"Do you have houses as high as those?" he asked, pointing to the human nests in the trees.

"Yes, indeed," said Cleary. "Near my home there is a house nearly a quarter of a mile long and twice as high as that tree, and nine hundred people live in it."

There were murmurs of astonishment as this information was translated.

"What is that great house for?" asked the chief.

"It's a lunatic asylum."

"What is that?"

"A house for lunatics to live in."

"But what is a lunatic?"

Cleary tried in vain to explain what a lunatic was. The Moritos had never seen one.

"We have plenty of such houses at home," said Sam, "and we have had to double their size in ten years to hold the lunatics; they are splendid buildings. There was one not very far from the college where my friend and I were educated. But some of our prisons are even larger than our lunatic asylums."

"What is a prison," asked Carlos.

"Oh," said Sam, "don't you understand that either? It's a house in which we lock up criminals—I mean men who kill us or rob us."

"Oh, I see," replied Carlos. "You mean your enemies whom you take prisoner in battle."

"No, I don't. I mean our own fellow citizens who murder and steal."

"Do you mean that you sometimes kill each other and steal from each other, your own tribe?"

"Yes," said Sam. "Of course people who do so are bad men, but there are some such among us."

A great discussion arose among the natives after hearing this.

"What do they say?" asked Colonel James in Castalian.

"They say," said the chief, "that they can not believe this, as they have never heard of members of the same tribe hurting each other."

"We do all we can to prevent it," said Sam. "In our cities we have policemen to keep order; that is, we have soldiers stationed in the streets to frighten the bad men."

"Do you have soldiers in the streets of your towns to keep you from killing each other!" exclaimed the chief, in astonishment. "Who ever heard of such a thing? I do not understand it," and, altho Sam repeated the information in every conceivable way permitted by his limited vocabulary, he was unable successfully to convey the idea.

"It is strange how uncivilized they are," he said to his friends.

"Do you live on bananas in your country?" asked Carlos.

"No; we eat them sometimes, but we live on grain and meat," said Sam.

"You must have to work very hard to get it."

"Yes, we do, sometimes twelve hours a day."

"How frightful! And is there enough for all to eat?"

"Not always."

"And are your people happy when they work so hard and are sometimes hungry?"

"Not always," said Sam. "Sometimes people are so unhappy that they commit suicide."

"What?"

"I mean they kill themselves."

There was now another heated discussion.

"What do they say?" asked Colonel James.

"They say that they did not know it was possible for people to kill themselves. I did not know it either. It is very strange."

"What limited intelligences they have!" exclaimed Sam.

"They say," continued Carlos, in a somewhat embarrassed manner, "that if you are condemned to death, they wish one of you would kill himself, so that they can see how it is done."

"There's a chance for you, Sam," said Cleary, but Sam did not seem to see the joke.

"I am very sorry," said Carlos, seating himself nearer to Sam, "I am very sorry that we may have to kill you, for I like you; but what can we do? It is a rule of our tribe to kill prisoners of war."

"I really don't see what they can do, if that is the case," said Sam in English. "If that is their law, and they have always done it, of course from their point of view it is their military duty. I don't see any way out of it. Do you?"

"It wouldn't break my heart if they failed to do their duty in this case," said Cleary. "For heaven's sake, don't tell him what you think. Let's keep him feeling agreeable by our conversation. He's fallen in love with you, Sam. Perhaps he'll give you to one of his daughters and she may marry you or eat you, whichever she pleases."

"I wish you wouldn't joke about these things," said Sam. "It's a serious piece of business. There's no glory in being tomahawked here in the mountains."

"And I haven't got my kodak with me either," said Cleary.

"What made you come into my country?" asked Carlos. "Did you not know how powerful I am? And what have I ever done against you?"

"We came because we were ordered to," said Sam.

"And do you do what you are ordered to, whether you approve of it or not?"

"Of course we do."

"That is very strange," said Carlos. "We never obey anybody unless we want to and think he is doing the right thing. I tell my men here what I want to do, and if they agree to it they obey me, but if they don't I give it up. But you do things that you think are wrong and foolish because you are ordered to. It is very strange!"

"We are military men," said Sam. "It requires centuries of civilization to understand us."

"How do you kill your prisoners?" asked Carlos.

"We don't kill them," answered Sam.

"I don't know about that, Sam," said Cleary in English. "We didn't take many prisoners at San Diego."

"That's a fact," answered Sam, in the same language. "We didn't take many. I never thought of that."

"Don't tell him, tho," added Cleary.

"But when you soldiers have to execute an enemy for any reason, how do you do it?"

"We shoot them with rifles," said Sam.

"Is that all?"

"No; we make them dig their graves first," interposed Cleary. "That's a hint to him," he whispered. "It's better than the stew pot."

"Dig their graves first!" exclaimed the chief, and he turned to his men and explained the matter to them. They were evidently delighted.

"What are they saying?" asked James again.

"They say that that is a grand idea, and that they will adopt it. They think civilization is a great thing, and they want to be civilized," said Carlos.

"There, I knew they weren't cannibals!" said the colonel.

There was silence for several minutes, and Carlos smoothed Sam's locks with his hand.

"We must entertain him," said Cleary. "Say something, Sam, or he'll get down on us."

"Say something yourself," said Sam, who was thoroughly vexed at his friend's ill-timed flippancy.

"Does your tribe live in these mountains and nowhere else?" asked Cleary.

"Oh, no. We have brothers everywhere. They are in all the islands, and all over the world."

"You tell them by your language, I suppose."

"No, some of them do not speak our language. That makes no difference. We tell our brothers in other ways."

"How?" said Cleary.

"There are four marks of the true Morito," said the chief. "Their young men are initiated by torture. That is one mark. Then their chief men wear feathers on their heads. That is the second. And the third mark is that they are tattooed, as I am," and he pointed to the strange figures on his naked chest; "and the fourth is that they all use the sacred tom-tom when they dance."

"Sam," said Cleary, "have you got those East Point photographs in your pocket?"

"Yes," said Sam, thrusting his hand into his bosom.

Cleary rolled over to Carlos as well as his ropes would allow, threw his arms about his neck, and cried out in Castalian, "Oh, my brother, my long-lost brother!"



There was a general commotion. The savages drew their knives, and for a moment there seemed to be danger for the prisoners.

"What on earth are you trying to do, Mr. Cleary?" exclaimed Colonel James. "It seems to me that your pleasantries are in very doubtful taste while our lives are in the balance."

Cleary made no answer, but went on crying, "Oh, my brothers, my long-lost brothers!"

"What do you mean?" ejaculated Carlos, in a rage. "I will give you one minute in which to explain, and then your head will fall."

"We are your brothers. We are Moritos. We are your people from a distant island, and you never knew it!"

"Is this true?" asked the chief, looking at Sam and the colonel.

"Swear to it," whispered Cleary.

"We swear that it is true," replied the two officers.

"Then prove it, or you shall all three die to-night. I am not to be trifled with. Proceed."

"Senor," said Cleary, "you have said that you recognize Morito young men by the fact that they have passed through the torture. We have passed through the torture. My friend will show you the pictures taken of both of us when we were about to be burned at the stake, and also one of himself passing through the ordeal of water. Sam, show him the photos."

Sam took the two pictures from his pocket and handed them to Cleary, who held them in his hand while Carlos peered over his shoulder.

"You see here," he said, "that we are tied to the stake. You may recognize our features. You see the expression of pain on our faces. These men standing around are our elder brothers who initiated us. It was done by night in a sacred grove where our ancestors have indulged in these rites for many ages. That wall is part of a ruin of a temple to the god of war."

Carlos evidently was impressed. He took the dim print, with its fitful lantern-light effects, and studied it, comparing the faces with those of his prisoners. Then he showed it to his followers, and they all spoke together.

"They say," said their chief at last, "that they believe you speak the truth. But how do we know that the old man was initiated too?"

"He is an old man," said Cleary. "He had a picture like this in his pocket when he was young. We all carry them with us as long as they hold together. But they will wear out. You may see that this one is wearing out already."

"That is true," assented the chief. "But your picture proves against you as well as for you. You have no feathers in your heads there, and you are wearing none now," and he proudly straightened up those on his head.

"In our country we have not many feathers as you have here," answered Cleary. "The birds do not come often to that land, it is so cold. Only our greatest men wear feathers. When we reach home and grow old and wise and valiant, perhaps we shall all have feathers. This old warrior of ours has feathers at home, but he does not carry them on journeys. My young friend and I are yet too young. We have a picture of our old friend here with his feathers."

"Good heavens!" exclaimed Sam. "What are you driving at. We'll be worse off than ever now."

"Just you let me manage this affair," said Cleary. "Give me that photo of the dress-parade at East Point that you showed me last week."

Sam did as he was told. It represented the dress-parade at sunset, the companies drawn up in line at parade-rest and the band in full blast going through its evolutions in the foreground, with a peculiarly magnificent drum-major in bear-skin hat and plumes at the head, swinging a gorgeous baton.

Cleary exhibited it to Carlos.

"There is our elderly friend," said he, indicating the drum-major. "He is leading the national war-dance of our people. There is the tom-tom," he added triumphantly, pointing at the bass-drum, which was fortunately presented in full relief.

Carlos was taken aback, and he made a guttural exclamation of surprise.

"Do you dress like that when you are at home?" he asked of Colonel James.

"I do," replied the colonel majestically.

"Then I bow down before you," said the chief, kneeling down and touching the ground with his forehead three times. "But," he added, as he rose to his feet, "you have not yet proved that we are brothers. Where are your tattoo-marks? Look at mine!"

"Sam, strip," whispered Cleary, and Sam tore off his coat and shirt, displaying the masterpieces of the artistic boatswain. A cry of admiration went up from the assembled savages. Carlos rushed at him, threw his arms about his neck, and rubbed his nose violently against his.

"For heaven's sake, save me, Cleary!" cried Sam. "My nose will be worse than Saunder's, and Marian is prejudiced against damaged noses."

Cleary thought it best not to interfere, and finally the chief grew tired of this exercise. He hardly paid any attention while Cleary showed the modest tattoo-marks on his arms, and Colonel James exhibited equally insignificant symbols on his, for he, too, had been tattooed in his youth. He was too much engrossed in Sam's red hair and his variegated cuticle.

"Here is the picture of the water-ordeal which you forgot to look at," said Cleary, as he collected the photographs. "This is my friend again with his head in the water and his legs stretched out in supplication to the god of the temple."

Carlos looked at it in ecstasy.

"Oh, my brothers!" he cried. "To think that I should not have known you! You torture each other just as we do. You are tattooed just as we are! You have bigger feathers and bigger dances and bigger tom-toms. You are bigger savages than we are! Come, let us feast together."

The repast was soon prepared in the center of the clearing. The prisoners, now unbound, washed and happy, were seated in the place of honor on each side of the chief. A huge pot of miscellaneous food was set down in the midst, and they all began to eat with their fingers, the chief picking out the tid-bits for his guests and putting them in their mouths. They were so much delighted with the results of the day's work that they ate heartily and asked no questions. When the meal was over, Cleary turned to the chief and thanked him in a little oration, which was received with great favor.

"We have found our brothers," he said in conclusion, "and you have found yours. You believe us now when we say that we have come to bless you and not to injure you. We will not take your land. We will generously give you part of it for yourselves. You see how we all love you, the aged warrior and the red-headed chief as well as I. Why will you not come with us when we set out on our journey to our great chief, or why, at any rate, will you not send your chiefs with us, to tell him that you have received us all as brothers and that we shall always be friends and allies?"

Carlos translated this speech sentence by sentence. Cleary was a good speaker, and they were impressed by his style as well as by his argument. They palavered together for some time; then Carlos arose and addressed his guests, but particularly Sam, whom he considered as the leader.

"Brothers," he said, "we are indeed brothers by the torture, tattoo, tom-tom, and top-feather. We did not know who you were, we did not understand you. We wished to be left in peace. We did not want to have the Castalians come here and rob us. We did not want their beads and their brandy. We wanted to be let alone. But you are our brothers. You are greater savages than we are. Why should we not go with you? The chiefs of our other villages are coming to-morrow at sunrise. I will conduct you back to your great chief with them, and we shall all rejoice together."

It was now nearly dark. Carlos apologized for not having accommodation for his guests in his tree-hut, but provided comfortable blankets on the ground and had a fire built for them in a secluded place near the village. The three men were soon sleeping peacefully, and they did not awake until the sun had already risen.



CHAPTER IX

On Duty at Havilla



When they woke they heard the noise of voices in the village and hastened thither. The chiefs had already arrived and were exchanging greetings with Carlos and the other residents. Breakfast was prepared by the women on the same ground where they had dined, and by eight o'clock the expedition started, composed of some thirty warriors, several of whom were laden with presents in the shape of baskets and native cloth. When they neared the headquarters of the little invading army, the three white men went ahead and informed the sentinels that it was a peaceful embassy which followed them.

"You must leave me to tell the story of our exploit," Cleary had said, and his friends were so well satisfied with his record as a talker that they assented.

"General," said Cleary, as they entered his hut in the village, "we are bringing in all the chiefs of the Moritos. They are ready to lay down their arms and accept any terms. We have sworn friendship to them."

"How on earth have you managed it?" said the general.

"It is chiefly due to Captain Jinks, or, I should say, Major Jinks. They were about to kill us when, by the sheer force of his glance and his powers of speech, he actually cowed them, and they submitted to him."

"I have heard of taming wild beasts that way," said the general, "but I never quite believed it."

When the chiefs arrived they embraced every soldier they saw and showed every sign of joy. The general ordered a feast to be spread for them and addressed them in English. They did not understand a word of this harangue, but seemed much affected. When they heard that the great general of all was at San Diego, only a day's march away, they insisted on going thither, and the next day the brigade marched back again, leaving a small garrison behind. The army at San Diego could hardly believe its eyes when at sundown the expedition returned, having fully accomplished its object without firing a shot and accompanied by a band of Moritos. When Cleary's version of the exploit became known, Sam was openly acclaimed as a hero and the favorite of the army. General Laughter complimented him again, and again mentioned him in despatches. A week later his promotion to be major of volunteers, for meritorious conduct in the field of San Diego, was announced by cable, and again after a few days he was made a colonel. Sam's cup was full.

"Sam," said Cleary one day, "I believe in your luck. You'll be President some of these days. All the time we were up in the mountains I knew it would come out all right because we had you along."

Meanwhile the chiefs had tendered their presents to General Laughter and had drunk plentiful libations of whisky and soda with him. They spent a week of festivity in the town and then returned, having agreed to all that was asked of them by their "brothers."

The rainy season now set in, and operations in the field became difficult. Furthermore, the general had decided that the war was at an end, and officially it was so considered. Some troops were left at San Diego, but the headquarters were removed again to Havilla, and Sam went back with the staff. He found himself received as a great man. His two exploits had made him the most famous officer in the army, even more so than the general in command. Soon after his return to the city one of the civil commissioners, who had been sent out by the Administration, gave a large dinner in his honor at the palace. The chief officers and civil officials were among the guests, as well as two or three native merchants who had remained loyal to the invading army for financial and commercial reasons and had not joined the rebels, who composed nine-tenths of the population. These merchants were generally known in the army as the "patriots," and were treated with much consideration by the civil commissioners.

After dinner the host proposed a toast to Sam and accompanied it with a patriotic speech which thrilled the hearts of his audience. He pointed to the national flag which was festooned upon the wall.

"Look at Old Gory!" he cried. "What does she stand for? For the rights of the oppressed all over the earth, for freedom and equal rights, for——"

There was a sound of boisterous laughter in the next room. A young officer ran forward and whispered to the orator, "Be careful; some of those captured rebel officers are shut up in there, and perhaps they can overhear you. Be careful what you say. Some of them speak English." The commissioner hemmed and hawed and tried to recover himself.

"What does the dear old flag stand for?" he repeated. "For liber—No—for-r-r——Well, 'pon my word, what does she stand for?"

"For the army and navy," whispered a neighbor.

"Yes," he thundered. "Yes, the flag stands for the army and navy, for our officers and men, for our men-of-war and artillery, for our cavalry and infantry, that's what she stands for!"

This was received with great applause, and the speaker smiled with satisfaction. Then gradually his expression became sad.

"I am sorry to say," he said,—"I am ashamed as a citizen of our great land to be obliged to admit, that there are at home a few craven-hearted, mean-spirited men—shall I call them men? No, nor even women—there are creatures, I say, who disapprove of our glorious deeds, who spurn the flag and the noble principles for which it stands and to which I have alluded, who say that we have no business to take away land which belongs to other people, and that we have not the right to slaughter rebels and traitors in our midst. I appeal to the patriotic Cubapinos at this board, if we are not introducing a higher and nobler civilization into these islands."

The native gentlemen bowed assent.

"Have we not given them a better language than their own? Have we not established our enlightened institutions? For instance, let me cite the custom house. We have the collector here with us—and the post-office. The postmaster is——"

"Sh-sh-sh!" whispered the prompter again. "He's in jail."

"I mean the assistant postmaster is also with us. And there are our other institutions, the——"

"There's going to be a prize-fight to-night," cried a young lieutenant who had taken too much wine, at the foot of the table. "Dandy Sullivan against Joe Corker."

This interruption was too much for the commissioner, who was quite unable to resume the thread of his remarks for several moments. The guests in the mean time moved uneasily in their seats, for most of them were anxious to be off to see the fight.

"Those who carp against us at home," continued the speaker, trying in vain to find some graceful way of coming to a close, "those who dishonor the flag are the men who pretend to be filled with humanity and to desire the welfare of mankind. They pretend to object to bloodshed. They are mere sentimentalists. They are not practical men. They do not understand our destiny, nor the Constitution, nor progress, nor civilization, nor glory, nor honor, nor the dear old flag, God bless her. They are sentimentalists. They have no sense of humor."

Here the audience applauded loudly, altho the speaker had not intended to have them applaud just there. It occurred to him that he might just as well stop at this point, and he sat down, not altogether satisfied, however, with his peroration and vexed to think that he had forgotten Sam altogether. The party broke up without delay, and Sam walked off with Cleary, who had been present, to see the prize-fight.

"The commissioner isn't much of a talker, is he?" said Cleary. "That was a bad break about the postmaster. I hear they've arrested Captain Jones for embezzlement too."

"Good heavens!" cried Sam, "what an outrage!" And he told Cleary of his narrow escape from complicity in the matter, and how the military operations had prevented him from calling on the contractors. "Civilians don't understand these things," he added. "They oughtn't to send them out here. They don't understand things."

"No. They haven't been brought up on tabasco sauce. What can you expect of them?"

They soon arrived at the Alhambra Theater at which the fight was to take place, and found it in progress. A large crowd was collected, consisting of soldiers and natives in equal proportions. The last round was just finishing, and Joe Corker was in the act of knocking his opponent out. The audience was shouting with glee and excitement, the cheers being mixed with hisses and cries of "Fake, fake!"

"I know Corker," said Cleary. "Come, I'll introduce you."

They pushed forward through the crowd, and were soon in a room behind the stage, where Corker was being rubbed and washed down by his assistants. Sam looked at the great man and felt rather small and insignificant. "Here's a kind of civilian who is not inferior to army men," he thought. "Perhaps he is even superior." He would not have said this aloud, but he thought it.

"How de do, Joe?" said Cleary, shaking hands. "That was a great fight. You knocked him out clean. Here's my friend, Colonel Jinks, the hero of San Diego and the pacifier of the Moritos."

Corker nodded condescendingly.

"We enjoyed the fight very much," said Sam, not altogether at his ease. "It reminded me of my own experience at East Point."

"It was a good fight," said Corker, "and a damned fair one too. I'd like to punch the heads of those fellers who cried 'fake.' It was as fair as fair could be, and Dandy and me was as evenly matched as two peas. I always believe in takin' a feller of your size, and I did."

"That wasn't the way at East Point," said Cleary. "They didn't take fellows of their size there."

"That's against our rules anyway," said Corker.

"It must be a civilian rule," said Sam, beginning to feel his superiority again. "The military rule as we were taught it at East Point was to take a smaller man if you could, and you see, the army does just the same thing. We tackled Castalia and then the Cubapines, and they weren't of our size. We don't fight the powerful countries."

"That's queer," said Corker, drinking a lemonade.

"It's perfectly right," said Sam. "When a man's in the right, and of course we always are, if he fights a man of his size or one bigger than he is, he gives the wrong a chance of winning, and that is clearly immoral. If he takes a weaker man he makes the truth sure of success. And it's just the same way with nations."

Corker did not seem to be much interested by this disquisition, and Cleary dragged his friend away after they had respectfully bade the pugilist good-night. A crowd of soldiers was waiting outside to see Corker get into his carriage. They paid no attention whatever to Sam and Cleary.

"When it comes to real glory a prize-fighter beats a colonel all hollow," said Cleary, and they parted for the night.

Sam was retained on the general staff and assigned to the important post of censor of the press. His duties were most engrossing, for not only were the proofs of all the local newspapers submitted to him, but also all other printed matter. One day a large number of handbills were confiscated at a printer's and brought in for his inspection. He was very busy and asked his native private secretary to look them over for him. In a half-hour he came to him with a translation of the document.

"What does it say?" cried Sam. "I have no time to read it through."

"It says that governments are made to preserve liberty, and that they get their only authority from the free will of the people who are ruled by them," answered the clerk.

"That's clearly seditious," said Sam. "There must be some plot at the bottom of it. Have the whole edition burned and have the printer locked up."

A few days later a newspaper was brought to him announcing that the Moritos had massacred the garrison stationed among them, that the whole province of San Diego was in revolt, and that the regiment there would probably have to fall back on Havilla. Sam was much scandalized, and sent at once for the native editor.

"What does this mean?" said he.

"Pardon, my colonel," said the little man apologetically, "this is a newspaper and this is news. I am sure it is true."

"That is the civilian conception of news," said Sam, with disdain. "Officially this is not true. We have instructions, as you have often been told, not to allow anything to be printed that can injure the Administration at Whoppington. Any one can see how this would injure it, and news that can injure it is, from the military point of view, untrue. General Notice is making a tour of the country at home, receiving ovations everywhere on account of the complete subjugation of the islands. What effect will such news have upon his reception? Is it a proper way to treat a general who has deserved well of his country?"

"But," interposed the editor, "don't the people know that you are continually sending out more troops?"

"The people do not mind a little thing like that," said Sam. "When an officer and a gentleman says the war is over, they believe it, and they show their gratitude by voting money to send new regiments. Your action in printing this stuff is most disloyal. I will send one of my assistants around to your office with you to see that this edition is destroyed, and if you repeat the offense you will be deported."

The unfortunate man retired, shrugging his shoulders. As he went out Cleary came running in with a copy of the paper.

"Oh! you've got a copy of that, have you?" said Sam. "It's an outrage to print such things, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid it's true," said Cleary.

"What difference does that make?" exclaimed Sam. "It's the business of an army to conquer a country. We've done it twice, and we can do it as often as we like again."

"Hear, hear!" cried Cleary. "You're becoming more and more of a soldier as you get promoted. You have the true military instinct, I see. Of course it makes no difference who holds the country, but I'm a little disappointed in the Moritos. As for San Diego, Colonel Booth of your old regiment is in command, and I half think he didn't back up the Morito garrison out of jealousy toward you. He wanted to have the Morito country go back, so as to belittle our exploit. But we'll get even with him. I've seen the cable-censor, and not a word about it will go home. I have just sent a despatch saying that the whole island is entirely in our hands and that the natives are swearing allegiance by thousands."

"That's right," said Sam. "It's really a kindness to the people at home, for if they think it's true it makes them just as happy as if it were true, and I think it's positively cruel to worry them unnecessarily."

"To be sure," said Cleary. "And if it does get out, we'll throw all the blame on the Secretary of War and his embalmed beef. They say he's writing a book to show that a diet of mummies is the best for fighting men—and so the quarrels go on. By the way, I just stopped a piece of news that might have interested you. Do you know that you have suppressed the Declaration of Independence?"

"Nonsense. I haven't seen a copy of it in two years."

"Well, here's a despatch that I got away from the cable-office just in time. It would have gone in another ten minutes. Here it is."

Sam took the paper and read an account of the printing by a native committee of fifty thousand copies of the Declaration in Castalian, and its immediate suppression by Colonel Jinks, the censor.

"It's a downright lie," cried Sam. "I'll call my native secretary and inquire into this," and he rang his bell.

"See here, what does this mean?" he asked the clerk who hurried in.

The man thought a minute.

"I do not know the Declaration of Independence," he said, "but perhaps that paper I translated for you the other day had something to do with it. I have not a copy here."

"Were they burned?"

"Not yet, sir. They were seized, and are in our depot."

"Come," said Sam to Cleary, "let's go over there and look at it. It's a half-mile walk and it will do me good."

"How are things at San Diego?" asked Sam, as they walked along together. "You've been out there, haven't you?"

"Yes. We'll have to come in. The Cubapinos have got a force together at a town farther down the river and are threatening us there. We got pretty near them and mined under a convent they were in, and blew up a lot of them, but it didn't do them much harm, for a lot of recruits came in just afterward from the mountains. That convent was born to be blown up, it seems, for some Castalian anarchists had a plot to blow it up some years ago, and came near doing it, too. We made use of their tunnels, which the monks were too lazy to have filled up. The anarchist plot was found out, and they garroted a dozen of them."

"What inhuman brutes those anarchists are!" cried Sam. "Think of their trying to blow up a whole houseful of people! I wish we could take some one of the smaller islands and put all the anarchists of the world there and let them live out their precious theories. Just think what a hell it would be! What infernal engines of hatred and destruction they would construct, if they were left to themselves—machines charged with dynamite and bristling with all sorts of explosive contrivances!"

"Something like a battle-ship," suggested Cleary.

"Don't talk nonsense!" exclaimed Sam. "Only Castalian fiends would try to destroy law and order and upset the peaceable course of society in such a way. Do you suppose that any of our people at home would do such a thing?"

"None, outside of the artillery," answered Cleary. "Well, at any rate, our blowing up of the convent didn't do much good. There was some talk of putting poison in the river to dispose of them, but of course we couldn't do that."

"Of course not," said Sam. "That would be barbarous and against all military precedents. The rules of war don't allow it."

"They're rather queer, those rules," answered his friend. "I should like my enemies to take notice that I prefer being poisoned to being blown up with bombshells. In some respects they don't pay much attention to the rules, either. They don't take prisoners much nowadays. Most of my despatches now read, 'fifty natives killed,' but they say nothing of wounded or prisoners."

"We're fighting savages, we must remember that," said Sam.

"Then we've got a way of trying our pistols and rifles on natives working in the fields; it's rather novel, to say the least. I saw one man in the 73d try his new revolver on a native rowing a boat on the river, and over the fellow toppled and the boat drifted down-stream. The men all applauded, and even the officers laughed."

"Boys will be boys," said Sam, smiling. "They're good shots, at any rate."

"They are that. There were some darkies plowing up there just this side of San Diego, and some of our fellows picked them off as neatly as you please. It must have been eight hundred yards if it was a foot. But somehow I don't quite like it."

"War is war," said Sam, using a phrase which presumably has a rational meaning, as it is so often employed by reasonable people. "It doesn't pay to be squeamish. The squeamish men don't make good soldiers. I've seen enough to learn that. They hesitate to obey orders, if they don't like them."

As he said this they passed a small crowd of boys in the street. They were trying to make two dogs fight, but the dogs refused to do so, and the boys were beating them and urging them on.

"What stupid brutes they are," said Sam. "They're badly trained."

"They haven't had a military education," responded Cleary. "But I almost forgot to ask you, have you seen the papers from home this morning? They're all full of you and your greatness. Here are two or three," and he took them from his pocket.

Sam opened them and gazed at them entranced. There was page upon page of his exploits, portraits of all kinds, biographies, anecdotes, interviews, headlines, everything that his wildest dreams had imagined, only grander and more glorious. There was nothing to be seen but the words "Captain Jinks" from one end of the papers to the other.

"They've even got a song about you," said Cleary. "Here it is:

"'I'm Captain Jinks of the horse-marines. I feed my horse on corn and beans. Of course it's quite beyond my means, Tho a captain in the army!'"

"I don't altogether like it," said Sam. "What are the horse-marines? I don't believe there are any."

"Oh, that doesn't make any difference. It seems it's an old song that was all the go long before our time, and your name has revived it. It will advertise you splendidly. The whole thing is a grand piece of work for The Lyre. Jonas has been congratulating me on it. He'd come and tell you so, but he doesn't want to be seen with you. You've censured out everything I've asked you to for him, and he doesn't want people to know about his pull. That's the reason why he's never called on you. But he says it's the best newspaper job he ever heard of. I tell you we're a great combination, you and I. Perhaps I'll write a book and call it, 'With Jinks at Havilla.' Rather an original title, isn't it? But I'm afraid that all this talk at home will not make you very popular with the officers here, who knew you when you were only a captain. What would you say to being transferred to Porsslania? They want new men for our army there, and I've half a mind to go too for a change and act as the Lyre's correspondent there. They'll do anything I ask them now."

"I'd like it very much," said Sam. "I'm tired of this literary business. But here we are. This is our depot."

The two men entered the long low building in which confiscated property was stored. A soldier who was acting as watchman showed them where the circulars were piled. Cleary took one and glanced over it.



"As sure as fate, it's the Declaration of Independence!" he laughed.

Sam took up a copy and looked at it too.

"I believe it is," he said. "I didn't half look at it the other day. I'm ever so much obliged to you for telling me and stopping the telegram. But between you and me, the circular ought to be suppressed anyway. What business have these people to talk about equal rights and the consent of the governed? The men who wrote the Declaration—Jeffries and the rest—were mere civilians and these ideas are purely civilian. Come, let's have them burned at once," and he called up two or three soldiers, and in a few minutes the circulars formed a mass of glowing ashes in the courtyard.



CHAPTER X

A Great Military Exploit



One day while Sam was still waiting for Cleary to carry out his designs, his secretary told him that a sergeant wished to see him, and Sam directed him to show him into his office. The man was a rather sinister-looking individual, and his speech betrayed his Anglian origin.

"Colonel," said he, after the door was closed and they were alone, "I'm only a sergeant promoted from the ranks, but I'm not just an ordinary common soldier. I know a thing or two, and I've got a plan and I thought perhaps you would be glad to 'ear of it. I 'ave the 'abit of observing things, and most soldiers don't. Why, bless me, you can march them into a country and out again, and with their eyes front, they don't see a bloomin' thing. They're trained to see nothin'. They're good for nothin' but to do as they're bid. I used to be in the army in the old country, and once at Baldershot I saw Lord Bullsley come along on horseback and stop two soldiers carryin' a soup-pail.

"'Give me a taste of that,' says he, and one of them runs off and gets a ladle and gives him a taste. He spits it out and makes a face and shouts:

"'Good heavens! man, you don't call that stuff soup, do you?'

"'No, sir,' says the man. 'It's dish-water that we was a-hemptyin'.' That's the soldier all over again. He 'adn't sense enough to tell him beforehand."

"I don't see, sergeant, what that has to do with me," said Sam curtly.

"Well, sir, perhaps it hasn't. But I only wanted to say that I ain't that kind of a man. I sees and thinks for myself. Now I 'ear that they've got a letter captured from Gomaldo askin' General Baluna for reenforcements, and that they've got some letters from Baluna too, and know his handwritin'. I only wanted to say that I used to be a writin'-master and that I can copy any writin' goin' or any signature either, so you can't tell them apart. Now why couldn't we forge an answer from Baluna to Gomaldo and send the first reenforcements ourselves? He wants a 'undred men at a time. And then we could capture Gomaldo as easy as can be. We could find him in the mountains. I know a lot of these natives 'ere who would go with us if we paid them well."

"We should have to dress them up in the native uniform," said Sam. "I don't know whether that would be quite honorable."

The sergeant smiled knowingly, but said nothing.

"Do you think we could get native officers to do such a thing?" Sam asked.

"Oh, yes! Plenty of them. I know one or two. At first they wouldn't like it. But give them money enough and commissions in our army, and they'd do it."

"How different they are from us!" mused Sam. "Nobody in our army, officer or man, could ever be approached in that way."

"It seems to me I've read somewhere of one of our principal generals—Maledict Donald, wasn't it?"

Sam thought best not to hear this.

"But we would have to send some of our own officers on such an expedition," he said. "We couldn't disguise them as natives."

"That wouldn't be necessary. They can go as if they were prisoners—you and two or three others you could pick out. I'd like to go too. And then I'd expect good pay if the thing went through, and a commission as lieutenant."

"There'd be no trouble about that," answered Sam. "I'll think it over, and perhaps consult the general about it and let you know by to-morrow."

"Very good, sir. I'm Sergeant Keene of the 5th Company, 39th Infantry."

As the sergeant went out Cleary came in, and Sam laid the matter before him.

"I know that fellow by sight," said Cleary. "They say he's served several terms for forgery and counterfeiting. I don't like his looks. That's a great scheme tho, if it does seem a little like bunco-steering. It's all right in war perhaps."

"Yes," said Sam. "We have a higher standard of honor than civilians. I'll go and see the general about it now."

After some consultation the general approved the plan and authorized Sam to carry it out. The latter set Keene to work at once at forging a letter from Baluna acknowledging receipt of the orders for reenforcements and informing Gomaldo that he was sending him the first company of one hundred troops. Meanwhile he selected three officers of the Regular Army to accompany him besides Keene, and through the latter approached three native officers who had been captured at San Diego. One of these was a close confidential friend of Gomaldo's, but Keene succeeded after much persuasion in winning them all over. It was an easier task to make up a company of native privates, who readily followed their officers when a small payment on account had been given to each man.

"I don't quite like the job," Sam confessed to Cleary, "but the general says it's all right and so it must be."

At last the expedition started out. All the natives were dressed in the native uniform, and the five white men were clad as privates in the invading army and held as prisoners. After passing the outposts near San Diego they turned toward the south in the direction of the mountains where Gomaldo's captured letter had been dated. They were received with rejoicings in each native village as soon as they showed the forged letter of Baluna and exhibited their white prisoners. The villagers showed much interest in the latter, but treated them kindly, expressing their pity for them and offering them food. They had no difficulty in obtaining exact directions as to Gomaldo's situation, but found that it lay in the midst of an uninhabited district where it was impossible to obtain supplies, the village where he had established his headquarters being the only one within many miles. They scraped together what food they could in the shape of rice, Indian corn, and dried beef, and set out on the last stage of their journey. There had been heavy rains recently, and the mountain paths were almost impassable. There were swift rivers to cross, precipices to climb, and jungles to penetrate. The heat was intense, and the men began to suffer from it. The advance was very slow, and soon the provisions gave out. It began to seem probable that the whole expedition would perish in the mountains. Sam called a council of war, and, at Keene's suggestion, picked out the two most vigorous privates, who went ahead bearing the alleged Baluna letter and another from Gomaldo's renegade friend, who was nominally in command, asking for speedy succor. The two ambassadors were well schooled in what they should say, and were promised a large sum of money if they succeeded.

For two long days the party waited entirely without food, and they were just beginning to despair, when the two men returned with a dozen carriers sent by Gomaldo bringing an ample supply of bread and meat. He also delivered a letter in which the native general congratulated his friend on his success in leading the reenforcements and in capturing the prisoners, and gave express instructions that the latter should be treated with all consideration. The carriers were commanded by a native lieutenant, who insisted that the prisoners should share equally with the native troops, and saw to it personally that Sam and his friends were served. His kindness cut Sam to the heart. After a few hours' delay the expedition set out again, and on the following day it reached the mountain village where Gomaldo had established himself.

Gomaldo's body-guard, composed of fifty troops neatly dressed in white uniforms, were drawn up to receive them, and the whole population greeted them with joy. Gomaldo himself stood on the veranda of his house, and, after saluting the expedition, invited the native officers who were to betray him in to dinner. At this moment Keene whispered to Sam and the latter signaled to the native officer, Gomaldo's treacherous friend who was in charge of him, and this man gave an order in a low voice, whereupon the whole expedition discharged their rifles, and half-a-dozen of the body-guard fell to the ground. In the mean time two of the native officers threw their arms round Gomaldo and took him prisoner, and his partizans were seized with a panic. Sam took command of his men, who outnumbered the loyal natives, and in a few minutes he had unchallenged control of the post without losing a single man, killed or wounded. Gomaldo was intensely excited and upbraided Sam bitterly when taken before him, but upon being promised good treatment he became more tractable. Sam gave orders that the villagers should bury the dead, among whom he regretted to see the body of the native lieutenant who had brought him food when they were starving; and then, after a rest of several hours, the expedition set out on the return journey, Gomaldo and his men accompanying it as prisoners.

The news of the capture preceded the party, and when, after a march of several days, they arrived at Havilla, Sam was received as a conquering hero by the army. Cleary took the first opportunity to grasp his hand.

"Is it really a great and noble act?" Sam whispered. "I suppose it is, for everybody says so, but somehow it has left a bad taste in my mouth, and I can't bear the sight of that fellow Keene."

"Never mind," said Cleary. "You won't have to see him long. We're going to Porsslania in a fortnight, you and I, and you'll have a chance to turn the world upside down there."



CHAPTER XI

A Dinner Party at Gin-Sin



During the past months great events had taken place in the ancient empire of Porsslania. Many years earlier the various churches had sent missionaries to that benighted land to reclaim its inhabitants from barbarism and heathenism. These emissaries were not received with the enthusiastic gratitude which they deserved, and some of the Porsslanese had the impudence to assert that they were a civilized people when their new teachers had been naked savages. They proved their barbarism, however, by indulging in the most unreasonable prejudices against a foreign religion, and when cornered in argument they would say to the missionaries, "How would you like us to convert your people to our religion?" an answer so illogical that it demonstrates either their bad faith or the low development of their intellects. The missionaries of some of the sects, by the help of their governments, gradually obtained a good deal of land and at the same time a certain degree of civil jurisdiction. The foreign governments, wishing to bless the natives with temporal as well as celestial advantages, followed up the missionary pioneers with traders in cheap goods, rum, opium, and fire-arms, and finally endeavored to introduce their own machinery and factory system, which had already at home raised all the laboring classes to affluence, put an end to poverty, and realized the dream of the prophets of old. The Porsslanese resolutely resisted all these benevolent enterprises and doggedly expressed their preference for their ancient customs. In order to overcome this unreasonable opposition and assure the welfare of the people, the various Powers from time to time seized the great ports of the Empire. The fertile diplomacy of the courts found sufficient grounds for this. Most frequently the pretext was an attack upon a missionary or even a case of cold-blooded murder, and it became a proverb among the Porsslanese that it takes a province to bury a missionary. Finally, all the harbors of the Empire were in the hands of foreigners, who used this advantageous position to confer blessings thick and fast upon the reluctant population, who richly deserved, as a punishment, to be left to themselves. At last a revolutionary party sprang up among this deluded people, claiming that their own Government was showing too much favor to foreign religions and foreign machines. The Government did not put down this revolt. Some said that it did not have the power and that the provinces were practically independent of the central authority. Others whispered that the Imperial Court secretly favored the rebels. However this may be, the Fencers, as the rebels were called from their skill with the native sword, succeeded without much difficulty in getting possession of the imperial city and imprisoning the foreign embassies and legations in the enclosure of the Anglian Embassy. The Imperial Court meanwhile fled to a distant city and left the entire control of the situation in the hands of the Fencers. The peril of the legations was extreme. They were cut off completely from the coast, which was many miles distant, and the foreign newspaper correspondents amused themselves by sending detailed accounts of the manner in which they had been tortured and murdered. The principal men among the Porsslanese assured the Powers that the legations were safe, but they were not believed. A great expedition was organized in which all the great Powers took a part. The forts near the sea were stormed and taken. The intermediate city of Gin-Sin was besieged and finally fell, and the forces advanced to the gates of the Capital. Before long they succeeded in taking possession of the great city. The Fencers fled in confusion, and at least two-thirds of the population fled with them, fearing the vengeance of the foreigners. The legations were saved, after one ambassador had been shot by an assassin. The city was divided into districts, each of which was turned over to the safe-keeping of one of the foreign armies, and the object of the expedition had been accomplished. In the mean time many foreign residents, including many missionaries in various parts of the Empire, had been murdered, the inhabitants not recognizing the obvious fact that they and their countrymen were their best friends.

Affairs had reached this position when orders came to Havilla for Colonel Jinks to proceed to join the army in Porsslania, where he would be placed in command of a regiment. His fidus Achates, Cleary, had also received permission from his journal to accompany him, and the two set sail on a transport which carried details of troops. It is true that these troops could ill be spared from the Cubapines, as the country was still in the hands of the natives with the exception of here and there a strip of the seacoast, and there was much illness among the troops, many being down with fever and worse diseases. But it was necessary for the Government to make as good a showing in Porsslania as the other Powers, and the reenforcements had to go.

It was on a hot summer day that Sam and Cleary looked over the rail of the transport as they watched the troops come on board. It was a remarkable scene, for a crowd of native women were on the shore, weeping and arguing with the men and preventing them from getting into the boats.

"Who on earth are they?" asked Sam.

"It's a pretty mean practical joke," said Cleary. "That regiment has been up in the interior, and they've all had wives up there. They buy them for five dollars apiece. And the Governor of the province there, a friendly native, has sent more than a hundred of the women down here, to get rid of them, I suppose, and now the poor things want to come along with their young men. Some of them have got babies, do you see?"

After a long and noisy delay the captain of the transport, assisted by the officers of the regiment in question, persuaded the women to stay behind, giving a few coppers to each and making the most reckless and unabashed promises of return. The steamer then weighed anchor and was soon passing the sunken Castalian fleet.

"The Court at Whoppington has just allowed prize-money to the officers and men for sinking those ships," said Cleary. "They didn't get as much as they wanted, but it's a good round sum."

"I'm glad they will get some remuneration for their hard work," said Sam.

"Do you see that native sloop over there?" said Cleary. "She's a pirate boat we caught down in the archipelago. She had sunk a merchant vessel loaded with opium or something of the kind, very valuable. They'd got her in shallow water and had killed some of the crew, and the rest swam ashore, and they were dividing up the swag when they were caught. They would have had I don't know how many dollars apiece. They were all hanged."

"Serves them right," said Sam. "We must put down piracy. Good-by, Havilla," he added, waving his hat toward the capital. "It makes me feel happy to think that I have actually ended the war by capturing Gomaldo."

"Not much!" cried Cleary. "Didn't you hear the news this morning? The Cubapinos are twice as active as ever. They're rising everywhere."

Not many days later, and after an uneventful voyage, the transport sailed into the mouth of the Hai-Po River and came to anchor off the ruins of the Porsslanese forts. Colonel Jinks had orders to proceed at once to Gin-Sin, and he left with Cleary on a river steamer. They were much struck by the utter desolation of the country. There were no signs of life, but here and there the smoking ruins of a town showed where human beings had been. They noticed something floating in the water with a swarm of flies hovering over it.

"Good heavens! it's a corpse," said Cleary. "It's a native. That's a handsome silk jacket, and it doesn't look like a soldier's either. Look at that vulture. It's sweeping down on it."

The vulture circled round in the air, coming close to the body, but did not touch it.

"It has had enough to eat already," said an Anglian passenger who was standing near them. "Did you ever see such a fat bird? You'll see plenty of bodies before long. Do you observe those vultures ahead there? You'll find floating bodies wherever they are."

"I suppose they are the bodies of soldiers," said Sam.

"No, indeed, not all of them by any means. These Porsslanese must be stamped out like vipers. I'm thankful to say most of the armies are doing their duty. They don't give any quarter to native soldiers, and they despatch the wounded too. That's the only way to treat them, and they don't feel pain the way we do. In fact, they rather like it. The Tutonians are setting a good example; they shoot their prisoners. I saw them shoot about seventy. They tied them together four by four by their pigtails and then shot them. It's best, tho, to avoid taking prisoners; that's what most of them do."

"But you say these bodies are not all soldiers," said Cleary.

"No, of course not. You see the Mosconians kill any natives they please. Then those who are out at night are killed as a matter of course, and those who won't work for the soldiers naturally have to be put out of the way. It's the only way to enforce discipline. Look at these bodies now."

Corpses were now coming down the river one after another. Each had its attendant swarm of flies, and vultures soared in flocks in the air. The river was yellow with mud, and the air oppressively hot and heavy. Now and then a whiff of putrid air was blown across the deck. The three men watched the bodies drifting past, brainless skulls, eyeless sockets, floating along many of them as if they were swimming on their backs. "It is really a fine example of the power of civilization," said the stranger. "I don't approve of everything that has been done, by any means. Some of the armies have treated women rather badly, but no English-speaking soldiers have done that. In fact, your army has hardly been up to the average in effectiveness. You and the Japs have been culpably lenient, if you will permit me to say so."

"We are only just starting out on our career as a military nation," said Sam. "You must not expect too much of us at first. We'll soon get our hand in. As for the Japs, why they're heathen. They can hardly be expected to behave like Christians. But we were afraid that the war was over and that we should find nothing to do."

"The war over! What an absurdity! I have lived in Porsslania for over thirty years and I ought to know something about it by now. There's an army of at least forty thousand Fencers over there to the northwest and another twenty-five thousand in the northeast. The Tutonians are the only people who understand it. Their first regiments have just arrived, and they are going to do something. They say the Emperor is coming himself, and he will put an end to this state of affairs. He is not a man to stand rebellion. All we can say is that we have made a good beginning. We have laid the whole province waste, and it will be a long time before they forget it."

The journey was hot and tedious; the desolated shore, the corpses and vultures, and an occasional junk with square-rigged sails and high poop were the only things upon which to fix the eye. When at last our travelers arrived at the city of Gin-Sin, Sam learned that his regiment had proceeded to the Capital and was in camp there, and it would be impossible for him to leave until the following day. He stopped with Cleary at the principal hotel. The city was in a semi-ruined condition, but life was already beginning to assume its ordinary course. The narrow streets, hung with banners and lanterns and cabalistic signs, were full of people. Barbers and scribes were plying their trades in the open air, and war was not always in sight. Sam's reputation had preceded him, and he had scarcely gone to his room when he received an invitation from a leading Anglian merchant to dine with him that evening. Cleary was anxious to go too, and it so happened that he had letters of introduction to the gentleman in question. He made his call at once and was duly invited.

There were a dozen or more guests at dinner, all of them men. Indeed, there were few white women left at Gin-Sin. With the exception of Sam and Cleary all the guests were Anglians. There was the consul-general, a little man with a gray beard, a tall, bald-headed, gray-mustached major-general in command of the Anglian forces at Gin-Sin, two distinguished missionaries of many years' experience, several junior officers of the army, and a merchant or two. When dinner was announced they all went in, each taking precedence according to his station. Sam knew nothing of such matters, and was loath to advance until his host forced him to. He found a card with his name on it at the second cover on the right from his host. On his right was the card of a young captain. The place on his left and immediately on the right of the host bore no card, and the consul-general and the major-general both made for it. The former got there first, but the military man, who was twice his size, came into violent collision with him, pushed him away and captured the seat, while the consul-general was obliged to retreat and take the seat on the left of his host. The whole party pretended very hard to have noticed nothing unusual.

"Rather odd performance, eh?" whispered the captain to Sam. "You see how it is. Old Folsom says he takes precedence because he represents the Crown, but the general says that's all rot, for the consul's only a commercial agent and a K.C.Q.X. Now the general is a G.C.Q.X., and he says that gives him precedence. Nobody can settle it, and so they have to fight it out every time they meet."

"I see," said Sam. "I don't know anything about such things, but I should think that the general was clearly in the right. He could hardly afford to let the army be overridden."

"Quite so," said the captain. "I don't suppose you know these people," he added.

"Not one of them, except my friend, Mr. Cleary. We only arrived to-day."

"The general is a good deal of a fellow," said the captain. "I was with him in Egypt and afterward in South Africa."

"Were you, indeed?" cried Sam. "Do tell me all about those wars. They were such great affairs."

"Yes, they were. Not much like this business here. Nothing could stop us in the Sudan, and when we dug up the Mahdi and threw his body away there was nothing left of the rebellion. I believe the best way to settle things here would be to dig up somebody—Confusus, for instance. If there's anything of that kind to be done our army could do it in style."

"It must be a very effective means of subjugating people," said Sam.

"Yes, and would you believe it? the natives objected to it. They asked us what we would think of it if they dug up our Queen. Just think of it! The impudent niggers! As if there was any similarity in the two cases."

"Outrageous," said Sam.

"And even at home and in Parliament, when our general was sitting in the gallery hearing them discuss how much money they would give him, some of the members protested against our digging the old fraud up. It was a handsome thing for the general to go there and face them down."

"It showed great tact, and I may say—delicacy," said Sam.

"Yes, indeed," said the captain. "That's his strong point."

"But I suppose that the war in South Africa was even greater," said Sam.

"Rather. Why we captured four thousand of those Boers with only forty thousand men. No wonder all Anglia went wild over it. Lord Bobbets went home and they gave him everything they could think of in the way of honors. It was a fitting tribute."

"The war is quite over there now, isn't it?" asked Sam.

"Yes," answered the captain, somewhat drily. "And so is yours in the Cubapines, I understand."

"Yes," said Sam. "I think the Cubapine war and the South African war are about equally over."

"Do you see that lieutenant there between your friend and the parson?"

"Yes."

"He got the Victorious Cross in South Africa. He saved a sergeant's life under fire. You see his cross?"

"How interesting!" said Sam. "He must be a hero."

"That chap with the mustache at the bottom of the table really did more once. He saved three men from drowning in a shipwreck in the Yellow Sea. He's got a medal for it."



"Why doesn't he wear it, too?" asked Sam.

"Civilians never do," said the captain. "It would look rather odd, wouldn't it, for him to wear a life-saving medal? You may be sure he keeps it locked up somewhere and never talks about it."

"It is strange that civilians should be so far behind military men in using their opportunities," said Sam.

"That old fellow with the long beard is Cope, the inventor of the Cope gun. He's a wonder. He was out here in the employ of the Porsslanese Government. Most of their artillery was designed by him. What a useful man he has been to his country! First he invented a projectile that could go through any steel plate then known, and all the navies had to build new steel-clad ships on a new principle that he had invented to prevent his projectiles from piercing them. Then what does he do, but invent a new projectile that could go through that, and they had to order new guns for it and build new ships to withstand it. He's done that four times. And he's got a rifle now that will penetrate almost anything. If you put two hundred Porsslanese of the same height in a row it would go through all their heads at five hundred yards. I hope they'll try the experiment before this affair is over."

The major-general had by this time exhausted all possible subjects of conversation with his host and sat silent, and Sam felt obliged to turn his attention to him, and was soon engaged in relating his experience in the Cubapines. Meanwhile Cleary had been conversing with the brave young lieutenant at his side and the reverend gentlemen beyond him. They had been discussing the slaughter of the Porsslanese, the lieutenant sitting back from the table while his neighbors talked across him.

"I confess," said the Rev. Mr. Parker, "that I am not quite satisfied with our position here. This wholesale killing of non-combatants is revolting to me. Surely it can not be Christian."

"I have had some doubts about it too," said the young man. "I don't mind hitting a man that hits back. I didn't object to the pig-sticking in South Africa, and I believe that man-hunting is the best of all sports; but this killing of people who don't resist, and even smile in a sickly way while you do it and almost thank you—it really does go against me."

"Yes," said Cleary, "perhaps there is something in that."

"Oh, my dear young friend!" cried the clergyman, turning toward the lieutenant, "you don't know what joy it gives me to hear you say that. I have spoken in this way again and again, and you are the first man I have met who agrees with me. Won't you let your fellow officers know what you think? It will come with so much more force from a military man, and one of your standing as a V.C. Won't you now tell this company that you think we are going too far?"

"Really, Doctor," said the young man, blushing, "really, I think you exaggerate my importance. It wouldn't do any good. Perhaps I have said a little more to you than I really meant. This champagne has gone to my head a little."

"Just repeat what you said to us. I will get the attention of the table."

"No, Doctor, for God's sake don't!" cried the lieutenant, laying his right hand on the missionary's arm while he toyed with his cross with the other. "To tell you the truth, I haven't the courage to say it. They would think I was crazy. I would be put in Coventry. I have no business to make suggestions when a general's present."

Mr. Parker sighed and did not return to the subject.

After dinner Sam was introduced to Canon Gleed, another missionary, who seemed to be on very good terms with himself, and stood rubbing his hands with a benignant smile.

"These are great days, Colonel Jinks," he said. "Great days, indeed, for foreign missions. What would St. John have said on the island of Patmos if he could have cabled for half-a-dozen armies and half-a-dozen fleets, and got them too? He would have made short work of his jailers. As he looks down upon us to-night, how his soul must rejoice! The Master told us to go into all nations, and we are going to go if it takes a million troops to send us and keep us there. You are going on to the Capital to-morrow? You will meet a true saint of the Lord there, your own fellow countryman, the Rev. Dr. Amen. He is a true member of the Church Militant. Give him my regards when you see him."

"I see there is another clergyman here," said Sam, looking at Mr. Parker.

"Yes, and I must say I am surprised to see him. Let me warn you, Colonel. He is, I fear, altogether heterodox. I don't know what kind of Christianity he teaches, but he has actually kept on good terms with the Porsslanese near his mission throughout all these events. He is disloyal to our flag, there can be no question of it, and he openly criticizes the actions of our governments. He should not be received in society. He ought to be sent home—but, hist! some one is going to sing."

It was the young lieutenant who had seated himself at the piano and was clearing his throat as he ran his hands over the keys. Then he began to sing in a rather feeble voice:

"Let the Frenchy sip his cognac in his caffy, Let the Cossack gulp his kvass and usquebaugh; Let the Prussian grenadier Swill his dinkle-doonkle beer, And the Yankee suck his cocktail through a straw, Through a straw, And the Yankee suck his cocktail through a straw.

"Let the Ghoorka drink his pugaree and pukka, Let the Hollander imbibe old schnapps galore. Tommy Atkins is the chap Who has broached a better tap, For he takes his 'arf-and-'arf in blood and gore. Blood and gore, For he takes his 'arf-and-'arf in blood and gore.

"When at 'ome he may content himself with whisky, But if once he lands upon a foreign shore— On the Nile or Irrawady— He forgets his native toddy, And he takes his 'arf-and-'arf in blood and gore. Blood and gore, And he takes his 'arf-and-'arf in blood and gore.

"He's a connoisseur of every foreign vintage, From the claret of the fat and juicy Boer To the thicker nigger brand That he spills upon the sand, When he draws his 'arf-and-'arf in blood and gore. Blood and gore, When he draws his 'arf-and-'arf in blood and gore."

"Fine, isn't it!" exclaimed Sam's neighbor, the captain, who was standing by him, as they all joined in hearty applause. "I tell you Bludyard Stripling ought to be our poet laureate. He's the laureate of the Empire, at any rate. Why, a song like that binds a nation together. You haven't any poet like that, have you?"

"No-o," answered Sam, thinking in shame of Shortfellow, Slowell, and Pittier. "I'm afraid all our poets are old women and don't understand us soldiers."

"Stripling understands everything," said the captain. "He never makes a mistake. He is a universal genius."

"I don't think we ever drink cocktails with a straw," ventured Sam.

"Oh, yes, you must. He never makes a mistake. You may be sure that, before he wrote that, he drank each one of those drinks, one after another."

"Quite likely," whispered Cleary to Sam, as he came up on the other side.

"I wish I could hear it sung in Lunnon," said the captain. "A chorus of duchesses are singing it at one of the biggest music-halls every evening, and then they pass round their coronets, lined with velvet, you know, and take up a collection of I don't know how many thousand pounds for the wounded in South Africa. It stirs my blood every time I hear it sung."

The party broke up at a late hour, and Sam and Cleary walked back together to the hotel.

"Interesting, wasn't it?" said Cleary.

"Yes," said Sam.

"Canon is a good title for that parson, isn't it? He's a fighter. They ought to promote him. 'Bombshell Gleed' would sound better than 'Canon Gleed,'" said Cleary.

"'M," said Sam.

"And that old general looked rather queer in that red and gilt bob-tailed Eton jacket," said Cleary.

"Yes, rather."

"Convenient for spanking, I suppose."

"The captain next to me told me a lot about Bobbets," said Sam. "Wasn't he nearly kidnaped in South Africa?"

"Yes; that comes of sending generals away from home who only weigh ninety-five pounds. We hadn't any such trouble with Laughter. They'd have had to kidnap him with a derrick."

"I never thought of that," said Sam. "Perhaps that's the real reason they selected him. I shouldn't wonder."

"Of course it was," responded Cleary.

"What sort of a chap was the one with the V.C. next to you?" asked Sam.

"A fine fellow," said Cleary. "But it does seem queer, when you think of it, to wear a cross like that, that says 'I'm a hero,' just as plain as the beggar's placard says, 'I am blind.'"

"I don't see why," said Sam.

"On the whole I think that a placard would be better," said Cleary. "Everybody would be sure to understand it. 'I performed such and such an heroic action on such and such a day, signed John Smith.' Print it in big letters and then stand around graciously so that people could read it through when they wanted to. I'll get the idea patented when I get home."

"It's a pity we don't give more attention to decorations at home," said Sam. "But I don't quite like the placard idea."



CHAPTER XII

The Great White Temple



On the following morning the two friends started on their journey up the river toward the Imperial City. They went on a barge filled with soldiers, some of them their own troops who had arrived earlier the same morning. The barge was drawn by ropes pulled by natives, who walked and ran along the banks of the river. It was a day of ever-increasing horrors. All the desolation which they had remarked the day previous was reproduced and accentuated, and as they were so much nearer to the bank, and occasionally took walks on shore, they saw it all more clearly. Sam was much interested in the foreign troops. Their uniforms looked strange and uncouth.

"What funny pill-boxes those are that those Anglian soldiers have stuck to the side of their heads," he said, pointing to two men at Gin-Sin before they set sail.

"Yes," answered Cleary. "They'll put on their helmets when the sun gets higher. They do look queer, tho. Perhaps they think our fellows look queer too."

"I never thought of that," said Sam. "Perhaps they do," and he looked at his fellow-countrymen who were preparing to embark, endeavoring to judge of their appearance as if he had never seen them before. He scrutinized carefully their slouch hats creased in four quarters, their loose, dark-blue jackets, generally unbuttoned, and their easy-going movements.

"Perhaps they do look queer," he said at last. "I never thought of that."

The river was more full of corpses than ever, and there were many to be seen on the shore, all of them of natives. Children were playing and bathing in the shallows, oblivious of the dead around them. Dogs prowled about, sleek and contented, and usually sniffing only at the cadavers, for their appetites were already sated. At one place they saw a father and son lying hand in hand where they had been shot while imploring mercy. A dog was quietly eating the leg of the boy. The natives who pulled the boat along with great difficulty under the hot sun were drawn from all classes, some of them coolies accustomed to hard work, others evidently of the leisure classes who could hardly keep up with the rest. Soldiers were acting as task-masters, and they whipped the men who did not pull with sufficient strength. Now and then a man would try to escape by running, but such deserters were invariably brought down by a bullet in the back. More than once one of the men would fall as they waded along, and be swept off by the current. None of them seemed to know how to swim, but no one paid any attention to their fate. Parties were sent out to bring in other natives to take the place of those who gave out. One of the men thus brought in was paralyzed on one side and carried a crutch. The soldiers made sport of him, snatched the crutch from him, and made him pull as best he could with the rest. Sam, Cleary, and an Anglian officer who had served through the whole war took a long walk together back from the river during the halt at noon. They entered a deserted house, with gables and a tiled roof, which by chance had not been burned. The house had been looted, and such of its contents as were too large to carry away were lying broken to bits about the floor. A nasty smell came from an inner room, and they looked in and saw the whole family—father, mother, and three daughters—lying dead in a row on the floor. A bloody knife was in the hand of the man.

"They probably committed suicide when they saw the soldiers coming," said the Anglian, whose name was Major Brown. "They often do that, and they do quite right. When they don't, the soldiers, and even the officers sometimes, do what they will with the women and then bayonet them afterward. Our people draw the line at that, and so do yours."

"We certainly conduct war most humanely," said Sam.

They heard a groan from another room, and opening the door saw an old woman lying in a pool of blood, quite unconscious.

"I'll put her out of her misery," said the major, and he drew his revolver and shot her through the head.

The journey was a very slow one and occupied three days, altho the natives were kept at work as long as they could stand it, on one day actually tugging at the ropes for twenty-one hours. At last, however, the Imperial City was reached, and our two travelers disembarked and, taking a donkey-cart, gave directions to carry them to the quarter assigned to their own army. Here as everywhere desolation reigned. A string of laden camels showed, however, that trade was beginning to reassert itself. They drove past miles of burned houses, through the massive city walls and beyond, until they saw the welcome signs of a camp over which Old Gory waved supreme. Sam was received with much cordiality by the commandant, General Taffy, and assigned to the command of the 27th Volunteer Infantry. The general was a man well known throughout the army for his courage and ability, but notwithstanding this Sam took a strong prejudice against him, for he seemed to be half-hearted in his work and to disapprove of the prevailing policy of pacification by fire and sword. Sam ascribed this feebleness to the fact that he had been originally appointed to the army from civil life, and that he had not enjoyed the benefits of an East Point education.

As soon as Sam was installed in his new quarters, in the colonel's tent of his regiment, he started out with Cleary to see the great city and examine the scene of the late siege. They found the Jap quarter the most populous. The inhabitants who had fled had returned, and the streets were taking on their normal aspect. Near the boundary of this district they saw a house with a placard in the Jap language, and asked an Anglian soldier who was passing what it meant.

"That's one of the Jap placards to show that the natives who live there are good people who have given no offense," said he.

"Let's go in and pay them a call," said Cleary.

They entered, and passing into a back room found a woman nursing a man who had evidently been recently shot in the side. She shrank from them with terror as they entered, and made no answer to their request for information. As they passed out they met a young native coming in, and they asked him what it meant.

"Some Frank soldiers shot him because he could not give them money. It had all been stolen already," said the lad in pigeon English.

"But the placard says they are loyal people," said Cleary.

"What difference does that make to them?" was the reply.

Farther on in a lonely part of the town they heard cries issuing from the upper window of a house. They were the cries of women, mingled with oaths of men in the Frank language. Suddenly two women jumped out of the window, one after the other, and fell in a bruised mass in the street. Sam and Cleary approached them and saw that they had received a mortal hurt. They were ladies, handsomely dressed. The first impulse of Sam and Cleary was to take charge of them, but seeing two natives approach, they called their attention to the case and walked away.

"I suppose it's best not to get mixed up with the affairs of the other armies," said Sam.

The quarter assigned to the Tutonians they were surprised to find quite deserted by the inhabitants.

"I tell you, those Tutonians know their business," said Sam. "They won't stand any fooling. Just see how they have established peace! We have a lot to learn from them."

They saw a crowd collected in one place.

"What is it?" asked Sam of a soldier.

"They're going to shoot thirty of these damned coolies for jostling soldiers in the street," he answered.

Sam regretted that they had no time to wait and see the execution.

As they reentered their own quarter they saw a number of carts loaded down with all sorts of valuable household effects driven along. They asked one of the native drivers what they were doing, and he replied in pigeon English that they were collecting loot for the Rev. Dr. Amen. Farther on some of their own soldiers were conducting an auction of handsome vases and carved ornaments. Sam watched the sale for a few minutes, and bought in one or two beautiful objects for a song for Marian.

"Where did they get all this stuff?" he asked of a lieutenant.

"Oh, anywhere. Some of it from the houses of foreign residents even. But we don't understand the game as well as old Amen. He's a corker. He's grabbed the house of one of his old native enemies here, an awfully rich chap, and sold him out, and now he's got his converts cleaning out a whole ward. He's collected a big fine for every convert killed and so much extra for every dollar stolen, and he's going to use it all for the propagation of the Gospel. He's as good as a Tutonian, he is."

"I'm glad we have such a man to represent our faith," said Sam.

"He's pretty hard on General Taffy, tho," said the lieutenant. "He says we ought to have the Tutonian mailed fist. Taffy is much too soft, he thinks."

Sam bit his lips. He could not criticize his superior officer before a subaltern, but he was tempted to.

On reaching headquarters Sam found that he was to take charge of a punitive expedition in the North, whose chief object was to be the destruction of native temples, for the purpose of giving the inhabitants a lesson. He was to have command of his own regiment, two companies of cavalry, and a field-battery. They were to set out in two days. He spent the intermediate time in completing the preparations, which had been well under way before his arrival, and in studying the map. No one knew how much opposition he might expect.

It was early in the morning on a hot summer day that the expedition left the Capital. Sam was mounted on a fine bay stallion, and felt that he was entirely in his element.

"What camp is that over there on the left?" he asked his orderly.

"That's the Anglian camp, sir."

"Are you sure. I can't see their colors. They must have moved their camp."

"Yes, sir, I'm sure. I passed near there last night and I saw half-a-dozen of the men blacking their officers' boots and singing, 'Britons, Britons, never will be slaves!' It must be a tough job too, sir, for everybody's boots are covered with blood. The gutters are running with it."

"I wish we had them with us to-day," said Sam. "They have done such a lot of burning in South Africa that they could show us the best way."

"Yes, sir. But then temple-burning is finer work than burning farmhouses, sir."

"That is true," said Sam.

Before night they had visited three deserted towns and burned down the temple in each with its accompanying pagoda. There is something in the hearts of men that responds to great conflagrations, and the whole force soon got into the spirit of it and burned everything they came across. Sam enjoyed himself to the full. His only regret was that there was no enemy to overcome. They camped out at night and continued the same work for several days, all the natives fleeing as soon as they came in sight. At last they reached the famous white temple of Pu-Sing, which was the chief object of religious devotion in the whole province. This was to be absolutely destroyed, notwithstanding its great artistic beauty, and then they were to return to the city in triumph. As they drew near to the building two or three shots were fired from it, and one soldier was wounded in the arm. The usual cursing began, and the men were restive to get at the Porsslanese garrison. Sam ordered the infantry to fire a volley, and then, as the return fire was feeble, he ordered the squadron of cavalry to charge, leading it himself. The natives turned and fled as soon as they saw them coming, and the cavalry, skirting the enclosure of the temple, followed them beyond and cut them down without mercy.

"Give them hell!" cried Sam. "Exterminate the vermin!" and he swore, quite naturally under the circumstances, like a trooper.

Some of the natives fell on their knees and begged for quarter, but it was of no use. Every one was killed. They numbered about two hundred in all. When the horsemen returned to the temple they found the infantry already at work at the task of looting it. Everything of value that could be carried was taken out, and the larger statues and vases were broken to pieces. Then the woodwork was cut away and piled up for firewood, and finally the whole pile set on fire. In all this work the leader was a sergeant of infantry who seemed to have a natural talent for it. Sam had noticed him before at the burning of the other temples, but now he showed himself more conspicuously capable. As the work of piling inflammable material against the walls of polished marble, inlaid with ivory, was nearing completion, Sam sent for this man so that he might thank and congratulate him. The soldier came up, his hands black with charcoal and his face smudged as well.