
accoutered. Most of these funeral pageants
passed through the foreign concession. According to a rule of the department, every funeral must
be accompanied by four policemen, to handle the
traffic and to hasten the procession. If permitted,
tihe mourners would block the streets all day. The




208


ROVING AND FIGHTING


master of ceremonies was required to pay the policeman three dollars for the trip through the
concession.
A Chinaman always admires a tall man. As it
happened, there were four of us in the department
who varied only half an inch in height, and a few
pounds in weight. They were McPherson, Gilfillan, O'Toole, and O'Reilly-a fine Celtic combination. We were the envy of the force, for the
Chinamen usually selected us to march in their
funeral parades. We thereby earned many extra
pesos.
The coffin would always be accompanied by
scores of hired professional wailers who vied with
each other in making a noise. Palanquins loaded
with imitation silver shoos, or bricks, paper horses,
paper women and servants, paper houses, and all
the necessities for a life of ease beyond the grave
were carried in the procession. These were
burned at the grave, and supposedly ascended
with the soul of the departed. It is Chinese logic
that these sham riches are translated into objects
of real value in the other world.
Another means of earning side-money was to
guide tourists through the native quarter. It was
really dangerous for these tourists to attempt to
explore the labyrinth of the walled city without a
guide. Therefore they would employ a policeman
as guide and protector.
We appreciated the extra dollars that this work
brought in, but how we learned to detest the average quick-trip tourist! They would demand to be




ROVING AND FIGHTING


209


taken to the opium dens, the native brothels, and
all the low dens of the city. Eminently respectable women, who would be shocked by the idea at
home, would ask to be shown through miles of
reeking warrens, where thousands of womenslaves and drug victims lived in an inferno of
misery. It is queer what people will do when they
are away from home.
Foochow Road, where the Central Station is
located, was the theater street of the city. For
nearly two miles it extended in an unbroken line
of theaters, "sing-song" houses, and gilded brothels. At night the street would be a chromatic
wonderland, glowing with myriad paper-lanterns
and the gorgeous clothes of the visitors. Coolies
would run through the streets, carrying tiny,
painted, "sing-song" girls from place to place
as they were ordered.
At that time it was the custom to bind the
women s feet, and many of these tragic little manikins could not walk because of the deformity.
Foot-binding has been prohibited in China since
the revolution which drove the Manchus from the
throne. The opium dens on Foochow Road have
also been closed.
For many years China has been waging a desperate fight against the drug which was strangling
the nation. Even in imperial days this fight was
carried on. At present it is illegal to grow the
Poppy-plant or manufacture opium within the
country. Public opium-dens are no more. The
only supply of the drug which comes into the coun



210


ROVING AND FIGHTING


try is through English companies, which bring it
from India. This traffic was forced on the Cliinese by the English in the Opium War, and England still holds to her treaty.
It was on Foochow Road that I experienced a
wild night which, for the time, almost convinced
me that I had been transported to another planet.
Reporting off day-duty one evening at the Central Police Station on Foochow Road, I was ordered to return in uniform at seven o'clock.
"What 's the reason for the extra duty?" I
asked an old-time sergeant as we climbed the stairs
to the mess-hall.
"Eclipse of the moon," he replied.
"The whole police force can't stop the moon
having an eclipse when it feels like it," I protested.
"What 's the idea?"
"You '11 see to-night," and the old-timer
grinned. "You '11 have to be defendin' the poor
old moon from assault and battery by a million
lunatics."
Having learned that a "greenhorn" gets much
left-handed information by asking too many questions, I let the subject drop. Before the night was
over I learned that the sergeant was right.
An ancient Chinese superstition regarding an
eclipse of the moon was the cause of one of the
wildest nights it has ever been my misfortune to
witness. According to the belief of the Chinese,
an evil old dragon of the skies is ever on the watch
to swallow the moon. Sometimes he gets it in his
mouth and occasionally he succeeds in swallowing




ROVING AND FIGS1TING


211


it. Only by frightening the wits out of the old
dragon is the moon ever restored to the skies.
When an eclipse occurs, every Chinese city becomes a collection of madmen. Each Chinaman
tries to make all the din and racket he can in order to make the dragon disgorge the chief ornament of the heavens. They set off tons of firecrackers, build bonfires, beat tom-toms, and run
yelling in hysterical panic through the streets.
NWhen the appointed time came, I was stationed
on upper Foochow Road, where the "sing-song"
houses are. It was a bright, clear night, and the
moon was sailing high. At last the shadow began
creeping over the rim.
As if a signal had been given, the most frightful
pandemonium broke loose. It was worse than
any battle I have ever heard. Thousands of gongs
were beating, and the rattle of the firecrackers
rose to a steady roar, punctuated by the heavy
l)oom of the giant crackers.
Shooting firecrackers is against the law in the
foreign concession, on account of the danger of
lire. It was the duty of the police to arrest the
offenders, but an army would have been unequal to
tlhat job.
Thousands of panic-stricken Chinamen ran
aimlessly about the streets, yelling hysterically.
Some groveled in the road, throwing dust over
their heads. I saw one venerable old fellow, clad
in the silks of a mandarin, leap from his jinrickislla and pound his head on the pavement until his
face was bloody.




212


ROVING AND FIGHTING


It was no trouble to catch violators of the fire
law. In a few minutes the compound of the station was filled with a howling mob of prisoners.
Several fires were started, and the fire department
was kept on the run. Many of the town militia
volunteers joined with us to prevent more damage.
There was one man especially busy with his giant crackers in a narrow alley leading off Foochow
Road. The alley was lined with flimsy wooden
shacks, so that a fire in that quarter would have
been hard to fight. Time after time I tried to
catch him, but he escaped in the labyrinth of narrow passageways, only to appear a moment later
to take another shot at the moon.
Finally I sent an old Chinese police-sergeant to
one end of the alley and posted myself at the other
entrance. Again the man appeared. The sergeant and I rushed at him. Seeing the Chinese
policeman, the savior of the moon lit his giant
cracker and turned to run. Then he saw me bearing down upon him. With a frightened yell, he
threw the sputtering cracker.
That infernal bombshell hit me just above the
belt-buckle and exploded like a three-inch shrapnel shell. It is no joke to have a giant firecracker
explode just below the short-ribs. It felt like the
kick of a mule, and for a few minutes I was seasick. My tunic was set afire, and my chin was
blackened by the exploding gunpowder. The hysterical bombardier escaped.
Gradually the shadow on the moon began to




ROVING AND FIGHTING             213
fade. The noise increased. Over a million
Chiniamen can maake a lot of noise when they set
their mind on the job. At last the moon was sailing clear and full, on its regular evening jaunt
across the sky. The old dragon had been frightenled away from his prey.
If his dragonship was hit where I was by any of
those cannon crackers, I don't blame him for disgorging that moon.




CHAPTER XXI


W     HILE strolling down the Bund one morning I saw a crowd gathered around a group
of struggling men. When I ran up I found that
a civilian was engaged in a strenuous battle with
three German soldiers. The soldiers ran away
when they caught sight of my uniform, and I seized
the civilian, demanding an explanation. As le
turned to answer me, I was astonished to discover
that he was Captain Hector MacAllester, my former chum of the Philippine Native Scouts.
Leading him around a corner away from tllhe
crowd, we shook hands and proceeded to put the
universal question of the wanderer- "Whzat are
you doing here? "
"Mac, why were you leading that forlorn hope
against the German Army? I asked him.
"Oh, I always do that when I get a chance,"
Mac admitted. "You see, it was the blastted Germans who beat me out of a fortune up near Tientsin. If it had n't been for them, I would be a
rich man to-day."
He then told me the whole story. It sounded
like a tale from the Arabian nights, but I knorw
that it was true. When I had last seen Mac, lie
was bound for the Boxer War as a teamster il
the American expedition. Upon his arrival in
214




ROVING AND FIGHTING


215


Tientsin he had fought in a company of civilian
volunteers until the pressure on that city was relieved, and then had organized a little expedition
of his own.
The looting of North China during the Boxer
troubles is one of the disgraces of civilization. I
am sorry to say that Mac took an active part in
this confiscation. He learned that a Chinese bank
in the city had transferred its hoard of silver bullion to an old "go-down," or warehouse, on the
outskirts of the town. The silver had been buried
beneath the dirt floor of this "go-down." Mac
and another white man discovered this treasure
and removed it. As it was impossible to ship the
stuff out of the country at that time, they moved
it to the plain outside of Tientsin and buried it.
According to Mac's story, there was literally tons
of it, and it required several nights' work to do
the job.
Mac next made two little maps of the spot, giving one to his partner and keeping the other himself. They then proceeded on their tour of investigation. A few days later the partner, who was
a British subject, killed a man in a quarrel and was
sentenced to the penitentiary. Thus Mac was
left to play a lone hand.
One day he followed a missionary who was reported to be growing wealthy on loot. Mac saw
him enter an immense house and thought he would
cal on him. He opened a side-door leading into a
gairden. A Chinaman was waiting for him. It
was a fifty-fifty affair. Mac shot the Chinaman




216


ROVING AND FIGHTING


and the Chinaman split his head open with a
sword.
The little Scotchman lay unconscious in the
street until discovered by a patrol of Japanese
soldiers. He was removed to a hospital and later
was sent to Nagasaki, Japan, for an operation.
After a few weeks he regained his strength, but he
still carried an ugly scar across his forehead.
His one thought now was to return to Tientsin
and recover the silver treasure. The port had
been opened, and it would be possible to ship it to
some other city to be sold. When he arrived in
Tientsin, he hastened out to the plain where he
had buried the loot. Much to his disgust, he found
a camp of German soldiers on the spot. After
making careful inquiries, he learned that the Germans had discovered his silver one day while they
were digging a sink. Naturally they had confiscated the treasure.
"And that 's why I always punch a German
when I get a chance, " Mac concluded.
All the nations who cooperated in the advance
on Peking were guilty of looting in the Chinese
capital. The Germans were the most flagrant
offenders, however, as their officers permitted looting and participated in it.
Ancient objects of art, old paintings and statues
antedating the Christian Era, were carried away,
to be hawked about through the bazaars of the
East for a few dollars. Even the great seals of
China were stolen. They were returned later,
after a reward of half a million dollars was paid.




ii
T~~~~~~




y I




ROVING AND FIGHTING


219


It was an American soldier, I am sorry to confess, who committed the worst theft. In the Forhidden City was kept the ancient "Book of the
Dynasties."  This is probably the oldest book in
the world, containing an authentic history of over
two thousand years. Each page bore the record
of the reign of an emperor. Although the capital
of China has often been changed, Peking having
been swept by revolutions and the Forbidden City
captured many times by rebels, this book had
never been disturbed. It was considered one of
the sacred objects of China.
When the foreign soldiers captured Peking, the
book disappeared. Immense rewards were offered for it, and it was made the subject of an international conference. Then, one day, a letter
arrived from an American soldier. He stated
that he and several of his friends had taken the
)book, not realizing its value. They had torn out
many of the parchment leaves in which to wrap
up cheap little jade ornaments they had found.
Hle returned the covers of the book and a few of
the pages. The letter was not signed. Thus one
of the treasures of the human race was lost forever.
Many of these adventurers were in Shanghai
during my stay there. Some of them were still
"in funds" as a result of their loot, but many were
"broke" and looking for work.
It was my misfortune to be a policeman in
Sthanghai when the so-called "Penny War" occnrred,




220


ROVING AND FIGIITING


In Shanghai the work of cart-horses is done by
the wheelbarrow coolies. At that time there were
over seven thousand of them working in the foreign concession.
The wheelbarrows have an immense wheel about
three feet in diameter, and the load is balanced on
a framework straddling the hub. These coolies
toil like mules for a wage of a few cents a day.
Most of them cannot afford to own their owIn
wheelbarrow, but rent their cart from some more
opulent Chinaman.
They are licensed by the municipal council of
Shanghai, made up exclusively of foreigners.
For years the city council had charged these coolies a license tax of four cents a day. But one day,
for some unknown reason, this tax was increased
to five cents.
A penny may seem a small thing to fight about,
but that extra penny meant starvation to many of
the coolies.
The night-shift of policemen were seated at
breakfast after coming off duty, when the first reports of the riots came. An excited sergeant
rushed into the mess hall of the Central Station
on Foochow Road, shouting:
"Fall in, quick, men! The wheelbarrow menI
are rioting down Nanking Road, and they have
beaten up several of our men!"
We rushed into the court-yard, fell into line, and
went through the gateway at the double quick.
Seven thousand fighting Chinamen is a great
many Chinamen. We were lined up across Nan



ROVING AND FIGHTING


221


king Road, the main business street of the city,
facing the hysterical, screaming mob.
Down the street they came, waving clubs and
bamboos. The mob filled the street from curb to
curb. The police were armed only with the regulation baton.
Whenever anybody tells me about all Chinamen
being pacifists, I think of that riot. For two days
we fought that crazy mob of coolies back and forth
through the streets. They came down as if without fear. Although scores of them were knocked
down by the policemen's clubs, they continued to
clharge straight at the line. They had gone on
strike, and were willing to die for that penny a
day. Time after time we cleared the streets, only
to turn and face another mob charging down from
a side-street.
I was doing the best I could in the melee, according to the methods laid down in the book of rules,
when something sailed through the air and struck
me on the head. For a time I took a rest in the
gutter, while a kind friend bandaged my head and
told me that my wound could n't possibly be as bad
as it looked.
It seemed as if the hordes of coolies would never
get tired. Of course, we whipped them; in fact,
we whipped them fourteen times in one day, but
they always kept coming back for more.
Finally some one in authority had a brilliant
iJla. The extra penny tax was revoked. Within
an hour the trouble was over, and the coolies,those who were able, at least,-were back at work.




222


ROVING AND FIGHITING


During the two days' fight I developed a sneaking admiration for these untutored coolies. Naturally, I could hardly be expected to cheer for a
man who was poking me in the ribs with a six-foot
pole, but I could understand his viewpoint.
The poverty in these great Chinese cities is appalling. Millions are literally hungry from the
day they are born until they die-usually of starvation. People who are nervous about the Yellow
Peril are always wondering what would happen if
China realized her own strength. Chlinia  ihl
awaken when she is fed.
After the riots a kindly intentioned person
wrote to the daily paper, objecting to the rouglh
tactics used by the police in clearing the streets.
He declared that we should have used moral suiasion, and been more gentle to the mob. It was a
fine idea. I wish he had mentioned it to the fellow
who hit me with the brass band.
The most interesting work of this police department was the warfare against the Chinese
criminals. For uncanny cunning and devious
ways the Chinese "crook" holds the world's record. Shanghai was infested by numerous gangs
of organized criminals, known in the local slilan
as "loafers."  These gangs of loafers changed as
their leaders rose or fell, but they were always
active.
On one occasion I was walking a beat in tlie
native business district. Suddenly a man dartted
out of a store, a flock of screaming clerks at his
heels. It was a sneak-thief who had been detected




ROVING AND FIGHTING


223


palming some cheap jewelery. Down the street
he went, with me in hot pursuit. Now I rather
prided myself on my running ability in those days.
1 had won several trophies in athletic meets as a
foot-racer. Yet, try as I would, I could not gain
on that light-footed loafer.
For several blocks we continued the race. Makingl a last desperate effort, I gained a few feet.
Ilis pigtail was snapping in the breeze straight
out behind him. Finally I drew near enough to
seize it. Settling back, I gave a mighty tug. It
seemed as if the whole top of that Chinaman's
head was jerked off, but he continued on down the
street. It was a false pigtail I held in my hand!
His real queue was wound in a tight coil about his
hlead.
A policeman in Shanghai was required to be
an international lawyer. All foreigners were
I)rought for trial before the consular court of their
oxwn country. Thus an American would be tried
lef'ore the American consul, a Russian before the
Russian consul, and so on. In one week I have
appeared as a witness in cases before ten different consuls. As the legal systems and method of
taking evidence varies with each country, it is naturally confusing to the officer.
Natives were tried before the Mixed Court. A
(Chinese judge and a white judge sat together on
cases in the Mixed Court. The Chinese law is
usually followed. For petty offenses it was cust(mary to prescribe the "bamboo."  This meant
that the offender was beaten with a bamboo stick




224


ROVING AND FIGHTING


before the judges. I have seen Chinese criminals,
covered with blood, writhing on the floor of tle,
court-room after an unusually severe dose of the
bamboo.
In the native city, however, punishments were
much more horrible, including torture and beheading. While I was in Shanghai, a notorious criminal leader was captured by the Yamen runners of
the native city. He was accused of many murders. One of the frightful crimes charged against
him was that of gouging out the eyes of little children. The eyes were used as an ingredient of a
medicine, sold to the superstitious wives of rich
men at an immense price.
This fiend was sentenced to death by exhaustion. With his hands tied, he was placed in a
wooden framework, his head protruding through a
hole in the top. Beneath his feet was a platform
of thin tiles. Each day one of these bricks would
be removed. There was no way he could rest;.
His neck and his toes were the only places on
which he could rest his weight. Guards watcllhed
him day and night to prevent him from sleeping
At the end of the eleventh day he became a raving
maniac. He lived under this torment for nineteen days before he died.
The place of punishment was adjacent to a public street, and morbid crowds gathered daily to
watch this wretch's suffering. Many foreigners
visited the spot with their cameras. One of the
victim's wives stood beside the pillory. WhVien 
foreigner approached with a camera, she would




ROVING AND FIGIlTING


tilt a straw hat over the face of her dying hus-,and. Twenty cents was the price she charged
for a picture. When the fee was paid, she would
raise the hat. Why anyone should want a photogralph of that screaming, tortured murderer was
more than I could understand.
One of the questions I am frequently asked concerns the missionaries in foreign lands. To speak
frankly, I am not an admirer of the usual type of
missionary or his work, but there are remarkable
exceptions. One of these exceptions I met in
Shlanghai.
I have met some brave men in my time,-men
who have died gloriously,-but that little missionary was the greatest hero I have ever known.
It was early morning and I was walking my beat
along the Bund from the French Concession to the
Public Gardens, when I saw what I took to be a
Chlinaman sitting on a bench. Now in this little
spot in China the Chinese are not allowed to enter.
Walking up to the supposed Chinaman, I tapped
hiln on the shoulder, and in my best pidgin-English told him to move on. When he looked at me,
I saw that I had made a mistake. He was a missionary in Chinese clothes, a "pigtail missionary."
"Pardon me, I did not know it was forbidden,"
he said. "I was just watching the boat."
"My mistake," I answered. "You may stay
as long as you care to. But you get up early to
watch the boats."
"They have a phonograph aboard. I heard it




226


ROVING AND FIGHTING


last night. So I came this morning, thinking they
might play it again."
Sitting down beside him, I learned something
of his story. For twenty years that little nmai
had labored at his mission work back in the far
hinterland. Three times his little school and
chapel had been burned, and on one occasion he
had been tortured.
Yet each time he had gone back to his task and
had built again on the blackened ruins. Recently
he had again been driven out by the Boxer Rebol
lion, and had come to Shanghai. For the first
time in ten years he was mingling with folk of his
own blood.
"It has been a wonderful trip to me," he said
in his shy, timid manner. "A few days ago a man
took me through the cotton nm-ills in Woosung,
across the river. It was wonde'rful to see the machinery.
"Then, think of it, last week I actually saw a
moving-picture! It seemed like black magic.
And last night I walked along here and heard a
phonograph playing on that P. & 0. boat. Tthe
played 'Annie Laurie'; it 's been many years since
I heard it."
He talked of these commonplace inventions il
an awed whisper, as if he was speaking of gre:t
wonders. For years he had talked only Chinese,
and he spoke English now with a queer, precise
dialect.
"Now that you have come back, you will see




ROVING AND FTGItTING     2


227


many things that are old to us, but will be of interest to you," I told him.
"But the time is so short," he replied. "You
see, I go back to my station in a few days. The
trouble is over and there is much work to do. I
fear my people are scattered."
"Why do you exile yourself, give up your life,
when everything you build is torn down? " I asked.
His face lighted; his head lifted. Within a few
yards of us was the rice jetty where daily thousands of sacks of rice were landed and carried
away on the backs of coolies. Even at that early
hour the approach to the jetty was crowded.
Gaunt, haggard, old women and men went stooping over the planks, sweeping up the few grains of
rice that fell from the sacks. Tiny children ran
about with weeds in their hands, fighting back the
clouds of sparrows who tried to glean the rice.
"See that?" said the little missionary. "There
are millions here fighting the sparrows for a handful of rice. Think of the great tides of suffering
humanity that ebb and flow through China. Perhaps I have done a little to make it better for
them. '
It was time for the day-watch to relieve me from
duty. I asked my little missionary to wait, while
I hastened to the Central Station of Foochow
Road and changed into civilian clothes.
Then up the Nanking Road I guided him to a
litle shop where phonographs were sold. Tears
came into his eyes when I asked the manager to




228      ROVING AND FIGHTING
play "Annie Laurie." For an hour he sat huddled in his chair, listening, with a twenty-year look
of longing in his eyes.
Well, it was a long way until pay-day, but I borrowed the price. When the pigtail missionary
left a few days later on the up-river boat, he carried with him a little phonograph and seven records. One of them was "Annie Laurie."
I left him seated on the deck of the boat, the
precious phonograph in his lap. As I went down
the gang-plank, I knew that it had been my privilege to meet for a few days one of the world's
great men.




CHAPTER XXII


OR ten months I had been swinging a baton
on the police force. Then came an opportunity to enter the Chinese Imperial Army. The
Toatai, or governor of the province, had frequently reviewed the foreign soldiers who drilled
daily on the Bund. He declared that the American Marines were the best drilled and finest appearing body of soldiers in the city. In this he
showed his good judgment, for there is no better
trained military organization in the world than
our marines.
The chief of police was an intimate friend of the
Toatai and had been frequently entertained at his
house. One morning I was called to the chief's
office. "Constable O'Reilly, you served an enlistment in the American army, did you not?" he said.
"Tf you have your discharge-papers with you, I
have a splendid position open for you."
In a few minutes I had brought my discharge
and other papers from my room.
"The Toatai has decided that he wants a foreign-drilled body-guard," continued the captain.
"The American soldiers are his favorites.  ie
has asked me to find an American ex-soldier whom
I can recommend for the position of drill instructor to train this company. The position will
carry the rank and pay of a captain, and you will
229




230


ROVING AND FIGHTING


be allowed quarters and housekeeping allowances.
If you care for the place, I will recommend you. '
Naturally, I accepted. The next day I was presented to the Toatai, a dignified mandarin wearing the mustache of a grandfather. With the aid
of an interpreter we planned the proposed company. I was to select one hundred and twentyeight men from over a thousand native soldiers.
Three interpreters were detailed to assist me in
this work. A few days later another white man,
Sergeant Ross, who had seen service in the police
department and in the British army, was also detailed as my assistant.
We were stationed in barracks near the Chinese
arsenal, four miles up the river from the walled
city. Ross and I were quartered in a well-built
native house, with three servants to look after our
comfort.
We quickly found that we had a hard task on
our hands. For a time we depended on interpreters to transmit our orders. I designed a uniforn
and soon had the company looking like soldiers,
if they did not drill like soldiers. The Chinese
language is not adapted for military orders, where
speed and brevity are essential. It seemed to
require twenty words to give the command
"Halt'!
"Ross, we '11 never get anywhere with this language," I declared one day. "We can't talk Chinese, so let 's teach them to talk English. "
We then simplified the drill as much as possible,
and taught our recruits the English words of corn



ROVING AND FIGHTING


231


mand. They quickly learned the commands, and
the drill proceeded more satisfactorily. Within
two months the company had mastered the closeorder drill and the manual of arms. In time we
taught them open-order work and at length had
tlem going through the skirmish drill by whistle
signals, without a spoken word of command. The
Toatai was well pleased with our progress and frequently reviewed the company.
It has been my experience that the Clinaman
makes a good soldier when properly trained. Our
little company was the foundation of the great
central army which in later years won the revolution against the Manchus.
Americans are fond of calling China a nation
of pacifists. I have read many articles about the
cowardly Chinese, written by people who have
never studied Chinese history. Some of the
world's greatest wars have been waged in China.
During the Tai Ping Rebellion about eighty years
ago, more men were killed than in any other war in
the world's history, with the exception of the conflict now devastating Europe.
China's history reveals a succession of terrible
wars. The hordes of Genghis Khan, which swept
over Asia and part of Europe, were Mongolians.
China's great drawback has been her lack of national spirit. A Cantonese differs in language,
customs, and ideals from a Pekinese. A Shanglai
llan cannot understand a Soo Chow man, although
tieir districts adjoin. There are  O iti be thirtytwo distinct dialects spoken in China. The ofii



232


ROVING AND FIGHTING


cial and educated classes use the mandarin dialect in their intercourse.
My experience in China taught me to respect
the Chinese. As business men, they are honest
in their dealings; as soldiers, they are good fighting men. When she shakes off the yoke of grafting politicians, China will play a leading role in
the world's history.
While I was in the Chinese Army it was my good
fortune to meet General Homer Lea, one of the
most extraordinary characters I have ever knowni.
At that time he had just returned from a tour
through the hinterland of China. Lord Roberts
has declared that Homer Lea was the greatest
military genius of the nineteenth century, although he never commanded troops in actual warfare. As a student, he was a marvel. After a
few months' stay in China he could speak fluently
a dozen different dialects, and he became an authority on Chinese history and literary classics.
Military history was his hobby, and he could talk
authoritatively on every campaign since ancient
days.
General Lea was in sympathy with the revolutionary movement in China, and later he played a
leading part in the organization of the army. As
he was much interested in my work, he visited me
several times at the arsenal. Upon his return to
the United States he published a book, "The Valor
of Ignorance," which is used as a textbook of military strategy at West Point.
At the time that we were working with our corn



ROVING AND FIGHTING


233


pany, many efforts were being made to organize
foreign-drilled troops. The Pau Ting Fan military police, organized about this time, was the
beginning of the Northern Army. Other troops
were also being trained at Hankow. Granting
myself a furlough during the summer after I was
commissioned in the army, I took a trip to Hankow
to inspect these troops, in the hope of learning
something that might help me in my work. Hankow is an immense city about seven hundred miles
up the Yang-tze-kiang River. It has a large foreign colony and a modern business district.
It was in Hankow that I discovered Cook. At
least he told me his name was Cook the first time I
found him, sitting drunk in a samshu shop in a
narrow street of the native city. Afterward, in
his delirium, he declared that his name was Ryan.
But "maskee his name, as they say on the China
Coast, it was his astounding experience that interested me.
One afternoon I took a walk through the native
city, with its hordes of starving, suffering humanity. Passing a samsihu shop, I heard a maudlin
voice chanting the "Gra Machree ma Kruskeen
Lawn," an old drinking-song.
Now a white man who drinks samnshu is bound
to be in trouble, and the old song sounded
strangely out of place in that swarming, filthy
slum. Therefore I stepped in and investigated.
Sitting at a table was the sorry figure of what
had once been a white man. His clothing consisted of a pair of ragged overalls, a cotton singlet,




234


ROVING AND FIGHTING


and a pair of Chinese slippers. His arms and
bared breast were covered with tattooed designs.
Hailing me with a profane greeting, he waved
me to a seat in a lordly manner. One look colvinced me that here was a man in the last stages
of alcoholism. His skin was mottled, his facemuscles twitching, and his mind wandering.
Little by little I obtained bits of his story. It
was one of the most amazing tales I have ever
heard.
The Boxer uprising, when missionaries were
murdered by the fanatical reactionaries throughout the hinterland of China, was just ended. Szechuen province was probably the most dangerous
region in China at the time. Not a white man was
left in the province, and thousands of native
Christians had been slaughtered.
During this reign of terror, Cook-or Ryanin his drink-crazed condition, had wandered up
and down in Szechuen, begging his drinks and his
food, and at times living with the very Boxer mobs
who were guilty of the massacres.
At first I doubted his story, but he produced a
bundle of torn and dirty passports, signed by a
dozen officials in different towns, granting him
protection. Afterward I had these slips translated, and there was no doubt that they were genuine. One of them gave the clue to his immunity.
"Harm not this man," it read, "because his
mind is with the gods."
It is a well-known fact that the Chinese have a
superstitious awe of an insane person. Although




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they laugh at him, they will always treat him with
kindness. Evidently this wandering white hobo
in benighted China had escaped the fate of other
white men because the Chinese believed him to be
an idiot.
After some argument, I persuaded Cook to come
with me to the river-boat for some clothes and
something to eat. On board, I hunted up an English doctor and had my patient examined. He announced that the wanderer had at most only a few
weeks to live. Dissipation and a steady diet of
fiery Chinese intoxicants had sapped his vitality.
The next day we left for Shanghai, and I took
the outcast with me. Finally I made him understand that he was going to die. He pondered the
matter all day, and that night said:
"Do you know, lad, I believe I 'd like to talk to a
preacher, if I 'm going to bump off."
"What kind of preacher do you want?" I asked.
"I will send for one when we get to Shanghai."
'Oh, any kind at all, as long as he is a good one.
A I)igtail missionary, if there is any choice. "
Two weeks later the outcast died in a hospital at
Shanghai. Although he had his wish and talked
with several ministers, his mind was never clear.
Iie could only babble feebly of incidents of his
boyhood.
The real story of his wanderings would have
mlce a remarkable tale, but I gleaned only a few
half-finished yarns. But the bundle of passports
from Boxer leaders showed that he had passed
through an inferno.




CHAPTER XXIII


W     1HEN I first took command of the Toatai's
body-guard, I was ambitious to make it the
foundation of a larger military organization. I
had planned to increase the company to a battalion, and then to a regiment. The Toatai also lhad
a similar plan, yet I found myself working against
some powerful influence which was opposed to a
foreign-drilled army. I now know that the Japanese authorities were trying to block my work.
At last I grew disgusted. I also had become
homesick for a sight of the United States and a
visit with the folks back home. My life had settled down to a monotonous routine of drill. There
was a sameness about each day. Oriental sights
and scenes had become commonplace and uninteresting. It was the old home-town that now held
the lure of distance.
This restlessness comes to every wanderer I
have ever known. It is a real affliction. Try as
you may to banish the idea from your mind, the
thought of exploring a new trail is ever present.
It was a letter from home that settled the question
for me. That very day I handed in my resignation and prepared to travel the back road to Chicago.
As usual, I was letting myself in for a season of
238




ROVING AND FTIGHTING


239


trouble. After a farewell celebration with friends
in Shanghai, I discovered one morning that I was
possessed of two trunks full of clothes, a ticket on
tile Toyo Yusen Kaisha to Nagasaki, Japan, and
about ten dollars in money. The steamer was due
to sail that night.
At last I had burned my bridges behind me and,
having started, I intended to go on. I still had a
Government pass, good for transportation on a
transport back to San Francisco.
On the boat to Nagasaki I met two wayfarers
like myself. One was an Englishman, named Griffin, who had been in the customs department of
Hong Kong. The other was a little American,
named Plant, who had fought with the Twentieth
Kansas in the Philippines. Both were bankrupt.
It was after dark when we landed on the hatoba
in Nagasaki. To my delight, I discovered that the
old transport Logan, on which I had made a round
trip across the Pacific, was in the harbor. She
was scheduled to sail at daylight.
That evening I visited the American quartermaster stationed at Nagasaki. I exhibited my papers, and told him that I must catch that transport.
"Well, it is against orders for any one to go
alToard after dark," said the captain. "But
y0ours is an unusual case, and I will give an order
for your transportation. I cannot guarantee that
tle captain will accept it, however. It will rest
with him. "
Putting the order in my pocket, T hastened back
to my two friends, Plant and Griffin. I was as



240


ROVING AND FIGITING


sured of a passage, but they must be taken care of.
After a council of war, we evolved a scheme.
Loading our baggage into a sampan, we were
sculled out to the Logant. A sailor stood on gurdl
at the gangway.
Leaving Plant and Griffin hid in the tiny cabin
of the sampan, I stalked up the gangway.
"Where is the captain of this vessel?" I demanded. "I have a message of great importance
for him."
"The captain is ashore, sir," replied the sailor,
touching his cap.
"Very well; where is the captain quarterlmaster? He will do," 1 queried.
The sailor began to direct me to the quartermaster's cabin.
"Never mind, I can't wander all over the shil).
Come and point it out to me," I ordered.
"It 's against orders to leave the gangway, sir,"
replied the sailor.
"That 's all right; you won't be gone a minute,"
I argued, at the same time slipping the sailor one
of my last dollars.
That convinced him, and he walked aft to show
me to the cabin. As he did so, Plant and Griffit
scurried up the gangway and made their way forward, where they mingled with the crowd of discharged soldiers. The sailor pointed out the door
of the cabin and ran back to his post.
Now I had no desire to present my order for
transportation unless compelled to do so. I ]ll
been out of the army for more than a year and,




ROVING AND FIGHTING


24.1


according to the ruling of the quartermaster department at that time, would have been obliged to
pay for my meals during the voyage. My pocket
would not have stood this strain, especially as I
had to care for two hungry friends.
Therefore I loitered on the after-deck for a few
minutes, and then strolled back to the gangway.
"Have that baggage placed on deck," I commanded. "Orders of the quartermaster."
My friend, the sailor, permitted the sampan
coolies to bring my stuff aboard. While I was
debating my next step, I received a slap on the
shoulder. It was one of the men of the Fourth
Infantry returning to the United States.
"Grab some of that stuff and get it forward!"
I whispered.  I '11 explain later."
Il a few minutes I had confiscated an empty
ulnk, stored my baggage away, and donned an
(ld army uniform. We were safely aboard and
homeward bound. During that entire voyage we
lived with the discharged soldiers, several hun(Ired of whom were aboard. Our presence was
never discovered by the officers.
-)ur voyage across the Pacific was uneventful.
Eagerly I counted the days until we should sight
the Golden Gate. Five years before I had left
lhome as a boy of seventeen. During those five
Yearrs I had fought in two wars, served under two
flags, and journeyed around the world. I had had
(lTough of wandering, I declared. There was no
)Place like home.
Little did I realize the strength of the call of




242


ROVING AND FIGHTING


distant lands. Paddy Walsh called it "the curse
of the meandering foot," and I was strangely afflicted with the disease. It was to lead me to hardship, suffering, and strange corners of the world in
the years to come.
One misty evening the Light of the Farallones
Islands came winking over the horizon, and we
knew that our voyage was almost over. The next
morning the Logan steamed through the Golden
Gate and anchored at quarantine. For some reason the panorama of San Francisco Bay looked
different from what it had on my first visit. This
time it was a home-coming.
That afternoon the transport tied up at the Folsom Street dock, and we went ashore. Griffin,
who was a sailor, presented his credentials at the
Seaman's Home, and was promptly granted the
privilege of boarding there until he could ship for
England. That left Plant and myself to wrestle
with the problem of living without funds.
Fortunately, I had plenty of clothes. Hunting
up a second-hand shop, I sold one of my suits,
and we had our first dinner ashore. It is a long
distance from San Francisco to Chicago when
you are broke. Before I could finish the last lap
of my journey, I must earn the railroad fare.
For days I searched for a job, always meeting
with failure. Gradually my stock of clothes diminished, as Plant and myself kept dancing on
the ragged edge of misfortune. San Francisco
was filled with discharged soldiers looking for
work.




ROVING AND FIGHTING


243


Finally I abandoned hope of earning a roadstake in that city, and decided to take to the road
without the stake. An employment agency was
shipping men for railroad work on the Union Pacific, near the Lucene cut-off in Utah. That night
I paid my last dollar as a registration fee and was
herded with a bunch of laborers who were being
forwarded to the job. I had signed up for a job
as teamster.
The second night the train halted in the darkness, and we were driven from the cars. We
learned that the camp was two miles down the
track. Most of my fellow-hobos started off to
the camp in the darkness, but I made camp in the
sand of the desert. Rolling up in an army blanket, I slept until daylight.
Walking to the bunk-house, I hunted up the boss
and informed him that I wanted my job as teamster.
"We don't need any teamsters now," ie said.
"You '11 have to go into the tunnel as a 'mucker. '"
Now the duty of a "mucker" is to swing a pick
and shovel for nine hours a day, at a wage of two
dollars per day. It was transportation, not hard
work, that I was looking for. But I was hungry,
and so decided to use strategy.
"All right," I replied. "When is breakfast
served?" 
"Oh, don't worry about breakfast," answered
the boss. "You don't eat until you have done a
day's work."'
With this pleasant bit of information, I re



244


ROVING AND FIGHTING


turned to the railroad track and sat down to cogitate. As fortune would have it, a freight train.l
drew up and stopped opposite me. It was east
bound, and I decided to ride it. At that moment
the fireman stepped down from the cab and, approaching me, said:
"Do you want to work your passage    I 've
hurt my hand, and if you pass coal, we '11 take you
into Elko."
You can imagine how I jumped at this opportunity. All that day I cracked coal and fed it into
the fire-box. That night we drew into Elko, the
end of the division. The fireman gave me a dollar
for my day's work.
After calling upon a Chinese restaurant, I
shouldered my suit-case and walked back to tlhe
railroad yards to wait for another east-bound
freight. One soon came rolling into the yards.
Hunting up one of the brakemen, I offered him my
army blanket for a ride to Ogden, Utah. 1e
agreed, and stored me away in the empty ice-box
of a refrigerator car.
A few minutes later he opened the trap-door to
admit another passenger who had paid for his
passage with a box of cigars. This man was a
young Mormon who was returning to Salt I^lal
City. Our train did not leave until about daylight. All day we rode, huddled in that zinc-lintel
box, and at night we arrived at Ogden. Our
friend, the grafting brakeman, put us off the train
in the outskirts of the city. Lugging my suit-case.
I accompanied my Mormon friend to the depot.




ROVING AND FIGHTING


245


Fortunately, I had packed a new suit of clothes
in my bag. In the depot I changed my clothes,
donned clean linen, and prepared to face the world
without a cent in my pocket. We loitered around
the depot until daylight. It was early winter and
snow lay in the streets.
My Mormon road-friend was possessed of the
princely sum of one dollar and a half-the exact
fare to Salt Lake City. HTe was going down on
the first train. As his family lived there, he
would be cared for. I planned to ride a freight
train down that night, a distance of forty miles.
As I could not beat my way with a heavy suitclse, the Mormon volunteered to take it with him
and to leave it at a certain cigar store, where I
could get it in the morning. I agreed, and he departed, taking my baggage.
That morning I wandered the streets of Ogden,!ying to forget that I was hungry. Standing
near the depot, I chanced to glance down at the
(ege of the sidewalk. On the apex of a little heap
(f snow lay a bright, new, shiny dime. It looked
Is big as a cartwheel to me. After I had seized
it, I began to plan a method of investing it. How
was I to obtain the maximum quantity of food for
that dime? At last I purchased a dozen pneumatic doughnuts of great size and resilience.
I breakfasted on half a dozen doughnuts and a
glass of water. At noon I lunched on two doughnuts anti a glass of water. That evening I dined
() one doughnut and a glass of water. The remaining doughnuts I concealed behind the radia



246


ROVING AND FIGHTING


tor in the depot. For all I know they may be
there to this day. They were durable enough to
stand the wear and tear of time.
That evening I boarded a freight train and rode
to Salt Lake City. In the cold morning light I
strolled down to the business section. Here occurred one of those coincidences which the fiction
writer dare not tell because they seem so utterly
impossible.
While walking down the street, I met a man
named Smith. Many months before, Smith and
I had been friends in Shanghai, China. Ite was
employed in the Imperial Customs Department,
while I was an officer in the army. Ile had left
Shanghai before I resigned, with the intention of
returning to the United States by the western
route, through the Suez Canal and via England.
We had started from the same spot, gone in opposite directions around the world, and now met
face to face on a street in Salt Lake City. We
had both been in town less than an hour! There
was another strange feature to this meetingSmith had the price of a meal. Together we had
a hearty breakfast and talked over old times.
Smith left that night, and I started a canvass
for a job. Jobs were as scarce in Salt Lake City
as they had been in San Francisco. To make matters worse, my Mormon traveling-companion had
stolen my suit-case. I never saw him or my baggage from the moment he stepped on the train at
Ogden.
Conditions were very grave. For two days I




ROVING AND FIGHITING


2o7


had neglected to eat, not because I did not want to,
but because the restaurant owners had an old-fashioned idea about payment. One morning I entered a restaurant and applied for a job.
"Are you a waiter?" asked the proprietor.
"That is the best thing I do," I assured him.
He ordered me to report to the head-waiter, an
important Swede who evidently was extremely
proud of his rank.  Before starting to work, I
had breakfast. It is a glorious feeling to put your
legs under the table when you are really hungry.
This restaurant advertised, "Full meal for 20
cents, including one eighth pie." During the
breakfast-hour T learned the rudiments of the art
of waiting. Within a few hours I grew skilled in
juggling the numerous little concrete boats that
held the dabs of food. Lunch time presented a
more serious problem. The place was packed
with a hurrying, impatient crowd of get-lunchquick fans, all of whom were eating with one eye
on the clock.
I was walking down the aisle with an arm-load
of dishes. On the crest of the pile was a dish of
stewed tomatoes. Suddenly I realized that those
tomatoes had lost their balance. I tried to wriggle under them, but it was a futile effort. With
my right hand I made a desperate grab for the
falling dish, only to scatter that mess of tomatoes
over the heads of several patrons and upon the
white wall.
With a roar, the proprietor deserted his desk
and came running toward me. Laying my arm



248


ROVING AND FIGHTING


load of dishes on a table, I yelled, "I quit!" just
one half a second before he shouted, "You 're
fired!" But i had beat him to it, and thus my
dignity was preserved.
The next day I received a letter from  my
brother in Chicago. In some way he had learned
of my arrival in San Francisco, traced my trail,
and at last located me in Salt Lake City. In that
letter was a money-order for fifty dollars. That
night I was on an east-bound train.
Two days later I stepped from the train into
the same depot from which I had departed five
years before, bound east to the Orient. In that
time I had circled the world. Taking stock of my
finances, I found that I was possessed of the sum
of twenty-five cents. Five years before I had left
Chicago with fifteen cents in my pocket. Therefore I had journeyed around the world and earned
ten cents on the trip.
I lost no time in taking a car to my mother's
home near Iumboldt Park. I found her sittiIng
in the window, watching for her wandering son.
That day was one of the happiest of my life. it
seemed as if the people at home would never weary
of listening to the tales of my travels. Life holds
many wonderful experiences, hours that are well
worth the months of hardship they cost, but nothing can equal the joy of home-coming.
Many changes had taken place since I went
away to foreign wars. My eldest sister was teaching school, my brother was married, and there
were two little tots in his home who called Imn




ROVING AND FIGHTING           249
"Uncle." My baby sister and childhood playmate wa,(s now a young lady, proudly exhibiting a
hjigh-school diplomia. It was like the return of
Rlp 17'an JWinkle.




CHAPTER XXIV


AS usual, my first problem was to find a job.
The life of a soldier is full of experiences,
but it is not the kind to fit a man for desk or industrial competition. For years I had worn a uniform and lived by the rules and regulations of
military discipline. Now there was no one to give
me orders, and I felt strangely uncomfortable in
loose-fitting civilian clothes.
One day I chanced to meet Richard Henry Little, an old-time war-correspondent, who had been
with the army in Cuba and the Philippines. He
had reported the Battle of Das Marinas, where
Pete Goorski had been killed. He greeted me
with hilarious joy and insisted on taking me to the
offices of the "Chicago Tribune."  We talked
over old times, and he asked me what I was doing.
"Looking for a job," I replied.
"You were a good scout, so you ought to make
a good reporter," he declared. "That 's all reporting is, anyway, scouting for news. Come on
in and see the city-editor."
Fortune was with me. That afternoon I was
assigned to detective headquarters as night police-reporter. At last I had found work that was
congenial, where my experiences were of sone
value.
Unlike the young journalist of the story-books,
250




ROVING AND FIGHTING

251


I did not bloom into a star reporter overnight.
Like every other profession, newspaper work must
be learned in the hard school of experience. I am
sorry to say that I lost several perfectly good jobs
before I mastered the rudiments of my profession.
But I persisted, for I liked the work and was
anxious to make good.
A year thus passed in Chicago, and then came a
severe attack of "road fever." It was as Paddy
Walsh had prophesied-the "curse of the meandering foot" was upon me. This time it was complicated by the fact that I was out of work.
At this opportune moment a firm of book-sellers offered me a position with a book-auctioneer,
working through the Southern States. Why I
should imagine that I could sell books, I do not
know, but the job meant wandering, and I had to
wander. A few nights later I took the southbound train with my auctioneer friend.
Our first stop was at St. Louis, where we visited
the Exposition. During the afternoon I called on
some old friends at the camp of Native Scouts in
the Philippine Village. Several of the natives
lwhom I had drilled in the early days of the organiz;tion were in this camp. That night I chanced
to meet Iarry MacDonald, who had soldiered with
t10 oin the North Line.
"Tex, you 're the very man I want to see!" he
'(iclared. "There is a revolution on in South
lAmerica, and they want machine-gun men."
We talked it over. It seemed that an expedition
w\vs being organized in New Orleans for a rebel



252


ROVING AND FIGHTING


lion in Venezuela against the dictator, President
Castro. General Matos was to head the revolution, and many Americans were going. I was told
many harrowing tales of the cruelty of the Castro
government.
The same night I journeyed on with my bookselling friend. We worked through Kentucky,
Tennessee, Alabama, and Arkansas. I am afraid
that as a book-seller I left much to be desired
The thought of that campaign in South America
haunted me. One day I made up my mind to go,
and the next morning I was in New Orleans.
I reported to the address given me by MicDonald. It was a firm of Americans doing a brokerage business in South American goods. After
standing a rigid cross-examination, I was accepted. Presently I found myself one of a group
of filibusters bound south on a tramp steamer.
We landed at Colon and trans-shipped to a sailiig
vessel bound for Venezuela.
Following directions, I reported at a drug-store
in Caracas, the national capital, where the secret
junta of the revolution held their meetings. I had
been instructed in an elaborate system of passwords. Calling for the proprietor, I said:
"Have you any medicine which is good for the
fever?"
"When does the fever come on?." he queried.
"At five o'clock in the morning," I replied, according to instructions.
'"What effect does it have on you?" was his next
query.




ROVING AND FIGHTING.


253


"It closes my mouth and opens my cars and
eyes," was my reply.
"Good; come with me," he whispered.
I was escorted into a back room and introduced
to several Venezuelan conspirators. It was all
most dramatic and mysterious. We talked over
plans for the campaign. Much to my disgust, I
found that I was the only American who had reported, although several more were expected.
Giuseppe Garibaldi, grandson of the Italian Liberator, was already in the field with the insurgents.
The next day I accompanied two guides who
escorted me out of the city. We passed many
soldiers of the government, and in the outskirts
of the city an officer demanded my credentials.
This danger had been foreseen, and I was supplied
with papers showing that I was a buyer of green
hides on a trip to the inland ranches.
Two days later we entered the camp of the insurgents. They were scattered among several little villages hidden in the mountain valleys.
LMy sense of military order was shocked by the
lack of discipline and organization in this barefooted "Army of Liberty."  The size of the companies depended upon the popularity of the leader.
There was no attempt at camp sanitation, and few
of the commanders made any effort to drill their
troops. The camp was infested with volunteer
orators who saved the country and blasted Castro
at all hours of the day.
For prudence sake, I will not mention the names
of the revolutionary leaders. Many of them are




254


ROVING AND FIGHTING


now living in Venezuela, and it might do them an
injury to rake up their turbulent past at this late
date.
Upon my arrival at headquarters I was received
with an enthusiastic welcome. Evidently some
busy little press-agent had preceded me with an
exaggerated account of my military exploits. I
was handed a major's commission and appointed
"Chief of Artillery."  That title had a highsounding ring that flattered me. In imagination
I could see myself working my batteries and winning fame and fortune in the war against the
tyrant.
An officer of the staff escorted me to the section
of the camp where our artillery was stationed.
Alas, for my dreams of the pomp and pageantry
of high command! The "artillery" consisted of
one old smooth-bore cannon and two machineguns. One of the machine-guns had no breech
mechanism, and thus proved useless. As ammunition for the cannon, I found a supply of blastingpowder and solid iron shot, but the shot were too
large for the bore of the gun. This reduced our
artillery to one Colt machine-gun in good order.
When I ordered out my battery for inspection,
I found that the troops under my command consisted of ten sandal-shod native soldiers and one
extremely drunken little Scotch sailor. This was
the outfit I was expected to lead into battle.
The next few days I devoted to cleaning the
machine-gun and tuning it up for action. Two of
the least stupid of the natives I selected as noll



ROVING ANI) FIGHITING


255


commissioned officers, and I made a desperate attempt to train them in passing ammunition and
filling the belts. After a few attempts I abandoned all hope of getting any service out of the
sailor. I have seen some good two-handed drinkers in my time, but that man was the world's champion d;unkard.
A few days after my arrival we received marching orders. I was called to headquarters and the
campaign was explained to me. It seemed that
the revolutionary army had been organized in
three columns, of which ours was the largest, numbering about fourteen hundred men. All three
columns were to march to the town of Victoria and
there unite under the command of General Matos,
the leader of the revolution. From Victoria we
were to advance on Caracas, the national capital.
It was a motley army that came trailing out of
the mountains. Ragged and barefoot, with uniforms of every shade of color and degree of ragge(lness, our Venezuelans did not look like soldiers
on the march. My one machine-gun was packed
up)on a little pony, with two other ponies to carry
the ammunition.
I was glad to be on the move, for there was much
sickness in the camp and my old enemy, malarial
fever, was again a regular visitor. Four days
later we were approaching Vic. ria. Citizens of
the town came out and met our column, assuring
us that all was well. One detachment of our
forces had already reached the pueblo, while the
other was expected soon.




256


ROVING AND 1IGHTING


As a matter of fact, we were walking straight
into a government trap. Both of the columns
which were supposed to support us had sold out
to the enemy. One of these colmmands fired into
our ranks when the fight began, and the other
never appeared on the scene.
Without any semblance of an advance guard or
ordinary precaution, our troops came marching
down a long lane into Victoria. On either side
the muddy road was lined witl thatched houses
and bamboo fences. It was much like a Filipino
town.
Suddenly the government troops and our late
allies opened fire on the marching column from
both sides of the road. In an instant that road
was the scene of a wild panic. Men ran back and
forth, seeking cover; officers galloped up and
down, shouting contradictory orders. A few of
the companies got into action and returned the
fire, but the majority of our men stampeded like a
bunch of frightened cattle, or hid in the ditches
by the roadside.
When the first volley came, I got my gun dismounted and set up at the side of the road. As
our men withdrew, the federal soldiers advanced
and came into sight down the road. When I
opened fire with my gun, the advance halted and
the federals again took cover in the jungle. We
were fighting an invisible enemy.
Three times I was forced to move the gun, as
our men retreated and the federals closed in upon
the flanks. Our ammunition was running low, and




ROVING AND FIGHTING


257


I saw there was no chance to bring order to that
nlmob and turn defeat into victory. Several of my
men fought well and stayed with me to the finish.
Even the drunken little sailor seemed to enjoy the
light.
We were moving the gun for the fourth time,
when the two men I had detailed to carry the trirpod, concluded to resign their job. I don't know
what they did with that tripod, but I believe they
threw it into the muddy ditch and departed for
the rear.
My gun was now useless. I had been carrying
it on my back, and it is no joke to pack a heavy machin-e-gun through a hot, steaming jungle with
blullets splashing mud about you. Finally I deeid(ed to join the majority and depart from that
sp ot. Taking the breech mechanism from the,lu, I thrust it inside my shirt and threw the useless gun into the ditch.
It the government troops had been trained solliers, there would have been a wholesale massacre
cnl that road. Our column was a disorganized
Inol, without semblance of formation. In a few
minntes the command had scattered into small
b)ands, fleeing in every direction except toward the
(Ielny. About three hundred of our men were
lled. If the federals had followed us up at
llee, probably the entire force would have been
liiled or captured.
My friend Garibaldi happened to be with a
gr'1up of officers who were surrounded and captured. Several of the officers were executed, but




258


ROVING AN[) FIGITING


he was saved by the timely intervention of the
Italian consul-general.
For many days we hid in the jungle, while coimpanics of federals searched the villages and roads.
I had been identified, and a price had been set on
my head. The night after the battle I found myself with a squad of about ten men under Lieutenant Contreras, a young Venezuelan who had
been educated at Notre Dame University.
The great majority of the poor people sympathized with our cause. They sheltered us in the
villages, brought us food, and warned us of the
approach of the federals. We were forced to
move our camping-ground almost daily. Gradually our little squad scattered, until only Contreras and my sergeant remained with me. I
learned later that the little Scotch sailor, with the
proverbial luck of a drunken man, had escaped to
British Guiana.
My condition was desperate. At any time I
was liable to be betrayed for the reward. A lone
white man in the Venezuelan hinterland is as noticeable as a Zulu war-chief on Broadway. The
revolution had been abandoned and the leaders
had left the country.
Deciding that the boldest course was the best,
T announced my intention of going to Caracas, the
national capital, and there seeking assistance ill
making my escape from the country. After a long
discussion, Contreras decided that this would le
the best plan. My sergeant, however, flatly refused to set foot within the enemy's lines.




ROVING AND FIGHTING


259


Contreras seemed to have friends in every village. After several days' hiking we approached
the city. Sentries were stationed on every road,
but we were told that since the battle of Victoria
the guard had been very lax. We slipped into the
city under guidance of a friendly native, and mingled with a throng of countrymen bringing their
produce to market.
By this time I might have passed for a native,
if it had not been for my unusual size. I have often had occasion to regret those long legs of mine.
After we had safely arrived within the city, we
decided to separate. Contreras had friends living in Caracas who would care for him. I proposed to hunt up the drug-store where the insurrecto junta had held their secret meetings. We
parted, agreeing to meet at the drug-store the next
day.
Having received careful directions from Contreras, I soon found the drug-store. Entering, I
approached the proprietor and said:
"Have you any medicine that is good for a
fever? And this time it is no pass-word I am
giving you. It is medicine I want."
"Name of God!" he whispered. "Why do you
come here? Don't you know that you put my life
ill danger? They will shoot me, if you are found
ihere. Go quickly, before you are recognized!
"Did you ever stop to consider that my life is
(tlso in danger? " I queried. "They will also shoot
nlr, if they find me here or any other place. You
Were one of the patriots who got me into this; now




260


ROVING AND FIGHTING


you must get me out. I want something to eat,
a bath, and about eight hours' sleep. You and
your friends may settle the details of my escape
while I slumber. Get busy now, and take good
care of me, or we will go to the adobe wall together."
Never was any one more solicitous about my
health than that druggist. He concealed me in a
little room opening off the patio back of the drugstore. For three days I lived in lonely state,
while he arranged to smuggle me out of the country. At length he announced that he had secured
passage for me on a British tramp-steamer sailing from Porto Cabello.
The details of my trip from Caracas to Porto
Cabello and thence to Kingston, Jamaica, must remain untold. Several Americans assisted ne,
and these men are still doing business in Venezuela. My friend, the druggist, was plainly overjoyed when he turned me over to the Americans
who staged the last act of my escape. Hie certainly believed in speeding the parting guest.
At Kingston I secured passage on an American
boat to Galveston, Texas. It was exactly six
weeks from the day when I had departed from
New Orleans with high hopes of leading a conlquering host through the streets of Caracas. As
a war, it was a failure. All that I had gained
from the expedition was a little more experience
and a beautiful engraved commission as major iil
the revolutionary army.
As it was necessary to at once take up the bur



ROVING AND FIGHTING


261


den of earning a living, I got into communication
with my friend, the book-auctioneer. I located
limn at Mt. Pleasant, Texas, and again took to the
road. After a tour of northern Texas, I decided
to quit the book business and secured a position
as reporter on the "San Antonio Gazette."
TWhile in San Antonio an event occurred which
has had a tendency to check my wanderings. I
decided to marry and settle down. My wife was
a playmate of my childhood, from  San Saba,
Texas.
During the next few years of my career I
worked in various newspaper offices in Chicago,
St. Louis, and San Antonio. In that time I held
every position in the editorial department of a
newspaper, from cub reporter to managing-editor.
There is little to tell of that period, except that I
was very happy and that for a time the old love
of wandering seemed to have deserted me.
While managing-editor of the "San Antonio
Light," however, I had one little experience which
came as a welcome vacation. At that time San
Antonio was obsessed by the "town boosting"
idea. Some publicity-man conceived the idea of
Oenllding a cowboy courier on horseback across
country, carrying a message from the governor of
Texas to President Taft. It was necessary to
find a newspaper man who could also ride a horse.
I Was offered the job.
It was originally planned that I should ride
fromi San Antonio to Washington, and there deliet my message at the White House. Two




262


ROVING ANDI FIGITTING


weeks after I started, the President announced
that he would make a tour of the country extending to the Pacific Coast. It would be impossible
for me to reach Washington before his departure.
The plans for my ride were therefore changed,
and the President agreed to give me an audience
upon his arrival in Chicago. The time was short,
and it was necessary for me to stay on the rotad
almost day and night.
The day before the President's arrival found
me in Joliet, 111., forty miles from Chicago. I
rode all night, and tie next morning arrived at
the Annex Hotel at the same hour as the Pi(esident's train drew into the depot. That aftern(oon
I delivered the message-an invitation to visit
Texas-at the West Side baseball park, where thll
'Cubs" were playing the New York "Giants" in
the critical game of the world-championshii
series.
President Taft gave me a cordial reception and
insisted that I be given a seat with the presideiltial party. Later I was told that it was a wonlerful game. I am sorry that I did not see more of
it. Wearied by my night ride and the many niglt
rides that had gone before, I sat behind the P'rcsi
dent and fell sound asleep, with my head on tite
shoulder of Joe Murphy, a Secret Service nllu
who was acting as President Taft's body-guardl




CIHAPTEIt XXV


FTER the comic opera revolution in Venezuela, I had thought that my days as a soldier were over. Destiny, however, had willed
that I should again take the field with a foreign
army.
In 1910 I was living on a ranch near Sanderson,
ini West Texas. My health had not been of the
best, and I had gone back to the range to recuperate. I had many acquaintances among the Mexicalls along the border, and I heard much talk of
ant impending revolution against President Porfirio Diaz.
As it happened, I chanced to be in San Antonio
whlen the news of the first fighting in the state of
Cllihuahua was received. The superintendent of
the southern division of the Associated Press was
in the city, and I was offered a position as correspond(ent on the border.
Through my Mexican friends I soon got in touch
with the insurrectos. The day after Christmas I
left Sanderson and took the train for Comstock,
Texas, where a party of insurgents were gatheriln. A few days later I crossed the Rio Grande
Will- a party of eighteen Mexicans.
For a few days we rode through the ranches of
ltorthern Coahuila, collecting horses and enlist263




264


ROVING AND FIGHTING


ing recruits. We then returned to our startingpoint on the Rio Grande south of Comstock, expecting to meet a party of recruits. Our company
now numbered forty men. The morning after our
arrival twenty of the party were sent to a neighboring ranch for horses.
We were lying about the camp, resting after our
days of hard riding, when a scout rode in with the
information that the federates were approaching.
The federal soldiers numbered one hundred and
fifty, consisting of a detachment of rurales and a
company of cavalry.
Our men took up their position along a little
arroyo. Our position was on high ground, looking down upon a barren plain across which the
soldiers must approach. One of the Mexican cowboys was sent to overtake the detachment of
twenty men who had left that morning. Our
leader, who carried the funds for our expenses,
decided that this was an opportune moment to disappear. This left us with only eighteen men to
face one hundred and fifty.
About an hour after the time the alarm was
given, we saw the rurales approaching. They
were on foot, scattered across the plain, and were
following our trail. Lying concealed in the
arroyo, we waited until they drew near. That
little bunch of Mexicans were good fighting men.
They were all cowboys who had been recruited
from ranches on the American side of the border.
The rurales were within two hundred yards before the first shot was fired. Then the fight be



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gan in lively fashion. The federales were in the
open, and we had cover, so that we had the best of
the argument, despite our inferiority in numbers.
I was squatting on the edge of a sand-bank,
shooting from behind the cover of a scrub mesquite
bush. Twice the federals charged, and twice we
drove them back. We held tight, hoping that our
reinforcements would arrive in time.
I was reloading my Winchester, when suddenly I felt myself falling. A slice of the sandba:nk had caved in, dropping me about fifteen feet
to the river-bank below. For a moment I was
stunned by the fall; then I realized that I was lyingo in plain view of the rurales. Their bullets
were kicking up the sand around me, and one bullet dashed the sand into my eyes and mouth.
At the time I firmly believed that I was
wounded. My left arm hung helpless, and I had
a pain in my head. About fifty yards from where
I lay, a cow-trail cut into the bank. It led to the
WCesa above. Seizing my rifle, I ran for that trail.
When I had gone into the fight, I had hooked my
(uirt on a cartridge in my belt. As I ran for the
protection of this trail, the quirt wrapped itself
around my legs and I sprawled in the sand.
" Hit again!" I said to myself, but I scrambled
to my feet and ran on. Panting, I dropped behind
thl bank of the trail and lay for a few seconds
gasping for breath. I then proceeded to look for
Wounds. A trickle of blood was dripping down
thle back of my neck. Investigating, I found only
a slight abrasion of the scalp. In falling, the




268


ROVING AND FIG-HTING


sight of my rifle had struck me on the head, cutting the scalp. The pain in my shoulder was due
to a sprain. After a careful search I was pleasantly surprised to discover that I was not
wounded.
After a few minutes' rest I climbed the trail
and again took my position in the line. Five minutes later I was wounded in the left leg by a
Mauser bullet. It was a flesh wound just above
the knee, and did not put me out of action.
For four hours that little bunch of cowboys
held back the federal soldiers. As darkness came
on the federals retreated and went into camp
three miles back. We had won the fight, but at a
heavy cost. Of the eighteen men who fought that
day, three were killed and seven were wounded.
We knew that reinforcements for the federals
would probably arrive that night, so that it was
necessary for us to seek a healthier location. TThe
other half of our troop came up after dark, but
they were too late to take part in the fight.
We worked late that night, transferring our
wounded to the American bank of the Rio Grande
and burying our dead. One man, named Manuel
Martinez, had been shot through the body and
had crawled into a cave before he died. We
missed him in the darkness. The next morning
the federals discovered his body and cremated it
at the ford.
From official reports we later learned that the
federals had suffered a loss of twenty-two killed,
seven who died later from their wounds, and




ROVING AND FIGHETING


269


thirty-one wounded. That little squad of eighteen
men certainly gave a good account of themselves.
That night I walked thirteen miles across the
range to Comnstock, arriving at dawn. The same
morning I put my story to the Associated Press
on the telegraph wire, had my leg bandaged, and
thln treated myself to a needed sleep.
After a few days' rest I was ordered to Ojinaga
on the Chihuahua border, where the insurrectos
were developing a strong movement. Upon my
arrival in Presidio, on the Texas side, I secured a
Mexican guide. Riding across the river, we
joined the forces of Colonels Jose de la Cruz Sanchez and Toribio Ortega, which were camped in
the village of San Juan.
Some days later we moved to the town of Mulato on the Rio Grande, twenty miles below Ojinaga. General Luque, the federal commander at
Ojinaga, made an attack on Mulato, but after a
two days' fight he was routed by the insurrectos.
For several months the insurgents campaigned
around Ojinaga, and finally they laid siege to the
town. The trenches were drawn in a semicircle
about the pueblo, an effort being made to starve
out the garrison. The great handicap of the insurgents was lack of ammunition. They would
stage an attack for a few hours, and then be forced
to withdraw for lack of ammunition. American
gun-runners and smugglers kept the insurgents
Supplied with munitions. Many agents of the big
American ammunition factories violated the neutrality law by smuggling these munitions.




270


ROVING AND FIGITING


After a two months' siege of Ojinaga we learned
that another force of federals, under General Gordillio Esquedero, was approaching from the city
of Chihuahua. Three hundred and fifty men,
commanded by Colonel Sanchez, went out into the
desert to meet them. I accompanied this column.
At Cuesta la Gate, a place where the trail winds
into the mountains, we halted and awaited the
coming of the federals. Our position was ideal.
Before us stretched a flat plain, while on our right
rose a steep cliff.
The federals arrived on the second day after
our arrival. Included in the federal force were
about eighty Pima Indians, accustomed to mountain fighting. After a long-distance artillery
bombardment, which did no damage, the federals
charged. They came on to the foot of the hill,
but the steady fire of the concealed insurrectos
was too much for them. They retreated, but their
officers kept the troops in good order.
We were just congratulating ourselves on a victory  when  something  unexpected  happened.
Those Pima Indians had climbed the cliff on our
right, the cliff we had believed unclimbable. They
opened fire on our flank. It was the enemy who
now held the high ground, and our position was
exposed.
I had just looked down the line along the hillcrest, and every man was crouched in his place.
My next glance showed me that the insurrecto
army had decided to leave that spot without ceremony. They were scrambling down the hillside




ABRAM GONZALESZIIE, GOVERNOR Oi  F CIIIHI~TAI-II-A
61Rkli i14  iiii i i:rici:iIi~ ~~r, Iir ki46v~ ii  iii:nir: iii
riii id  as ' tiImmn iiiide, ii nhe  J Aii~   imlllni~:  a"ii




I "I"
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I,.      I




ROVING AND FIGHTING


273


for their horses, which were tied in the canoncita
below.
I never liked to be with the minority, so I decided to run with the army. Upon reaching the
ravine, I found that my saddle-mule, my favorite
mount in the mountains, had been killed. Stopping only to remove the canteen and extra cartridge-belt from the saddle, I started out across
that plain on foot. On all sides I could see my
late companions whipping their horses, headed
due north.
Now, as I have stated in a previous chapter, I
prided myself on being a foot-racer. On that
little jaunt across the prairie, with the bullets of
the federals whining above my head, I am convinced that I broke all existing records. I ran so
fast that I outran my breath.
"I am going to take a minute's rest, if I have to
fight the whole Mexican army," I thought, and
seated myself on a mound of earth.
By this time the federals had mounted one of
their machine-guns on the crest of the hill. Perhaps I was the nearest or most conspicuous object in the landscape. At any rate, they trained
that gun on me. A storm of bullets kicked up
the dust about six feet from where I was sitting.
I must admit that I got up and ran another mile
before I knew I had started.
For three days I wandered on foot through the
mountains, trying to reach the Rio Grande. During that time I subsisted on one lean old jackrabbit which I shot with my pistol. When I ar



274


ROVING AND FIGHTING


rived at Mulato, I found the greater part of the
insurgent forces gathered there. The siege of
Ojinaga had been lifted.
Our next move was an advance on Santa Rosalia, on the railroad south of Chihuahua. A
number of Ameri;:in filibusters had joined our
outfit by this time, and we had one machine-gun.
They were a wild, undisciplined crowd, who objected to obeying orders. Finally General Antonio Villareal, who was now in command, told the
so-called "Foreign Legion" that they might elect
their own officers, who would be held accountable
for their conduct. When the votes were counted,
I had been elected captain of the outfit, and
"Death Valley Slim," an old-time Western character, had been selected as lieutenant.
The federals were well intrenched in Santa Rosalia. Our forces made a daylight attack, blazing the way with hand-grenades made of old tin
cans filled with dynamite and scrap-iron. For
two days we fought from house to house, burrowing through adobe walls and driving the enenmy
toward the plaza. They were fortified on the
church roof and on roofs of high buildings around
the plaza which commanded the streets.
On the morning of the third day we captured
a building which had a high cupola. Hoisting the
machine-gun to the cupola, we prepared to dispute
the plaza. One of our best men, Jerry Riggs, was
killed in getting this gun mounted. James Bulger, who operated the gun, was wounded in the
leg before the gun was well in action.




ROVING AN-) FIGH(TINGI


275


It was then my turn to try my hand. Twenty
minutes after I got the gun in working order the
federals were driven from their vantage points
(on the roofs and our meln closed in on the plaza.
An hour later the town surrendered.
There was a wild scene in Santa Rosalia that
night. Tie peons plundered the municipal offices,
piling cart-loads of old land-records in the plaza
and touching a match to the pile. While the
records were burning the peons danced about,
shouting, "They can never take our homes away
from us again!"'
They believed that by burning these records
they had destroyed the government claim on their
land. This land question is at the bottom of all
the recent revolutionary troubles in Mexico.
The day after the surrender of Santa Rosalia
we learned of the capture of Juarez and the flight
of President Diaz from Mexico. The revolution
lad won.
The next week I entered the state capital as the
body-guard of Abram Gonzales, provisional governor. Governor Gonzales was one of the finest
men I have known in Mexico. He was educated
il St. Louis, and was Americanized in thought and
view-point. Two years later he was killed by orlders of General Huerta, the dictator. His captors tied his hands and feet and threw him under
the wheels of a moving train.
Upon our arrival in the city I was appointed a
captain on the governor's staff. Everything
seemed rosy. We were the visitors, and looked




276      ROVING AND FIGHTING
forward to a period of peace and prosperity. We
little thought that this was only the beginning of
the fighting.
My part in the drama was just beginning. For
five years I was to hike and fight over the mountains and llanos of Mexico. Other leaders were
to rise and fall. Pancho Villa, General Obregon,
Zapata, and Carranza were to hold the national
capital, and it was to be my fate to accompany
them all.
As these leaders have captured the public imagination, I propose to tell of my experiences with
each separately.




CHAPTER XXVI


PANCHO VILLA, as much a Man of Destiny
as Napoleon, recently graduated from a
hunted fugitive to the command of an army of
40,000 men, was seated on the velvet cushions of
his private car holding his daily court. Grouped
about him were members of his famous bodyguard, cronies of his bandit days, newspapermen,
a special agent of the United States Government,
a Yankee "drummer" with a carload of cheap
shoes to sell, and the generals of his staff.
He had that day arrived at Aguascalientes, and
trainload after trainload of his soldiers were
bumping down the main track, southward bound
for the campaign against Carranza. He was
tfalking of President Wilson, for whom, at that
time, he professed a great admiration.
"Tell me," he asked in the pelado (SpanishIndian) dialect which is his only language, "how
is it that President Wilson can understand the sorrows of the people when he has never even been
in jail?"
His queries were interrupted by an officer of
his staff, saluting timidly from the car door. Behind the officer stood two frightened soldiers,
their hands bound behind their backs.
"Mi general," reported the officer, "here are
277




278


ROVING AND IIGHITING


the two men who broke into the milk-seller's casa
and attacked his daughter."?
Villa sat silent a moment, crouched in his seat.
As he gazed at the trembling prisoners, his expression changed from  smiling good-nature to
savage ferocity. His eyes opened wide and
seemed literally about to pop from his head.
Jumping to his feet with a characteristic cat-like
quickness, he drew his pistol and for a second
seemed intent on killing the accused men in the
doorway. Suddenly thrusting the pistol back
into its holster, he leaped forward and struck one
of the soldiers a blow with his open hand.
"You dogs! You wear the uniform     of the
Army of Liberty and you make war on the helpless people! You are no better than the soldiers
of the Federales. Take them out and give them
a volley."
Hastily the officer hustled the prisoners down
the car steps. Villa stood for a moment as if
drunk with fury, shouting profanity hysterically
at the offending soldiers; then, turning back to
his seat, his face was again transformed by the
good-natured smile.
" Tell me more about your president. I like him
very much. Is it true that he has never had a
fight? How can a man lead men if he has never
won fights?"
Even as he talked we heard a volley from the
nearby roundhouse, and glancing out of the window could see the two soldiers fall dead before the
rifles of the firing squad. General Villa never




ROVING ANT) FIGHITING


279


wavered an instant in his conversation, asking
question after question.
Tihe incident gave a picture of General Francisco Villa-his endless questioning, his championship of the peons, his ruthless brutality to all
who opposed him.
Three years before I had first met Pancho Villa,
when he rode into the camp of Francisco I. Madero at the head of his picturesque troop of bandits and cowboys. A few weeks after the incident
above recorded I saw him ride into Mexico City
at the head of an army of 45,000 soldiers, master
of Mexico.
American people make the error of judging
Villa by American standards. Hle is the last of
the great Indian chieftains. Iis ideals are the
semi-barbarous ideals of the Indian. All his life
lie has been fighting against oppression, which in
Mexico meant fighting against the law.
Whatever we may think of the character of the
man, it must be conceded that he is the idol of the
peon class, the pelados, and the pelado is armed
and in the saddle for the first time in his history.
As long as Villa lives, with the recently born hatred of the " gringo" in his heart, he will be a menace to the peace of our country.
By the sheer force of his personality he rose in
a few years from a mountain outlaw with a price
on his head to the conqueror of Mexico. For a
time he was the favorite of our administration.
Thle ports he controlled were kept open for the
iliportation of munitions of war. A special rep



280


ROVING AND FIGHTING


resentative of the United States Government
traveled constantly with him, and a swarm of flattering concession-seekers flocked around him.
Now he is again the proscribed outlaw, and he
blames his downfall on the United States.
For over six years he has been the most spectacular figure in the public eye. Swashbuckling
into the daily news at the beginning of the Madero rebellion against Diaz in 1911, he has held
the center of the stage in the popular imagination.
We see him leading his ragged followers to victory against trained soldiers. Again, he is arrested by General Iuerta, stood before a firing
squad and condemned to death. Saved by a
seeming miracle, he is imprisoned in Mexico City.
Escaping from prison, he becomes a fugitive along
the American border. Crossing the Rio Grande
with nine followers, he organized an army of
peons and crushed Iuerta, the dictator. His career would supply material for a hundred lurid
romances.
General Villa had promised to give me the story
of his life for publication. Frequently we started
the task, but his talk would be the same old tirade
against the cruelty of the landowners and very
little about himself. However, I succeeded in
gathering a few stories of his early life. One will
illustrate the cause of his popularity with the
peons.
Squatting on his heels by the campfire, a gaudy
Indian blanket draped around his shoulders, lie
was engaged in his favorite recreation, profanely




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ROVING AND FIGITING


283


abusing General Luis Terrazas, former governor
of Chihuahua, and Villa's most hated enemy.
"Did I tell you, Tejano [Texan], of the time I
got the silver of the old gray fox, and the joke I
played on myself?
Gesticulating, scowling, and laughing by turns,
his voice pitched in the high falsetto which was his
usual tone when excited, he told the tale. His sentences were short and jerky.
"My friends of the ranchitos had told me about
the silver. It was going to one of the Terrazas
haciendas. That 's why I waited in the hills.
The driver of the wagon shot at me, but I got the
silver. It was about six thousand pesos, too
heavy for my horse.
"That night I must ride many leagues. There
were many who would make dried meat of Pancho
Villa. So I hid half of the pesos under a rock.
"Then I saw another wagon coming. There
were two women and a driver. I said, 'These
people are poor. Like all in Chihuahua, they, too,
have suffered from this villain of a governor I
have taxed. Perhaps I may never see the silver
I have hidden under the rock. So I will give it to
these poor people. It may make many families
happy, and feed the little muchachos.'
"So I ran my horse in front of the coach. And
I told them this that I have said. Then I gave
them the pesos. I said, 'Use this to get out of the
clutches of old Terrazas.' They thanked me, but
they were very much afraid, because I was Pancho
Villa. Then I rode to the Sierras."




284


ROVING AND FIGHTING


Slapping his leg and roaring with laughter,
Villa continued:
"Do you know, Tejano, what I found days
after? I had given the silver to a daughter of
Terrazas! My friends laughed at me for a fool. "
Many of these stories of Villa's liberality to the
peons are true. He robbed from the rich and
gave to the poor. This has been the custom of
many of the great leaders of revolutions.
It was in the early days of the Madero revolution, January, 1911, that Villa first rode into the
headlines of Mexican history. He had gathered
several hundred mountaineers and vaqueros and
offered his services to Madero. Always impatient of restraint, he had operated alone, moving
like a phantom about the state of Chihuahua, attacking small garrisons of federals and raiding
ranches.
It was after the capture of Juarez, opposite El
Paso, Texas, by the Maderista forces, that I first
met him. We were introduced by General Toribio Ortega, afterward one of his most trusted generals. The ex-bandit leader was an eye-filling
picture. He wore the immense gold-braided sombrero of the Mexican vaquero, tight-fitting leather
leggins, two revolvers, and cross-belts of rifle
cartridges.
After the victory at Juarez, Villa proved that
it was impossible for him to take orders. lie
quarreled with General Orozco, because Orozco
had been given superior rank. Colonel Giuseppe
Garibaldi, grandson of the Italian liberator, who




ROVING AND FIGHTIN-G


285


has since laid down his life in the trenches in
France, also aroused his enmity.
During the battle Villa had sworn that he would
kill General Navarro, the federal commander,
with his own pistol. President Madero liberated
Navarro after the surrender and sent him to
safety on the American side of the Rio Grande.
Villa flew into one of his unreasoning passions
and vowed vengeance on Garibaldi, who had personally accepted General Navarro's surrender.
In his blind rage Villa followed Garibaldi over
the river to El Paso, vowing to kill him on sight.
He found the young Italian standing unarmed
in the lobby of the Hotel Sheldon. Walking catlike, with hand opened stiffly by his pistol holster,
Villa advanced toward his intended victim.
At that moment a little blue-eyed American
stepped before him and held up his hand. It was
Mayor Kelly of El Paso, a noted border character.
"Villa, you 're in the wrong town. Give me
your pistol."
"No man but myself has ever touched that pistol," shouted Villa.
"Get back through that door," calmly answered
Mayor Kelly, pointing toward the entrance to a
haberdasher's shop which opened into the lobby.
"There are women and children here."
Villa stepped backward into the shop.
"Give me that gun and get out of town! Do
you think you can raid El Paso?" quietly demanded the mayor.




286


ROVING AND FIGHTING


Villa glared about him. He saw several bighatted Texas cowboys posed in the doorway.
Seeming to realize that his foot was off his native
desert, he handed his gun to the valiant little official, strode from the shop and, jumping into a
carriage, drove back to Juarez.
A few days later we entered the state capital,
Chihuahua. President Diaz had fled the country.
Madero was on his triumphal journey to Mexico
City. Abram Gonzales had been appointed provisional governor of Chihuahua and had commissioned me a captain on his staff. It was during
the peace celebration that I again saw Villa. No
longer the leather-clad cowboy, he was dressed in
American clothes, carefully barbered and pomaded, his Mongolian mustache close clipped.
One of his sweethearts, Luz Corral, had befriended him in one of his numerous escapades.
He had come to lead her to the altar in the ancient cathedral.
Sixteen years before Villa had fled from Chihuahua a hunted outlaw. Now a throng of high
officials gathered in the cathedral and attended
his wedding feast.
He was a bandit no more. Pardoned by Madero for his offense against the law, Villa was
now a colonel in the army, a man of position.
Also he had been rewarded for his work in the
rebellion by a gift of the rastro or slaughter-house
concession, in Chihuahua.
This period of peace was short-lived. Madero
had hardly taken his seat as the elected president




ROVING AND FIGHTING


287


of Mexico when a counter-insurrection   was
started. Emilio Campa and Inez Salazar led a
revolt in western Chihuahua and marched on the
state capital. General Orozco, the state commander, deserted Madero and joined the new
movement.
Villa fled from Chihuahua back to his native
mountains and in a few weeks was again at the
head of a band of his old-time followers. Then
followed the campaign against the Orozco forces,
or "red flaggers," as they were called.
President Madero appointed General Salas to
command the army moving from Torreon to recapture Chihuahua. Sala. was defeated at the
battle of Rellano, and committed suicide that
night.
In this battle the insurrectos used a spectacular
trick to block the federal troop-trains. An old
switch engine was made into a flying land-torpedo.
Boxes of dynamite were piled on the cowcatcher.
The lever of the whistle was tied down, and,
screaming like a maddened animal, the wild engine was started on the down grade toward the
advancing troop-trains. There was a collision, a
terrific explosion; scores of soldiers were killed
and the railroad was blocked by the wreckage.
To succeed General Salas, President Madero
selected an old retired general who had not been
in active service for several years. Some malignant fate seemed to prompt the choice, for the
man placed at the head of the armies was General Victoriano Huerta, who was afterward to




288


ROVING AND) FIGHTING


turn on his benefactor and make himself dictator
of Mexico.
Pancho Villa at this time was following his
usual tactics. He was constantly on the move,
striking the rebels again and again and escaping when the odds were against him. Finally he
circled the right wing of Orozco's army and captured Parral, an important mining town.
Generals Campa and Salazar at once moved to
recapture the town. Although hopelessly outnumbered, Villa defended the place for three days
and then escaped with his band.
It was at this fight that my friend Tom Fountain, of New Mexico, was murdered. Tom had
been fighting with Villa, operating a machine-gun.
He tarried too long in the retreat and was captured by the Orozco forces. The next morninlg
Tom was taken from the adobe house where lie
was imprisoned and led into the street. An officer handed him a silver dollar, saying:
"See that Chino restaurant down the street?
Go buy your breakfast and return."
Tom walked down the street toward the restaurant. A dozen grinning officers were lined up on
the sidewalks. At a signal they drew their revolvers and began shooting. Poor Tom Fountain,
an unarmed prisoner of war in uniform, was shot
down like a rabbit, to give sport to a group of
drink-crazed Mexican officers. This is common
custom among the Mexicans. It is known as tle
ley de fuga, or fugitive law.




ROVING AND FIGHTING


289


Pancho Villa was a thorn in the side of General
luerta. The ex-bandit was hated by the officers
of the old Diaz army, because he had killed several
of their companions in private war. Also Villa
was ignoring Huerta's commands and conducting
his campaign according to his own ideas. Finally
Villa condescended to report to Huerta's headquarters at Jimenez. It came near costing him
his life.
Huerta immediately put Villa under arrest and
condemned him to death. Although there was no
trial, a list of charges was made public. Villa was
accused of looting the stores of Parral, of robbing non-combatants and refusing to obey the orders of his superior officers. Many of these
charges were probably true, as Villa was ever a
law unto himself.
As it happened, I was in Jimenez at the time,
although I did not actually witness the attempted
execution of Villa. According to eye-witnesses,
Villa had confronted General Huerta and denounced him. It was a dramatic meeting between
the old army officer, who was soon to seize the
government and set himself up as dictator, and the
unlettered cowboy who was to break the backbone
of his power and drive him into exile.
After the interview Villa was marched to a
nearby adobe corral by a firing squad. Villa took
his stand against the adobe wall and the soldiers
of the squad loaded their rifles. The boy lieutenant in charge drew his sword and was about to




290)


ROVING AND FIGHTING


give the command to fire, which would have ended
the career of Pancho Villa and changed the history of Mexico.
At that moment Villa took a step forward, saluted the lieutenant, and said:
"Two minutes will not make much difference.
May I speak to General Emilio Madero? I saw
him just outside the corral."
The lieutenant hesitated a moment, then ordered
his soldiers to lower their rifles, and granted the
request. Emilio Madero was summoned, and to
him Villa made an appeal for his life.
The Maderos were always friendly to Villa.
The ex-bandit's love of President Francisco Madero was one of the moving motives of his life.
Emilio Madero ordered the officer of the firing
squad to delay the execution fifteen minutes.
Calling his friend, General Trucy Aubert, the two
hurried to Huerta's office and argued against the
killing of Villa.
Finally Huerta grudgingly consented, and ordered Villa sent to Belen Prison in Mexico City,
a prisoner in irons. Later, when Villa was
sweeping the armies of Huerta like stampeded
cattle before him, the old general made the remark:
"The greatest mistake a soldier can make is to
show mercy to his enemies. "
For months Villa suffered the torments of
Belen, one of the worst infernos of punishment in
the world. It was during his imprisonment that




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ROVING AND FIGHTING


293


he learned to write his name, laboriously practicing it letter by letter on the walls of his cell.
Orozco was defeated, and his forces scattered
like quail in the mountains of Chihuahua and Sonora. Huerta returned to Mexico City and was
placed at the head of Madero's armies, as a reward for his success.
Villa had many friends among the government
officials at the national capital. They remembered his efficient work for the revolution. His
escape was arranged, and he was smuggled out of
Mexico, in the garments of a laborer, to Iavana,
Cuba. From there his passage was paid to Galveston, Texas, and then to El Paso.
These were dark days for the former war chief.
An exile from his native mountains, penniless, he
was forced to live on the charity of poor laborers
who befriended him. The city police discovered
that he was in the city and warned him that he
would be arrested if he appeared on the streets.
By day he would hide in a dark room back of a
little shop in the Mexican quarter. At night he
would take long walks along the country roads of
the valley.
Then came the Decina Trajica in Mexico City.
Felix Diaz, a nephew of the old dictator, aided by
General Bernardo Reyes, escaped from prison and
led a revolt in the streets against President Madero. Madero put his faith in General Huerta.
After desperate fighting in the streets of the capital, Huerta betrayed his benefactor and joined




'94


R1OVING AND FIGHTING


forces with the insurgents. Madero was murdered, and public announcement was made that he
had resigned before his death. Felix Diaz, the
leader of the revolt, was ignored, and the army
proclaimed Huerta provisional president.
For a few days the country seemed stunned by
the tragedy. The army and reactionary element
seized the power in most of the states. Abram
Gonzales, governor of Chihuahua, and my best
friend in Mexico, was arrested and placed on a
train bound for Mexico City. A few miles out
from the state capital, his hands and feet were tied
with ropes and he was thrown under the wheels of
the moving train. Abram Gonzales was a true
patriot and a friend of the people. He was a
graduate of the Christian Brothers College in St.
Louis, and had practiced law in the United States.
Then came news of a counter-revolt against
Huerta the usurper. Venustiano Carranza, governor of Coahuila, had taken the field against him.
In Sonora Lieutenant-Colonel Alvaro Obregon
had revolted with the garrison of Agua Prieta.
Other leaders also took the field in many states.
In Morelos Emiliano Zapata was already fighting
the soldiers of Huerta.
Pancho Villa saw that there was work to do.
He had no money to buy guns or horses, but an
Italian who knew him came to the rescue with a
loan of $500. Villa gathered together some of his
former followers, most of them men who had been
his comrades in his freebooter days, and rode




ROVING AND ) FIGIHTING


295


across the Rio Grande near the El Paso smelter.
In this little expedition were nine men, eight
horses, ten rifles and a pack mule. The commissary consisted of two sacks of flour, three kilos of
beans, and a ten-pound can of lard.
For a time Villa disappeared into the desert,
sending out runners to his former captains. His
mountaineer friends flocked to him, and soon he
was again on the warpath. Moving like a whirlwind through the western and southern districts
of Chihuahua, he captured town after town, only
to abandon them as soon as lie had confiscated
supplies and money from the wealthy inhabitants.
This is another secret of Villa's popularity. IHe
forced the rich to pay, but lifted the burden of taxation from the poor in the districts he controlled.
At this time I was with the Yaqui Indians under
General Obregon, in Sonora, and did not see Villa
again until ihe was master of the state of Chihua]ula. Finally he captured the mining town of
Parral, where he found rich pickings, and a short
time later staggered the federals by capturing
Torreon, the most important railroad center of
northern Mexico.
After replenishing his treasury he again disappeared in the desert without attemptiln to combat the Huerta troops which were hurrying to
attack him. It is a fact that at this stage of the
insurrection Villa armed and equipped his soldiers
almost exclusively with munitions captured from
the enemy.




296      ROVING AND FIGIITING
For weeks Villa disappeared and no news was
received of his movements. This was one of the
reasons for his success-his driving energy and
the remarkable mobility of his forces.




CHAPTER XXVII


UDDENLY, after the disappearance of Villa,
who was not heard of for weeks, the whole
country was electrified by one of the most spectacular strategic feats of modern warfare. While
Villa was lost, he had been making a great circling
movement through the desert from the south to
the north of Chihuahua. His object was to capture Juarez and secure an entry port from the
United States.
One day, half a dozen cowboys rode up to the
little railroad station of Moctezuma and dragged
the telegraph operator from his desk before he
had time to flash a warning. A few minutes later
Villa and his band appeared. A number of telegraph operators had enlisted under him, and one
of these was placed at the key. Almost without
interruption the routine work of the office continued.
Villa learned that the regular daily train was
due to arrive at Moctezuma in a few minutes.
When it rolled into the station, his soldiers took
possession without a shot being fired. The passengers were ordered to leave the coaches and
Villa filled the cars with his men. A group of
trusted men were stationed on the engine, and the
train proceeded on its regular schedule. At every
297




298


ROVING AND FIGHTING


station the men on the engine, supposed to be the
regular guards, would stroll into the operator's
room and pull him from the key. He would be replaced by a Villa operator, and the train would
proceed.
So complete was the success of the scheme that
the federal garrisons at Chihuahua or Juarez
never suspected the ruse. The regular train was
proceeding toward the border in regular fashion,
its arrival and departure being properly reported
at every station. Villa even succeeded in turning back a troop train from Chihuahua by reporting a burned bridge.
That evening the train drew into the station at
Juarez. The federal garrison was scattered
about the town, many of them enjoying themselves
at the bull-fight, when the harmless-appearing
train disgorged a thousand shooting, yelling soldiers, who swept through the streets, killing every
man in uniform. In twenty minutes Villa was
master of the town. This victory gave new life to
the rebellion. Recruits flocked to the standard of
Pancho Villa. General Toribio Ortega rode into
Juarez and offered his service with fifteen hundred men from eastern Chihuahua.
An incident which occurred at Jimenez shows
the Indian stoicism of Villa. For weeks he had
been troubled by an ingrowing toe-nail, whicll
caused him intense pain. Dr. Rusk, an American
physician in whom Villa had great confidence,
happened to be in Jimenez, waiting for a train;
and the general sent for him. Dr. Rusk informed




ROVING ANI) FIGHITING


299


him that it would be necessary to jerk the nail out
with forceps, by the roots, as a tooth is drawn.
"It is one of the most painful operations
known," said the doctor. "You must wait until
to-morrow night, when I will have some cocaine
from Chihuahua."
"Never mind the medicine. Do it now," ordered Villa.
Dr. Rusk split the nail down the middle and
pulled each half from the flesh. It must have
caused the most excruciating agony. During the
operation I watched Villa's face, and he did not
betray the slightest emotion but continued talking to one of his secretaries.
Villa knew that he must soon fight a more important battle. As long as they held Juarez, the
federal garrisons at Chihuahua and the greater
part of north Mexico drew their supplies from the
United States through Juarez. Villa had closed
the door.
It was a time of harvest for the ammunitionrunners. The embargo on munitions of war was
being enforced, and ammunition was contraband.
As border sentiment favored Villa, however, it
was easy to get ammunition as long as the smugglers received the extortionate prices they demanded. It came in piano cases, buried in cars
of coal and packed in cases of canned goods. The
army was soon ready.
Under orders from Huerta to drive Villa out of
Juarez at all costs, the federal army marched
northward to the attack. It was commanded by




300


ROVING AND FIGHTING


Generals Mercado and Orozco, who had joined
forces with the Huertistas. The federal forces
there slightly outnumbered Villa. The army of
General Mercado, as shown by the official reports,
was about eight thousand men. Villa's army
numbered little more than seven thousand.
Villa marched his army out into the sand dunes
at Tierra Blanca, nine miles south of Juarez, and
prepared to meet the federals. His forces were
outnumbered and the federals were well supplied
with modern artillery.
Mercado and Orozco made a direct frontal attack along the railroad. Stubbornly contesting
every foot of the way, the Villista troops slowly
withdrew for several miles. At the right moment
Villa gave the signal, and like a cloud of hawks his
cavalry swept out of the sand dunes upon the unprotected flanks of the extended federal army.
The battle was won, and the broken and disorganized federal force withdrew to Chihuahua.
Villa halted only long enough to secure a fresh
supply of ammunition, and followed. The federals were in no condition to make a stand, and
evacuated Chihuahua. They made a desperate
march of 180 miles across the desert to Ojinaga, a
small town on the Rio Grande, Villa's forces following at their heels and killing the stragglers
day by day. Here the federals stood at bay.
Villa immediately attacked. After a desperate
battle of five days, the federals broke, and, plunging into the Rio Grande, crossed to the American




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bank and surrendered to Major McNamara of the
United States army.
Villa was now undisputed master of Chihuahua.
In the three battles he had captured thousands of
Mauser rifles, sixteen cannon and many prisoners.
Rushing back to the state capital, he prepared for
the advance southward on Torreon, where Huerta
had gathered his main army of the north.
The battle of Torreon was the greatest success
of Villa's military career. It was really a series
of battles, lasting several days. I will not attempt
to describe it. One incident, however, I will tell,
as it throws a light on Villa as a man and military
leader. Guarding the pass between Gomez Palacio and Torreon is a sugar-loaf hill, which had
been strongly fortified by the federals. This hill
must be taken before Villa could enter the city.
For two days his soldiers had charged up the hill,
only to be beaten back from the crest by the storm
from the machines and rifles of the defenders. At
night I have watched the Villistas start up this hill,
seen the trenches at the top light up in a circle of
fire, and traced the position of the attacking party
by the answering flashes. Gradually the wavering pin-points of flame would creep up the slope,
and break before the deadly hail and sweep downward, like a wave receding from the shore.
Villa was desperate, and at last he improvised a
new plan of attack. Selecting two hundred picked
men, he made them lay down their rifles and
armed each man with half a dozen hand grenades.




304


ROVING AND FIGHTING


These grenades were crude affairs, made of tin
cans, loaded with dynamite and nails, with a short
fuse sticking from the top. Each man was ordered to light a cigarette and keep it burning to
light the fuse. When all was in readiness, Villa
took his place at the head of the column and gave
the order to advance quietly. With burning cigarettes shielded in cupped hands, the line silently
crawled up the hill. Not a shot was fired until
they were near the top, when the guns of the defenders again began blazing. The attacking
party could not halt and shoot back. Their only
weapons were the bombs, and to use them they
must get in close.
Suddenly the federal trenches lit up with scores
of flashes like lightning. For a few minutes that
hill-top resembled a volcano, belching fire and
roaring with a tattoo of explosions. The nails
and slugs of the grenades screamed through the
air with unearthly pandemonium. Then came silence, punctuated only by a few pistol shots that
showed the hill was captured. The next day Villa
entered Torreon.
At this period I was almost constantly with him
as a newspaper correspondent, journeyed on his
private train and accompanied him in the field.
One picture of his army will always stick in my
mind. Villa was standing by his camp-fire, talking to his officers. It was the night before the
battle of Zacatecas. Down the road which ran
near by poured a seemingly endless procession of
horsemen. Company after company of the big



ROVING AND FIGHTING


305


hatted soldiers rode out of the night, passed as if
in review before the fire and disappeared. As
they rode they sang in the barbaric falsetto of the
Northern Indian:
"La Cucaracha, la Cucaracha
Ya no puede caminar,
Porque no puede, porque no tiene
Marihuana que fumar,"
the marching song of the Villa army.
Walking back from the road about a hundred
yards, I sat down on a little hill and watched the
passing legions. For miles down the road I could
see a winding procession of tiny fireflies glowing
and wavering in the dark. These were the lighted
cigarettes of the troopers. Hour after hour they
passed, chanting in falsetto refrain the inspiring
"Song of the Cockroach," with its thousand
verses. The next day several thousand of these
men died.
Since my return to the United States, there are
three questions I am always being asked. They
have come with such unfailing regularity I will
attempt to answer them here.
First: How many wives has Villa?
Second: Where did he get the money to carry
on his campaigns? Were Americans backing
him?
Third: Why don't somebody kill him in retaliation for his many executions and cruelties?
It is true that Villa has three wives. The first
two he married in Chihuahua and the third in




306


ROVING AND FIGHITING


Torreon; but it was his first wife, Luz, who was his
companion in most of his campaigns. lle was in
Mexico City when he received the announcement
of the birth of his only son. His Torreon wife was
the mother. Villa announced the event with great
glee to his staff.
"Now I will never get married again," he exclaimed with pride. "I have a son."
The boy is now living with his mother at San
Antonio, Texas.
The source of Villa's financial backing requires
some explanation. It must be remembered that
Mexico was a country of great natural wealth, colcentrated in the hands of a few wealthy men.
Most of these men fled from the country, but the
immense properties remained in Villa's hands, and
he took every dollar the "Cientificos" could be
forced to pay.
The case of Luis Terrazas, Jr., son of the former
governor, is a good example. Luis "Chico" was
captured by Villa and incarcerated in the Chihuahua penitentiary. For nearly a year the younger
Terrazas was kept in prison and forced to pay
over $500,000 gold to save his life. Time and
again he was stood up before a firing squad and
compelled to buy temporary immunity.
Another great source of wealth was the immense
herds of cattle which ranged the haciendas of
northern Mexico. Villa would confiscate thousands of these cattle, ship them to Texas and sell
them for gold. When this was, in a measure,
stopped by the cattlemen's associations, Villa built




ROVING AND FIGHTING


307


a slaughter-house in Juarez, shipped the packed
meat and sold the hides. Only one company was
permitted to deal in hides, and that was an American concern.
Probably the greatest income came from the
"bilimbiques," a fiat currency issued by the revolutionary government. This was simply a printed
promise to pay when the revolution was successful.
Merchants were forced to accept this money in
Mexico at the rifle. Its current value, however,
was a fictitious gambling value, due to the operations of the money brokers on the border. When
Villa was winning victories, the rate of exchange
went up; when he suffered reverses, the price went
down. In time the country was flooded by this fiat
money. Printing presses were kept busy night
and day turning it out. Many millions of dollars
were issued, until finally its value was less than
the cost of printing.
Although Villa sucked in money from a thousand sources, he was compelled to pay it out almost as fast as it came in. His army was better
armed and clothed than any insurrecto faction in
the field. He was robbed right and left by a
swarm of gun-runners, speculators and concessionseekers who followed his trail. There are many
men on the border to-day who made fortunes
through their dealings with Villa. You may lhave
read how an Italian gave Villa $500 to start the
expedition against Huerta. This man was rewarded by a present of one of the gambling privileges in Juarez. He made a fortune from his




308


ROVING AND FIGIHTING


operations. Later, when Villa was in need, he
called on this Italian for a small percentage of his
winnings. The Italian packed his money and
silently flitted to the American bank of the Rio
Grande. Villa flew into one of his blind rages.
"I cannot understand these foreigners!' he declared. "This man gave me his last dollar when
I was in need. Then I present him with a fortune.
When I ask him for a small part, he runs away."
The stories of great hordes of money concealed
by Villa are pure fiction. Although he handled
millions, his government always led a hand-tomouth existence. It is true, however, that some of
his former confederates escaped to the United
States with large sums.
Villa's apparent immunity from assassination
is easily told. He has seemed to lead a charmed
life, and he has the cunning of a wolf of his own
desert. He once told me that he had been
wounded eleven times. He has the instinctive
caution of a fox. At night, when not sleeping on
his guarded train, he would throw a blanket over
his shoulders and disappear in the darkness, to
sleep in some arroyo, concealed from his own
soldiers.
His main protection was the famous Escolta
Eldorado, or Guard of Gold. This was a picked
company, which was the choicest collection of gunmen and killers ever gathered together. It was
headed by the notorious Colonel Fierro, tle
"Butcher."  This Fierro was the official lord high
executioner of Villa's army, and has literally




ROVING AND FIGHTING


3()()


killed hundreds of men with his own hand. After the battle of Paredon, forty-four officers were
captured. Following the custom of both armies,
these federal officers were sentenced to death.
They were stood up in a line on the battlefield,
their hands tied behind them. Fierro walked
down the line and killed every man with his pistol;
shooting six times and standing and reloading.
When we entered the city of Guadalajara, Fierro
discovered an old enemy living in the city. This
man had quit the insurrection and was working as
a carpenter. In an accident his leg had been
broken, and when discovered by Fierro, he was
lying helpless in bed. TheI Butcher" had the injured man brought to the depot and placed on his
private car. Next day I chanced to be on Fierro's
car when we left the city. The "Butcher" was
playing cards with a group of Villa officers as the
train started its journey. About nine miles from
the city he told the conductor to stop the train.
Grasping the injured man by the collar he dragged
him down the car steps, feebly moaning from the
agony of pain. Dropping him like a sack of meal
by the side of the track, Fierro shot him through
the head, signaled the train, and then, stepping
aboard, picked up his cards and resumed the game.
It was the most cold-blooded, dastardly act I have
ever seen.
These men of the Guard of Gold guarded Villa
day and night. No suspicious-appearing person
was permitted to come near their general without
being disarmed. Colonel Pani, of the Carran



310


ROVING AND FIGHTING


cista faction, had been an outspoken enemy of Villa's during the Aguascalientes convention. He
was an enormous man, with deep, rumbling voice,
and had won wide reputation as a brave fighter.
When Villa occupied Mexico City, Colonel Pani
refused to flee, and remained at the house of a
friend. Villa learned of his presence and had him
arrested and brought before him. The giant Pani
was brought before Villa surrounded by a guard.
The grim-faced Fierro, the "Butcher," stood beside him.
"Pani," Villa began, "you have denounced me
and called me a bandit. Is there any reason why
you should not die?"
"You are a bandit. You can kill me if you want
to. Killing men who have fought for Mexico is
your trade."
Villa poured out a volley of profanity at the tall
prisoner, striding back and forth across the room.
His eyes protruded and seemed to revolve like
those of a madman. Then, his expression changing, he turned and said:
"Pani, you are the first man who ever looked in
my eyes and defied me. You have been a brave
man. Join my army and I will give you five hundred men to command. Your right place is in
the army of Pancho Villa."
"I do not fight with bandits and robbers," rumbled the giant, staring unafraid at the Terror of
the North.
"Fierro, take him  out and shoot him!"
screamed Villa in a blaze of passion.




-   -   ---------------...............




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313


The "Butcher" escorted the great Pani out of
the house. After pacing excitedly about the room
for a moment, Villa called one of his secretaries.
In a few minutes Fierro stalked back into the
room. Pulling his pistol from its holster, he
flipped an empty cartridge out.
"Mi general, one shot killed him," he calmly remarked.
"Estdc bueno," replied Villa, and returned to
his conversation.
On one occasion, after the battle of Zacatecas,
thirty-one officers were condemned to death. A
firing squad of Yaqui Indians were doing the
shooting and the prisoners were being placed
against the wall, two or three at a time. Several
bottles of cognac were brought out by the executioners and drinks were passed to the men about
to die. One young officer, a boy of twenty, was
busily engaged in writing in a notebook. When
the time came for him to die, the Indian sergeant
gruffly ordered him to step into place. Turning to
the higher officers, he said:
"I was just writing a letter to my brother.
Will you let me finish it before the fusilada?"
Sternly the sergeant shook his head and motioned him to take his place against the wall.
"Three thousand pardons, senores," exclaimed
a dapper little major. "May I take his place? "
The sergeant nodded; the little major jauntily
stepped before the firing squad, and smilingly met
his death. The young lieutenant finished his letter before he, too, was killed.




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These executions were the horrible feature of
the Mexican war. It is my belief that more men
have been executed by the firing squad in Mexico,
the last seven years, than have died in battle. All
factions were equally guilty.
After his spectacular victory at Torreon, Villa
found himself hailed as the conqueror of north
Mexico. His military exploits far excelled those
of any other revolutionary general, and in his
usual fashion he proved headstrong and hard to
control. General Carranza, who had been accepted by all factions as the "First Chief in charge
of executive power," grew fearful of Villa's growing strength and appointed General Panfilo Natera to command the expedition against Zacatecas,
where Huerta's forces were preparing to make
their last stand. Natera was defeated, and Villa
rushed his forces to the front, contrary to orders.
After a two days' desperate battle, in which several thousand men were killed, he captured the
city, and drove the federals in disorder back toward Mexico City. General Obregon, who had
carried on a successful campaign down the west
coast of Mexico, shortly afterward captured
Guadalajara, the second city in Mexico, and
marched on the capital. General Zapata with his
southern Indian forces had captured several of
the suburbs to Mexico City. Huerta, realizing
that his cause was lost, fled from Mexico to lavana, Cuba, and Obregon took possession of the
national capital.
The revolution had accomplished its purpose.




ROVING AND FIGHTING


315


Madero had been avenged and Huerta the dictator
driven into exile. Yet the war had only started.
General Villa felt that he had been ignored and
insulted by Carranza, and he sulkily withdrew to
Chihuahua, refusing to obey the orders of the
First Chief.
General Obregon made a trip to Chihuahua in
an effort to placate Villa, and narrowly escaped
execution. A national convention of all insurgent
leaders had been called in Mexico City to draft a
constitution and form a provisional government.
Villa refused to participate in this conference unless it was held on neutral ground, and Aguascalientes was selected as the place of meeting. After
a farcical session, lasting two months, the convention elected Eulalio Gutierrez, a niddle-of-the
road candidate, as provisional president of Mexico.
Carranza refused to ratify the choice, and Villa
dropped all pretense and declared war on the faction headed by the First Chief.
His army was moved southward in forty-five
troop trains, with cavalry in advance guard and
flankers. Carranza's troops withdrew before the
advancing division of the north, and in November,
1914, Villa and Zapata were in joint control of
Mexico City. It was at this time the United
States withdrew its soldiers from Vera Cruz after
occupying that seaport for seven months. Carranza moved into that city in the wake of the returning Americans, and established his headquarters there.
Villa was now at the apex of his career. He




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made a grand entry into the capital with Zapata
riding by his side. In the line of march were forty-five thousand soldiers and eighty-one modern
cannon, captured from the federals.
Villa and Zapata entered the national palace
and posed for their photographs, sitting in the
gilded reception room where President Porfirio
Diaz formerly held his receptions. After the photograph was taken a bystander called Villa's attention to the fact that he was sitting in the chair
of Benito Juarez, the Liberator of Mexico. Jumping to his feet he exclaimed:
"Who am I that I should sit in the seat of the
great Juarez? I will never be President of Mexico."
About this time I severed my connection with
the Associated Press and prepared to return to
the United States. I was disgusted. Twice had
the revolution been won; still there was no end of
the fighting in sight.
The day before I expected to leave I called on
Villa to say good-by.
"No, no, Tejano," he said. "You must not
leave us now. I will make you a major on my
estado mayor."
Calling one of his secretaries, he ordered the
commission made out. I still keep it as a memento of the Mexican revolution.
Villa's high-handed methods soon began to
weaken his power. Provisional President Gutierrez was practically his prisoner, and on one occasion Villa slapped the president's face. lie was




ROVING AND FIGIITING


317


proving that, although he could conquer, he could
not rule. Many of his generals felt that they were
entitled to a share of the credit for his campaigns,
and he treated them as if they were unruly schoolboys.
Finally he left Mexico City for a tour of the
northern districts controlled by his troops.
Hardly had he left the capital when a number of
his followers revolted. President Gutierrez,
urged by this faction, fled to Toluca; and Villa
thus had his president stolen over night.
Then followed the campaign of the Carrancistas, led by General Obregon, which is recent history. Deserted by many of his best leaders, he
came storming down from the north to meet this
new coalition. At the battles of Silao and Celaya
he first knew the bitterness of defeat. His star
was waning and day after day came reports of new
desertions.
Then came the hardest blow of all, which turned
him against the United States. Up until this time
he had apparently been a favorite of the American
Government. A special agent of the State Department accompanied him on all his journeys.
Ilis principal port of entry at Juarez had been
kept open for the importation of munitions of war.
Suddenly the policy at Washington was changed.
A strict embargo was enforced on the border, and
his supply of ammunition was cut off. Then came
the announcement from Washington that Carranza had been recognized as the head of the de
facto government.




31.8


ROVING AND FIGHTING


Of Villa's movements since that time I know
only what friends from Mexico have told me. Hle
felt that the Americans had turned against him in
his hour of greatest need, and in his usual fashion
he retaliated by attacking the Americans.
Of the raid into American territory at Columbus, New Mexico, I know nothing. He may or
may not have been present in person. It is characteristic of what he might be expected to do when
in one of his blind unreasoning rages.
Villa is still in the saddle.
As long as he rides the desert llanos, with his
"Guard of Gold" at his back, he looms as a stormcloud on the border, threatening the peace of our
country. There is only one way he will ever quit
the fight: that is when death comes to him. He is
the Mfexican problem.




CHAPTER XXVIII


M      EXICO CITY, usually gay and colorful despite continuous revolutions, was like a
graveyard. The streets were deserted and the
silence of terror stilled the accustomed clamor of
the markets. General Zapata and his horde of
sandal-shod soldiers were coming into the city.
For years the Mexican capital had been fed with
stories of Zapata's savagery and ruthlessness. It
was the general belief that the "'mountain men"
from Morelos would loot the city and inaugurate
a reign of terror.
By thousands the Zapatistas marched through
the streets and deployed into the plaza before
the national palace. That morning Zapata issued
two proclamations. One was a prohibition edict
closing the saloons; the other, a command for the
bankers of the city to assemble for a conference.
The bankers attended the meeting. They went
in fear, dreading confiscation of their deposits.
Only a few days before, the armies of General
Carranza had collected a "forced loan" of ten
million pesos from the banks. What mercy could
be expected of the bandit leader? Zapata's
speech was short and to the point.
"Caballeros" he said, 'my men are hungry. I
want fifty thousand pesos to feed them for a few
days. You will pay this. I promise you protec319




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ROVING AND FIGHTING


tion. You may carry on your business without
molestation as long as you do not aid the enemy.
You may go when you sign the order for the
money. "
Thankful to escape with such a modest demand,
the bankers did as they were ordered. Zapata
kept his part of the bargain and for months the
city was better policed than it has ever been since
Porfirio Diaz was driven from Mexico. But this
is the strange part of the story-strange to one
who knows the system of confiscation which has
bled the business men of the country: ten days
later Zapata paid back the fifty thousand pesos,
and from that time on never took a dollar from the
commercial houses of the capital.
Because Zapata has operated far south of our
border, and has had no seaport, he is the least
known of all Mexican revolutionary leaders of the
American people. It was my fortune to be with
him for several months, accompanying his army
on several campaigns. As far as I have knowledge, I was the only American with the Zapata
forces.
Who is this half-breed Indian who for six years
has ruled a territory larger than the state of Illinois? Pancho Villa is well known to American
newspaper readers. Carranza holds daily audiences with foreign correspondents. Zapata alone
has held himself aloof and mysterious.
To understand the Zapata movement one must
first know something of the state of Morelos,




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321


where he rules. Morelos is a mountainous country crisscrossed by valleys of great fertility. It
is an agricultural state. The population is ninetenths full-blood Indian. One statement will show
the reason for a rebellion.
The entire state was owned, every acre of it, by
eleven families. The natives were peon laborers
on the farms of the landlords.
Emiliano Zapata was an outlaw before the outbreak of the Madero insurrection, six years ago.
The Mexican peons love an outlaw. A man who
lives in defiance of the law which enslaves them is
always a hero in their eyes.
When the news swept through Mexico that
Francisco Madero had taken the field against Diaz,
Zapata saw his opportunity. Recruiting a small
company, he moved back and forth across Morelos
and into the state of Guerrero, calling upon the
people to revolt. As in the north, his plan was for
free land and schools.
His army grew rapidly and three months after
the outbreak of the revolt he captured Cuernavaca, the capital of Morelos. He seized the immense estates of the hacendados, the absentee
landlords, and parceled the land out among the
peons. As the law of the conquered territory he
proclaimed the "Plan of Ayala," a program which
dealt mainly with the communistic ownership of
the soil.
When Madero was made president, he called
upon Zapata to "come in and be good." Zapata




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ROVING AND FIGHTING


demanded that his "Plan of Ayala" first be accepted. Madero replied that that was a question
for the national congress to settle.
The Zapatistas refused to trust the assembly.
They were not interested in the affairs of other
sections of Mexico, but they had freed themselves
from bondage and would continue to manage their
own state.
That was the beginning. For six years Zapata
and his peons have controlled Morelos. They
have whipped every army that has been sent
against them. At times they have swept out into
other states; but outside of Morelos, they have
always met with defeat. They have captured
Mexico City three times, and at the present time
their camp-fires may be seen on the hills surrounding the national capital.
My first experience with the Zapatista leaders
was in Aguascalientes. Delegates from all factions gathered there in convention after the defeat
of General Huerta. The Zapata representatives
came by roundabout trails from their mountain
strongholds.
That day a delegate of the Villa faction came to
me and said: "We want to meet the Zapatistas
but do not want to make the first advances. They
feel the same. You are a neutral and a foreigner.
If you will invite some of their leaders to a dinner,
and also invite our friends, I will pay for the
dinner. 
I assented to this peculiar proposition and be



ROVING AND FIGHITING


323


came the host at a most interesting feast. At that
dinner the foundation for the future alliance of
Villa and Zapata was laid. An introduction
to some of the leaders will show that there are
brains as well as bullets behind the Zapata movement.
Antonio Soto Y Game was the leader of the
delegation. He is one of the best known Spanish
writers, and at one time was a teacher in the University of Barcelona, Spain. He is a Socialist and
has worked for that cause in many South American countries.
General Alfredo Serratos was a former lawyer,
who had made a good record as a soldier. It will
surprise Americans to learn that he was at one
time a servant of Mark Hlanna, the noted politician
of Ohio. His history is a romantic one. As a
homeless waif he was taken to the United States
by an American, who promised to give him an education. In Cleveland, Ohio, the American died
and young Serratos was left stranded. For three
years he worked at the home of Senator Hanna,
mowing lawns and caring for horses. Later the
young Mexican returned to Mexico and studied
law. He speaks three languages fluently. In the
convention cabinet he was elected Secretary of
War. These were some of the men who were Zapata 's lieutenants and advisers.
When the convention disbanded and Villa's soldiers marched on Mexico City, I had an opportunity to visit General Zapata himself in Cuerna



324


ROVING AND FIGHTING


vaca. As we journeyed up the canyons and mountain trails, I had my first contact with the Army of
the South. It was night and every foot of the
road was guarded. As we proceeded, I could hear
cow-horns echoing back and forth in the mountains, signaling our arrival. This cow-horn system of wireless is in common use among the Indians.
We met Zapata in the old palace which had been
built as a summer home by Cortez, the Spanish
conqueror of Mexico. I found him a slight, wiry
little man, half extinguished by an enormous sombrero. I was impressed by the penetrating gaze
of his eyes and his impatient gestures. IIe
seemed to throw his open hand in the face of his
listener as he talked.
"You Americans have liberty, I am told," he
said. "You can vote. You can own land. You
can send your children to school. We cannot.
Where few people own the land and many must
work for them, there is no freedom. First the
land must go back to the people. Other things
will follow. You cannot talk laws to a man who
has been hungry every day since he was a little
boy.
"Our soldiers fight for liberty. They do not
fight for money. My men are the only soldiers in
Mexico who fight without pay. When I was a
boy, I went into debt at the hacienda store for my
first pair of overalls. For ten years I worked to
pay for those overalls, but always I was in debt.




ROVING AND FIGHTING


325


For ten years I did not see one centavo of wages.
So I ran away and they called me a bandit! They
sent soldiers to kill me. But we have driven them
away, the rurales, the soldiers, the jefes politicos
who made us slaves to the land. We will all die
before we will let them come back."
His boast that his army fought without pay was
true. They are the only soldiers in Mexico who
receive no pay.
During my short stay in Cuernavaca I learned
other things that surprised me. The army is a
democracy. Its officers are elected by the private soldiers, and may be recalled by a vote from
the ranks. Zapata himself remains the master because he has the absolute confidence and loyalty
of his followers.
One of Zapata's chief lieutenants is General
Genevevo de la 0. IHe bore a sinister reputation
and was accused of having instigated several massacres. On my second day in Cuernavaca I met
him. Hie was a short, dark, pock-marked man of
pure Indian blood. His face had an expression of
savage ferocity, and I could well believe the tales
that had been told about him. When I met him he
was dressed only in the cotton shirt and drawers
of the peon and his feet were bound with rawhide
sandals. I was told that he refused to wear any
other uniform.
For a time we talked of the insurrection as I had
seen it in other states. Hle told me that he was a
Socialist. His ideas of Socialism seemed to be a




326


ROVING AND FIGHTING


general destruction of the ruling class and the unrestrained liberty of the workers. I told him that
the Socialist movement was strong in other countries.
"Yes, I know," he growled. "Every man who
has a good heart believes in giving justice to the
poor. But what do they know? They must learn
to hate, not to talk. Do you know how they must
learn? As I have learned." 
As he spoke he leaped excitedly to his feet and
tore open his shirt. His back was a network of
welts and scars.
"Three times I have been tied to a post and
beaten because I would not work. When you have
felt the lash on your back, you will know that there
is but one meeting-place for master and slave.
That is the battlefield. "
The delegates who had accompanied me to Cuernavaca arranged for a joint occupation of Mexico
City with the Villa forces. Every one who witnessed the entry of Zapata's troops was astonished at the discipline shown by the mountain Indians. Within an hour order had been restored
and business was resumed. The great city was a:
place of wonders to the ignorant peons and several
amusing incidents occurred.
The afternoon of the occupation, a fire broke out
on Calle San Francisco. A hose-cart came dashing down the street, crowded with brass-helmeted
firemen. Seeing this strange outfit bearing down
upon them, a company of Zapata soldiers lay down




ROVING AN]) FIGITING


327


in a line across the street and opened fire. Twelve
of the firemen were killed before an officer explained to the Zapatistas that the fire apparatus
was not some new device for their destruction.
When the Zapatistas took possession, the city
was lawless. Murders and robberies occurred
on every street. Zapata proceeded to restore order by executing the criminals.
One day I chanced to pass the Fourth Comisario,
or police station. Three bodies were exposed
for public view. Written signs above the bodies
announced the reasons for the executions. One
sign read, "This man was killed for being a
thief."  Another read, "This man was killed for
printing counterfeit money." The third stated,
"This man was killed by mistake!"
Like all Mexicans, Zapata has a love for the
dramatic. In dealing out punishment to his men
he always made the punishment fit the crime.
While stationed in the town of Cuatla, a soldier
killed another in a drunken brawl and was sentenced to die before a firing squad.
"My chief, it is just that I should die for what
I have done when the mescal made me mad," said
the soldier; "but I do not like to die like a calf
before the guns of my friends. You know that I
have fought many times against the mochos of Huerta. Let me die killing soldiers."
"It shall be done as you wish," replied Zapata.
The prisoner was ordered removed to Xochimilco, near Mexico City, where the soldiers of Hu



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ROVING AND FIGHTINIG


erta were entrenched. He was led opposite one
of the trenches and given a machete-a longbladed knife used in cutting sugar-cane. Pointing to the barricades of the government soldiers,
the condemned man was ordered to charge.
Singing a wordless chant the prisoner trotted
forward into the open. Immediately he drew the
fire from a score of guns.
He stumbled and fell to his knees, but again he
staggered to his feet and went on. A hundred
soldiers were shooting at him now, and it seemed
a miracle that he was not riddled by bullets. At
last he fell and lay still in the dust of the field. He
had had his wish and died facing the enemy.
It is often asked where Zapata gets the guns and
ammunition to carry on his campaigns. He has
no outlet to the American border, where the foreign munition brokers keep the other insurgent
factions supplied. A great part of his supplies
have been captured from the enemy. He has also
bought much ammunition from the enemy. This
may seem unbelievable to Americans; but it is a
fact that large quantities of munitions of war have
been sold to the Zapatistas by the officers of both
Huerta's and Carranza's armies.
Zapata is the only revolutionary leader who has
refused the fiat money-the bilimbiques which
have ruined the credit of the country. He has
many ways of raising money. One instance will
show one of his methods:
A French company owns large sugar planta



- - ----------- ---




` I,
I:




ROVING AND FIGHTING


331


tions in Morelos and conducts a sugar mill. Zapata sent for the manager.
"You now pay no taxes to the federal government," he said. "So you will pay me one thousand pesos a month. You can still make a profit."
For four years that sugar company has continued operations, and according to the manager
himself, has made a fair profit. Each month he
has paid his tax and been given protection.
Zapata has confiscated several gold and silver
mines. These are operated for the benefit of the
cause.
Charges have been made that Zapata is savagely
cruel in warfare and executes all prisoners. This
is true. It is also true of the Carranzistas, the
Villistas, and every other faction, federal or revolutionary, in Mexico. Killing prisoners is a
time-honored custom.
Some months after the outbreak of the European war, Zapata said:
"They say that I do not make civilized warfare.
I can take some lessons from the German and
English. How can war be civilized? War and
injustice go together. Only with peace and justice is there civilization."
Zapata's remarkable control over his men astonishes every one who is familiar with the mob
spirit which dominates most of the revolutionary
factions. His Indians obey the word of "Don
Emiliano" with a reverence almost amounting to
worship.




332


R2 IOVING ANI) FIGHTING


On one occasion an officer stole a sack of silver
pesos. l e fled into the state of Guerrero. Zapata sent for a young officer of his staff and said:
"You will follow this traitor night and day, and
never rest until you find him. You must not kill
him, but bring him back to me alive. I will hang
him in the plaza before all the people, as one who
has been false to his trust."
Without remark, the young officer left the headquarters and started the pursuit. For weeks he
trailed the fugitive back and forth through hostile
country. At last he captured him and brought
him, hand and foot, into a room where Zapata was
holding a conference.
"Mi general, I obeyed your orders," reported
the young officer. "Here is the man you sent me
to catch."
Zapata's face turned ashen in anger. Jumping
to his feet, and speaking in the low, hissing tone
he used when excited, he said:
"'So, the dog thought that he could be an eagle!
You are worse than a pelon. You are a traitor!
You were trusted and you stole the money which
was to buy food and ammunition for your comrades. Because of this you must die like a dog
and a traitor!"
White-faced and trembling, the young officer
who had captured the fugitive and obeyed orders
so well, stepped up to the table and touched his
hat:
"Mi general," he said huskily, "you told me to




ROVING AND FI(1TTING


333


capture him without injury and bring him before
you. I have done so. Now I want to ask one
favor. Let me die in his place and set him free."
"What fool is this?" cried Zapata in amazement. "Why do you, an honorable soldier, want
to die to set free this traitor?"
"He is my youngest brother," replied the officer. "I obeyed your order because you are my
chief, but if my brother dies because of me, I would
not want to live."
For a moment Zapata gazed from the cringing
prisoner to the pale-faced officer standing rigidly
at attention.
"Listen to me!" he finally exclaimed, pointing
his finger in the prisoner's face. "Your brother
has proved that he is a man! So I will grant his
request. This is my sentence: you will be
stripped of your rank and you will work as your
brother's mozo. You will do woman's work and
cook for him, and serve him as a slave. Nevermore will you carry a gun in the company of free
men. Go!"
When it is considered that Zapata is a halfbreed Indian, scarcely able to read and write, it
must be admitted that he is somewhat of a philosopher. I believe that this peon chieftain is the
one leader in Mexico who has no ambitions to be
a dictator of his country. As long as he can rule
his native state and keep the landlords out, he is
content. He sees only one thing-the land question; but he sees that very clearly. His "Plan




334


ROVING AND FIGHTING


of Ayala," as far as it applies to the common ownership of land has worked. At least it has worked
to the satisfaction of the poor laborers.
Carranza is still carrying on war against him,
but Zapata is holding his own. His army is an
elastic one. At times it shrinks to a few thousand
men, when the peons go back to till their fields.
When a campaign is begun, his forces swell to
many thousands.
One thing is sure. He can get as many recruits
as he has guns.
Whatever the solution of the Mexican problem
may be, Zapata and his half-million loyal followers must be considered. He will quit fighting only
when his "Plan of Ayala" is made part of the law
of the nation.
Of all the insurgent leaders who have battled
for supremacy the last seven years in Mexico, he
is the one chief who has remained true to his followers. His peons know what they are fighting
for. They are battling for land and Don Emiliano
Zapata.




CHAPTER XXIX


G   ENERAL ALVARO OBREGON, the IrishIndian Secretary of War of Mexico, and
backbone of the Carranza. movement, granted an
interview one day to three men of international
reputation as diplomats and financiers. He received them in his offices in the national palace of
Mexico City.
Dressed in his neat uniform of olive drab, he
might have been an American army officer at his
desk. For some minutes he sat and listened to
the proposition presented by the three visitors.
"This is a great opportunity that comes to few
men," pleaded the spokesman of the party. "You
have complete control of the army. What you
command is the law. Carranza is an obstinate old
fool who will not listen to reason. Ile is unpopular with the people, while you are the hero of the
hour. You have the army in your hand; we have
the money. We can put many millions behind
you, the influence of foreign banks, the loyal support of the business element of Mexico. We ask
you to repudiate Carranza. We will declare you
president, and you will rule Mexico. It is you
alone who have held Carranza in power. Withdraw that support, and you will be another Diaz.
The prize is too great; you cannot refuse."
335




336


ROVING AND FIGHTING


For a moment Obregon sat, twisting his mustache, gazing at the representatives of the great
money-powers. Then, lifting his hand, he touched
a push-button on the desk.
"Before I answer your question," he replied
smiling, "I want to introduce you to a gentleman
who is going to be closely associated with you for
some time."
"This meeting was to be confidential," protested one of the committee. "Who is this man?"
"He is your jailer," replied Obregon, waving
his hand toward the officer of the guard who entered the room.
In true story-book fashion the three arch-plotters were hustled out of the office, clutching their
high silk hats and muttering maledictions.
The incident illustrated why Carranza, a civilian who never took part in a battle, and who is
cordially disliked by the revolutionary element in
Mexico, has managed to seat himself in the presidential chair. He has had Obregon, and Obregon
has remained loyal.
Since the decline of Pancho Villa, General Obregon is the strongest man in public life in Mexico.
He is the man who captured Mexico City from
Huerta the dictator, the first leader to defeat
Villa in battle, the soldier who defeated Zapata
and drove him back to his Morelos mountains, and
the one man who has held the Carranza faction together.




ROVING AND FIGHTING


337


Obregon stands out in pleasant relief from the
crowd of swashbuckling, spectacular rebel leaders of Mexico. He is a quiet, well-educated man,
a successful military leader, and a natural politician. Not that he lacks the fighting spirit. In
the second battle of Celaya, where he defeated
Villa and broke his power, Obregon was shot in
the arm. Improvising a tourniquet to stop the
flow of blood, he sat in a carriage and drove back
and forth behind the battle-line, giving his orders,
until victory was assured. As a result of his delay he lost his arm.
Personally Obregon does not like Carranza,
and has so expressed himself in public. On one
occasion, when angered at some blunder of the
provisional president, he said: "If we had woman
suffrage in Mexico, Carranza would be the logical
candidate for the woman's party."
"Then why do you support him?" was asked.
"Because we selected him as the First Chief
of the Constitutional movement," he replied.
"When we started this revolution we launched an
organized movement, elected Carranza and signed
the Plan of Guadalupe as our program. We must
carry that plan through to success, and no personal likes or dislikes must interfere."
This Mexican Warwick has had a remarkable
history for a man only thirty-five years old. As
he proudly boasts, he is an Indian from the state
of Sonora. He is equally proud of his Irish




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ROVING AND FIGHTING


grandfather, whose name was O'Brien, one of
those Celtic political exiles who settled on the west
coast of Mexico.
Obregon grew up among these Indians, speaks
their language, and takes part in their tribal ceremonies. From these west-coast tribes he drew
most of his recruits when he started his career
as a rebel chief. After graduating from the
schools of the national capital, he studied for two
years in Paris. His early ambition was to shine
upon the operatic stage, and he is an accomplished
musician.
It was my fortune to be with Obregon in his first
fight at Ojitos, during the Orozco rebellion in
1912. He had distinguished himself in that fight,
leading a cavalry charge and capturing four cannon. The Ojitos ranch was owned by a brother
of Lord Charles Beresford, the British admiral,
and was one of the noted show places in Chihuahua. That night a group of officers gathered on
the veranda, celebrating their victory and boasting of the parts they had played in the fight.
Obregon slipped away from the crowd to the
parlor, where he had discovered a piano. Sitting
in the darkness, he played and sang airs from Italian and French operas. The talk of the officers
on the veranda halted. Squads of big-hatted Indians gathered around the building, silently listening. It was a strange audience for "Celeste
Aida" and "Donna Mobile." I little thought that
night that the singer would, three years later, be




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341


the chief military leader of Mexico, with power
to make or break presidents.
At the end of that campaign Obregon was a
colonel of volunteers. He marched his Indians
back to Sonora and prepared to muster them out
of service. On the day President Madero was
murdered and General Huerta enthroned himself
in the national palace, Obregon's resignation was
in the mail. He announced his intention of retiring to his farm. That night he marched his
troops out of Agua Prieta and proclaimed a new
revolution against the usurper. Friends of Obregon claim that he was the first officer to take the
field against Huerta.
His army grew like a herd of cattle in a roundup.
During the following year he swept through Sonora like a whirlwind, never losing a battle. Carranza was the only legally elected governor in
Mexico who repudiated Huerta. The revolutionary leaders selected him as their first chief, and
Obregon signed the pledge to support him. He
is one of the few who signed that pledge who never
violated it.
His campaign down the west coast was one of
the most spectacular in Mexican history. Hermosillo, Guaymas, Mazatlan, Manzanillo, and finally Gaudalajara, the second city of the republic,
were all scenes of hard-fought victories. When
Huerta fled from the country, Obregon was at the
gates of Mexico City, and received the surrender
of the remnant of the federal army.




342


ROVING AND FIGHTING


Meanwhile the split between Pancho Villa,
leader of the victorious army of the north, and
Carranza, the nominal Chief of the revolution,
had occurred. Obregon stepped in as a peacemaker and addressed a round robin to the leaders
of the jealous factions. "The people won this
revolution," he declared. "No one man or set of
men can claim all the credit. No man must stand
in the way of peace. Every general is entitled to
a voice in the construction of the new government. We must arbitrate our personal differences. 
In pursuance of this plan, he attempted to adjust the differences between Carranza and the
headstrong Villa. As a result, he nearly lost his
life before a firing squad. It was again my good
fortune to be with him at this critical period of his
career.
In an effort to patch up a working agreement he
had come to Villa's headquarters in Chihuahua,
accompanied only by three members of his staff.
The meeting took place in a private house in the
city. Villa was surrounded by his heavily armed
staff, a revolver hanging at his thigh. Obregon
was unarmed.
"You are working with Old Whiskers to betray
the people," shouted Villa, giving way to one of
his insane passions. "You will never go back to
plot against me. I will have you shot like a dog. "
Obregon stood twirling his watch-chain in his




ROVING AND FIGIITINGT


343


fingers, smiling in tantalizing calmness at the infuriated peon chieftain.
"If I were afraid to die, I would not be a soldier," he replied. "I came here to plead for the
peace of Mexico, not for myself. If you think my
death will benefit Mexico, kill me. There are
many more men as good as I am who are ready to
take my place. When you are ready to listen to
my message, I will return."
Turning his back on Villa he walked from the
room. The guard at the door stepped back and
let him pass. They were awed by the quiet determination of this man who fought without a gun.
Villa refused to grant another interview, and
that night Obregon left Chihuahua on the return
trip to Mexico City. On his invitation I accompanied him as his guest in his private car. It was
the general belief that he would never leave the
Villa territory alive.
The next morning our train was stopped at
Jimenez and ordered back to Chihuahua. Again
Villa commanded the execution of Obregon. His
generals pleaded with him to countermand the
order and at last grudgingly consented.
Once more we started on the southward trip, the
train guarded by a company of Villa's soldiers.
At Gomez Palacio, four miles from Torreon, Obregon was handed a telegram, which warned him
that he would be shot in that city. As our train
rolled across the bridge into Torreon, we could




344


ROVING AND FIGHTING


see a company of cavalry lined up before the depot. Obregon called me into the drawing-room of
the Pullman.
"I believe that it is Villa's intention to kill me
here," he said calmly. "If I am not killed I certainly will be imprisoned. Now, you are an American and a neutral. You will not be harmed, while
the men of my staff will suffer my fate. I want
you to get out and send word to my friends, who
may aid me. Take this money and go to the border. Buy an automobile or anything you need. "
Opening an iron box under the seat he handed
me a roll of American banknotes as round as my
thigh. I have never known how much money was
in that roll. There must have been many thousands of dollars.
Our train rolled into the station and the car was
immediately surrounded by the soldiers. Guards
were posted at both entrances and Obregon was
informed that he was a prisoner. Twice I tried
to escape but was driven back.
Generals Isabel Robles and Tomas Urbina
boarded the train and informed Obregon that
Villa had again ordered his execution. They were
opposed to the killing and were in telegraphic conference with the big chief of the north.
For over an hour, our train lay beside the depot
with a guard at every door and window. A dozen
telegrams were exchanged. At last General
Robles handed a dispatch to Obregon, saying,
"'This is good news.'"




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ROVTNG AND FIGITTING


347


The message read:
"Let him go quickly. We shall live to see the
day when we are sorry."
"It is my advice that you leave immediately,"
said General Robles. "He might change his mind
again." 
The guard was withdrawn and we proceeded on
our way. As we left the city Obregon walked
down the car aisle and grasped my hand.
"It was worse than a battle, was n't it, Tejanof?"
he said laughing. "Three times in two days have
I been sentenced to death. It grows tiresome.
By the way, you may return that money. Your
trip will not be necessary."
Not daunted by this experience, Obregon returned a few days later into Villa territory and
held a conference with the Villa generals. At
this conference it was agreed to hold a peace convention on neutral ground at Aguascalientes.
At this convention, which lasted two months,
Obregon made a proposition which would have
prevented the last two years' war in Mexico if it
had been accepted. Mounting the stage of the
hall where the meeting was held, he announced:
"They say that three men are blocking a peaceful settlement of our disputes. These three men
are Villa, Carranza, and myself. I suggest that
we all three resign and let the delegates here form
a provisional government. On my part, my resignation is in your hands, and I plIdge myself to
retire to my home and abide by the majority vote




348


ROVING AND FICGHTING


of this convention, if Villa and Carranza also resign." 
Strange to say, General Villa promptly agreed
to the plan and sent in his resignation. Carranza
refused, and precipitated war by declaring that he
would no longer heed the actions of the delegates,
unless they met in Mexico City, which he controlled. Villa promptly declared war and moved
on the capital. Many followers of Carranza deserted his banners and joined forces with his enemies. Villa and Zapata entered Mexico City in
triumph. It seemed that the Carranzista cause
was lost, but again Obregon turned the tide. IHe
declared that although he disagreed with Carranza s policy, he would remain loyal to the Constitutionalist pledge.
Gathering his demoralized forces, he fell back
before the superior armies of Villa. An amusing
incident occurred at that time. A general, who
had commanded a brigade of two thousand Yaqui
Indians, rushed to Villa's headquarters one morning.
"That scoundrel Obregon has stolen my army!" 
he wailed.
While the general was absent from his troops,
the suave Obregon had appeared before the Indians and made a speech in their own language.
As a result, the entire brigade followed him to his
camp in the hills, while their general officers were
roistering at a ball.
For several lmoths Obregon was inactive.  1'




ROVING AND FIGHTING


349


was organizing his forces for a new blow. Suddenly he swept up from the east and fell upon the
Zapata army at Puebla. In a house-to-house battle lasting two days, hle drove the Zapatistas back
to their hills.
Villa retreated north and made his stand at Celaya. In two desperate fights, in which several
thousand men were killed, Obregon won the advantage and hurled the army of the north back
to the border. It was the beginning of Villa's
downfall. Day by day since that time his power
has waned.
Obregon was now the popular idol of the Carranza faction. Iie was the winner in the Mexican
cockpit. His empty sleeve was an eloquent appeal to the imagination. At that time he could
have been president, but still he remained loyal to
Carranza.
Through his turbrlent career is woven the
thread of romance. At the beginning of the war
he was engaged to marry Miss Maria Tapi of Nogales, Arizona, a graduate of Leland Stanford
University. Twice the wedding day was set, and
twice postponed, because duty called him to the
firing line.
When he was wounded at Celaya, and his arm
amputated, Miss Tapi refused t. consent to further delay. They were married on the day Obregon was able to leave the hospital.
When Carranza was elected president of Mexico, Obregon again tendered his resignation, say



350


ROVING AND FIGHTING


ing that his task was finished. Mexican politicians cannot understand why a man who holds the
supreme power in the country should want to quit
his job. They look for the ulterior motive. Many
declare that Obregon is shrewd enough to let Carranza do the work of reconstruction, knowing that
the time will come when a new national leader will
be demanded by the people. Then Obregon's
hour may strike. Villa has eliminated himself
by his bandit tactics. Zapata is only a local force
in southern Mexico.
Perhaps the politicians may be wrong. In Obregon the revolution may have developed one man
who has no ambition to be a dictator. One thing
is certain: the shrewd, courteous Irish-Indian can
make or break any government that is set up in
Mexico.




CHAPTER XXX


A   FTER five years' fighting in Mexico, I saw
that the country was no nearer a peaceful
settlement than it had been on the first day of the
Madero rebellion. I was disgusted with the outlook. Three times the insurrectos had won their
revolution, only to lose the rewards through the
personal ambition of the leaders.
At that time I was a major on the staff of General Pancho Villa. We were quartered at Zacetecas. One day I decided that, win or lose, the
time had gone by when an American could conscientiously fight in the personal quarrels between
Villa and Carranza.
That afternoon I handed my resignation to
General Villa. He urged me to stay, but when he
saw that I was determined to go, presented me
with a pass to the border and a letter stating my
services in the "Army of the North." He also
presented me with a handsome Mexican blanket,
woven by the Indians of Zacetecas.
I had planned to return to Chicago, but on my
arrival in El Paso I found a new adventure awaiting me. At that time the Yaqui Indians were committing depredations in southern Sonora, in western Mexico. Several thousand of the so-called
"tame" Yaquis were in the army of Governor
351




352


ROVING AND FIGHTIING


Maytorena, but the "broncho," or hostile, Yaquis
still held their ancient hunting-grounds in the
mountains.
Many of the American mines in Sonora had
been forced to close, because these raiding warparties prevented the operation of pack-trains. I
was offered the job of organizing a company of
guards to protect these pack-trains, guarding the
provision trains into the mountains and bringing
the gold and silver bullion out to the railroad. As
the salary was tempting, I accepted.
At Nogales and Hermosillo, the state capital, I
organized my company. It consisted of eightyfive Papago Indians and seven white men. We
were well armed and mounted. Twice we had
small skirmishes with Yaqui bands, but no serious
engagements. The Yaquis, however, objected to
our parading through their territory, and their
chiefs in the service of the governor lodged a protest. Governor Maytorena decided that we were
an irresponsible body of armed men, without legal
authority to carry arms in the state. As practically every man in the state, native and foreign,
was carrying arms at that time, his excuse was
far-fetched.
I was notified that if I would accept a commission in the state forces, we would be permitted to
continue our work. Much against my will, T accepted the commission. A short time later I was
ordered to report with my men to General Torres,
in the southern part of the state. This automatically ended my job.




ROVING AND FIGHITING


353


There is a lifelong feud between the Yaqui and
Papago Indians. I knew that if I took my little
company down among the Yaqui soldiers,-there
were over two thousand with General Torres,they would probably be massacred. Therefore,
I refused to obey the orders of the governor.
He ordered our party disarmed, but the Mexican
soldiers at La Colorada, where we were at the
time, decided that the job was more than they
cared to undertake. I wired Governor Maytorena
that I was going to the border with my men under
arms. We were not looking for a fight, but if any
attempt was made to stop us, we would have no
other choice. Although we passed several parties
of state troops on our trip out, we were not molested.
After this disappointing experience, I decided
to quit Mexico and try civilization for a change.
Going to Chicago, I secured a position with the
Associated Press. After several months' work
there, I was employed as managing-editor of the
"Herald-News, of Joliet, Ill.
During my stay in Mexico and on the border I
had come in contact with many well-known writers and war-correspondents. They had often
urged me to try magazine work. Rex Beach, the
novelist, had visited me on the border, and in his
letters he suggested that I try my hand at writing
fiction based on my experiences.
I now decided to follow his advice. My first
story was purchased by the "Pictorial Review."




354


ROVING AND FIGHTING


Since that time I have abandoned newspaper work
and have concentrated on a direct drive at the
magazines. The predictions of my friends have
come true. During the last year I have succeeded
in making a fair living by my stories. For the
time being the long trail has ended at a desk in
New York.
In writing this sketchy account of my twenty
years of roving and fighting, I have had to grope
back in my memory for incidents which might be
of interest. Many memories of those by-gone
days, forgotten for years, have come to me as I
reviewed the past. These memories are all that
I have inherited from my twenty years as a nomad
in the odd corners of the world-these, and the
loyal friends I have met on the road!
My wandering may be over. Who knows?
Perhaps, some restless night, the "curse of the
meandering foot," may again fall upon me, and
send me plodding down the long trail which has
no end.


THE END




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