Title: The Marines Have Landed
Author: Bishop, Giles
Language: English
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[Illustration: Cover]



[Illustration: THE THIN BROWN LINE OF MARINES]



                              THE MARINES
                              HAVE LANDED


                                   By
                     LIEUT.-COL. GILES BISHOP, JR.

                       United States Marine Corps



                            Illustrations by
                          Donald S. Humphreys



                      THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
                              PHILADELPHIA
                                  1920



                             Copyright 1920
                     by The Penn Publishing Company

                        The Marines Have Landed



                                  _To_
                     MAJOR GENERAL GEORGE BARNETT,
               _Commandant, United States Marine Corps,_

_who, while holding the chief position of honor in that organisation
since nineteen hundred and fourteen, has accomplished so much in
furthering its efficiency and its prestige, and who has at all times and
in all ways endeared himself to his officers and men, this volume is
respectfully dedicated_



                              Introduction

How many of our boys, in times past, while glancing through the morning
paper have read the following statement: "The United States Marines have
landed and have the situation well in hand."  The cable message may have
come at any date, and from any part of the world.  If those words caused
any comment on the part of the young American, it was probably a mild
wonder as to just who the marines were.  Sometimes he may have asked his
father for enlightenment, and the parent, being no better informed than
the son but feeling a reply was necessary, would say in an off-hand
manner, "Oh, they are just a lot of sailors from one of our battleships,
that’s all," and there the subject rested.

It is the author’s desire in this volume to explain just who the marines
are, what they do, where they go, so as to make every red-blooded
American boy familiar with the services rendered by the United States
Marine Corps to the nation in peace and war.  And if in this endeavor
you suspect me of exaggeration I ask that you will get the first real
marine you meet to tell you where he has been and what he has done.
Then, if at the end of a half hour you are not convinced that the
adventures of Dick Comstock, in this and the books to follow, are modest
in comparison, I shall most humbly apologize.

THE AUTHOR.



                                Contents

      I. A Bitter Disappointment
     II. "The Oldest Branch of the Service"
    III. Uncle Sam’s Uninvited Guests
     IV. Semper Fidelis--Always Faithful
      V. A Drummer in the U. S. Marines
     VI. A Queer Conversation
    VII. Off for Treasure Island
   VIII. An Adventure Ashore
     IX. Historic Battlefields
      X. Winning His First Medal
     XI. A Republic in Distress
    XII. Señor Perez Asks for Aid
   XIII. Circumstantial Evidence
    XIV. Dick Makes The Acquaintance of Columbus
     XV. The Escape from the Barrio
    XVI. The Attack on the Consulate
   XVII. A Map-Making Expedition
  XVIII. Mexican Pete Again
    XIX. A Brave Act and a Clever Ruse
     XX. "To the Ditch at Panama"
    XXI. The Marines Have Landed
   XXII. Dick is Left Behind
  XXIII. Dick Makes a Flying Leap
   XXIV. The Situation Well in Hand



                             Illustrations


The Thin Brown Line of Marines . . . . . . _Frontispiece_

How the Accident Occurred

The Marine Orderly Answered the Summons

The Marine Corps Good Conduct Medal

"Look, There is Your Horseman!"

The Sampson Medal

Medal for Campaign in the West Indies and for Spanish War

A Leaf From Dick’s Score Book

Marksman’s Badge

Sharpshooter’s Badge

Expert Rifleman’s Badge

"Hands Up!"

Map Showing Position of Hut in Which Boys Took Refuge

Dick’s Map of Camp Pendleton

"Do You Ride?"

Map Showing Position of Rock and Track



                        The Marines Have Landed



                               CHAPTER I

                        A BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT


"Dick Comstock, you’ve been fighting!  What will Mother and Father say
when they see your black eye?" and Ursula Comstock looked with mingled
pity and consternation at her brother, who, at the moment, cautiously
entered the cheery living-room.

"And to-day of all days in the year to have such a thing happen," she
continued.  "Everyone in town will see it to-night when you deliver your
oration.  I do think, Dick, if you had to fight, you might have waited
until to-morrow, at least."

"It couldn’t be helped, Sister, so stop scolding, and get me a raw steak
or something to put on my eye," answered her brother, ruefully.  "I know
it’s going to mortify Mother fearfully that her ’handsome son’ is so
badly banged up, but necessity knows no law, in war anyway.  Now be a
good sister and help me.  Maybe by to-night it won’t look so bad, and if
you are as clever painting my face as you are your canvases it may not
even be noticed."

"How did it happen?" inquired Ursula a little later, after first aid had
been applied to the injured eye.

"Oh!  It wasn’t anything really of any account. I had to teach ’Reddy’
Doyle a lesson he has been needing for a long time, that’s all,"
answered Dick, bending over a basin of hot water while the tall, lithe
girl, one year his junior, handed him steaming hot compresses.

"Tell me about it," demanded the girl, for between Richard and herself
there were few secrets, and a more devoted brother and sister would be
hard to find in all New England.

"Well, you see, Doyle and I never have been good friends in all the
years we’ve been classmates at school.  He goes with a gang I never
cared for and he has always been inclined to bully.  We’ve often had
little tussles, but nothing that amounted to a great deal.  You know
he’s a dandy athlete and I couldn’t afford, half of the time, to have
trouble with him.  He is just cranky enough to have resigned from the
school teams, and he’s really too valuable a fellow to lose,
consequently I’ve so often swallowed my pride in order to humor him that
he began to believe I was afraid of him, I guess.

"But he has one mean trait I simply can’t endure, and that is the
torturing of dumb animals.  I often heard from the other fellows of his
tricks in that line.  To-day I witnessed one, and--well--I’ve a black
eye to pay for my meddling."

"That is not all the story, and you know it, Dick, so you may as well
tell me now, for I shall get it sooner or later.  What did he do that
caused you to take such chances on this day of all days?"

"I didn’t happen to think much about the day," grinned Dick, "but I do
guess I’m a sight.  Dad won’t care; yet, as I said, I do feel sorry on
Mother’s account."

"Richard Comstock, if you do not stop this evasion and tell me at once
what occurred, fully and finally, I’ll refuse to help you another single
bit.  Now talk."

While Ursula was speaking she unconsciously shook a piece of very raw,
red beef at her brother in such an energetic manner that he feared it
might land in any but the place for which it was intended unless he
obeyed without further delay.

A final rehearsal for the high school graduating exercises which was
scheduled to take place in the evening had been held in the theatre, and
after dismissal, as a number of the boys were going along Broad Street,
a poor, emaciated cat ran frantically across the road towards them and
climbed a small tree just in time to escape the lathering jaws of a
closely pursuing bulldog.  Percy Doyle, the red-haired owner of the dog,
not satisfied with witnessing the poor feline barely escape his pet, ran
quickly to the tree, grasped the cat by the neck and threw it to the
eager brute.  Almost instantly the powerful animal had shaken the cat to
death.

This cold-blooded act was more than the good-natured Dick could stand
and with a warning cry of anger and indignation he called upon Doyle to
defend himself.  Then there followed a royal combat, for these two lads
were strong for their age and their years of activity in all kinds of
sports had made them no mean antagonists.

In the end Doyle was beaten, but the victor had by no means escaped
unscathed.

By the time Dick finished his recital the raw beef was properly bound
over his eye and the grime of battle washed from his face by his gentle
nurse, who completed her task by kissing him as she exclaimed with
enthusiasm:

"Good for you, Dick, I hope you thrashed him well while you were about
it, for he certainly deserved a beating.  Now run along and get a bath
and clean up properly before Mother comes home. She has gone to the
station to meet Father.  You have no time to spare; the New York express
is about due," and with the words she shoved him towards the doorway
leading to the hall.

"Call me when you are ready, and I’ll come and paint you up like an
Indian," she added as he disappeared up the stairs.

A half hour later when Dick appeared in the living-room and greeted his
parents, Ursula’s efforts at facial decoration proved so successful that
no one other than his fond and adoring mother discovered the deception.
Her searching eye was not to be deceived, however, and once again Dick
was obliged to recount the details of his afternoon’s experience.

"No one will notice my black eye, Mother, and if so half of the audience
will have heard how I got it, so you need not worry."

Dick’s father said nothing, but the look of pride and approbation in his
eyes was enough to quiet any qualms as to his father’s attitude.

John Comstock, having laid aside the evening paper he was reading when
his son entered, now began searching through its pages, speaking as he
did so:

"Have you seen to-night’s paper, Dick?"

"No, Dad.  Why, is there anything of particular interest in it--that is
aside from the announcements of the big event being staged at the
theatre?" inquired Dick.

"Unfortunately, yes," replied his father.  "When I left home last week I
told you I would see Senator Kenyon while in Washington and try to get
him to give you that appointment to the Naval Academy we all have been
hoping for and which we believed as good as settled in your favor until
a few weeks ago."

"Did you see him?  What did he say?" asked Dick in one breath, his face
lighting up with excitement.

"Yes, I saw him, but my visit was fruitless.  He politely but firmly
told me he could not give it to you; and he would not tell me at the
time who was to be the lucky boy.  In to-night’s paper I have just read
that the selection has been made."

The look of disappointment which came over Dick’s countenance was
reflected in the faces of both his mother and sister.  He gulped once or
twice before he finally mustered up courage to reach out his hand for
the paper, and the tears blinded his eyes while he read the brief
article which so certainly delayed if it did not entirely destroy his
boyhood’s dream.

For a few moments silence reigned in the little group, and Ursula,
rising quietly, walked to her brother and placed an affectionate,
consoling arm over his dejectedly drooping shoulders.

"Never mind, Dick, the appointee may not pass the exams, and then
possibly you will get your chance after all," she said consolingly.

"There’s no hope he won’t pass," answered Dick dolefully, and then more
bravely, "neither would you nor I wish him such bad luck."

"Is it anyone we know?" now inquired Mrs. Comstock.

"I should say we do.  It’s one of my best friends;--it’s Gordon Graham,
our class valedictorian."

"Gordon Graham!" exclaimed Ursula, a slight flush tinging the peachy
contour of her cheek, "Gordon Graham!  Why, I never knew he even wanted
to go to Annapolis!"

"He doesn’t," answered Dick ruefully, "but his father does want him to
go, and now Gordon has no choice."

"Mr. Graham is a rich man, and a politician.  I suppose he wields such
an influence in this district that Senator Kenyon could not afford to go
against his wishes in the matter," said Dick’s father, "and
unfortunately I am not wealthy, and have always kept out of politics.
Consequently, my boy, you may blame your father for this miscarriage of
our plans.  With the election so near, a senator has to look to his
fences," he added as they arose to answer the summons to the evening
repast.


"Our Policy in the West Indies and the Caribbean," was the subject of
Richard’s salutatory address in the crowded theatre that evening at the
graduation exercises of the Bankley High School. To his friends it
seemed something more than the average boyish ebullition.  At any rate,
Dick was a thoughtful lad and had expended his best efforts in the
preparation of his oration.  During its composition he had even looked
into the future and in the measures he advanced as necessary for the
military, naval and commercial integrity of the nation, he had always
liked to think of himself as a possible factor.

To-night he experienced his first bitter disappointment, and instead of
"Admiral Richard Comstock" being an actor in the stirring events that
some day indubitably would occur, he saw his more fortunate chum, Gordon
Graham, writing history on the pages of his country’s record.

After the exercises he met Gordon, and the two boys walked home together
along the lofty, elm-arched streets.

"Naturally I’m fearfully disappointed," said Dick, having first
congratulated Gordon on his good fortune, "but I’m not churlish about
the matter, and I guess the chief reason is because you got it.  I’m
mighty glad for you, Gordon."

"It is too bad, old man," Gordon replied feelingly, "because I know how
you have looked forward to being appointed, and you know, Dick, I never
was anxious for it.  If it was not for frustrating my father’s wishes, I
should almost be inclined to flunk the examinations.  In fact I may be
unable to get by anyway, for they are very difficult."

"You’d never do that, Gordon!  You couldn’t afford to do such a
thing--humble your pride in that manner.  That wouldn’t be helping me
and you’d only injure yourself and hurt your father beyond measure,"
said Dick bravely.

"Oh, I suppose I shall have to go, and I will do my best, Dick; only I
do wish we both were going. It is beastly to think of separating after
all these years we have been together."

"We have a few days left yet before you leave, so cheer up," answered
Dick, "and suppose we make the best of them.  What do you say to a swim
and row to Black Ledge to-morrow morning?"

"Good!  I will meet you at eight o’clock. Bring along your tackle, for
we may get some bass or black-fish, and we will make a day of it,"
responded Gordon enthusiastically, as they parted at the corner.

On entering the house Dick immediately sought his father.

"Father," he said, "what do you propose for me now that the Annapolis
appointment is closed?"

"I have been thinking over the question for weeks," answered Mr.
Comstock, leaning back wearily in his chair.  "I counted on the Naval
Academy more than you did, I might say; for, Dick, things have not been
going well in the business, and the family exchequer is at a very low
point, so low in fact I hardly know just how things will end."

Dick, immersed in his own selfish thoughts, for the first time realized
how worried and care-worn his father appeared.

"What is the trouble, Dad?" he asked with a world of solicitude and
tenderness in his voice.

"To tell you the truth, Dick, I cannot afford to send you to college.  I
am afraid that unless I can recoup my recent losses I shall be unable
even to allow your sister to finish her art studies after her graduation
next year, as we had planned.  My boy, I have very little left."

He stopped for a moment and his hand visibly shook as he passed it over
his troubled brow.

"I broke the news to your mother some time ago, and my visit to
Washington was in the hope of recovering something from the wreck, but
it looks dark.  Also while there, beside seeing Senator Kenyon, I tried
my best to get you into West Point.  But that, too, was a failure."

"Dad, don’t worry about me," said the boy, rising and going to stand by
his father’s side; "I’ll get along all right, and between us we will
fasten on something I can turn my hand to.  I have had a mighty easy
time of it for seventeen years, nearly, and I’m only too glad to pitch
in and help out."

"The situation is not so bad as all that, Richard," answered Mr.
Comstock, gazing at his manly boy with a proud look.  "You do not have
to strike out for yourself for a good while yet.  I even thought another
year at Bankley, taking the post-graduate course, would be the best plan
for the present.  In the meantime you have a whole summer’s vacation
ahead of you, which your good work at school richly deserves."

"No, I’ve finished with Bankley," said Dick with finality in his tone.

"Well!  Well!  We must talk about the matter some other time, my son,
and if you intend to go to Black Ledge to-morrow morning with Gordon,
you had best be getting under the covers."

Whereupon Dick said "Good-night" and slowly climbed the stairs to his
bedroom.

Before Dick succeeded in getting to sleep he firmly resolved to relieve
his father’s shoulders of some of the burden by shifting for himself,
but just how he proposed to go about it was even to his own active mind
an enigma.



                               CHAPTER II

                   "THE OLDEST BRANCH OF THE SERVICE"


When Dick ran down the wharf the next morning he found Gordon and
several other boys there already.  He was later than he had intended;
unless an early start was made their sport would be spoiled.  Black-fish
bite well only on the flood tide, and the row to Black Ledge, situated
at the mouth of the broad river, near the entrance to the spacious
harbor, was a distance of at least four miles.

In order to better their time Dick and Gordon invited Donald Barry and
Robert Meade, two boys of their own age, to join them and help man the
oars, while Tommy Turner, a freshman at Bankley, was impressed as
coxswain of the crew.

Lusty strokes soon carried them away from the landing out into the
sparkling waters of the river. Tommy Turner, though not a "big boy,"
knew his duties as coxswain, so he set his course diagonally for the
opposite bank.  Already the tide had turned, and to go directly
down-stream would have meant loss of more time, while under the shelter
of the left bank of the river the current and wind were not so strong as
out in mid-channel.

With expertness born of much experience he guided the little
round-bottomed craft in and out amidst the river traffic.  The swell
from an outward-bound excursion steamer caused the rowboat to rock and
toss, but not a single "crab" or unnecessary splash did the rowers make
as they bent their backs gladly to their task.

"Those farmers from up state on board the _Sunshine_ thought we would
all be swamped sure," remarked Tommy, laughingly.  "I’d like to bet that
half of them never saw blue water before in their lives."

Dick, stroking the crew, only grinned appreciatively at Tommy’s sally,
but Donald Barry called out from his place as bow oar:

"Don’t get too cocky, Tommy, for if they knew you had never learned to
swim, they might well have felt uneasy about you."

"I’ll learn some day, fast enough," answered Tommy, slightly chagrined
at Donald’s remark, "but in the meantime, Don, if you would feather your
oar better maybe the wind against it wouldn’t be holding us back so
much."

Tommy Turner was always ready with a "come back," as the boys expressed
it, and for a while nothing more was said.  Suddenly the coxswain, who
had been gazing fixedly ahead for some time, gave a loud shout.

"Say, fellows, the fleet is coming in!  I thought I couldn’t be mistaken
when I saw all that smoke way out there, and now it’s a sure thing."

By common consent the rowers ceased their exertions and looked in the
direction indicated by Tommy.  Far out over the white-capped waves of
the Sound could be seen against the deep blue sky, dark, low-lying
clouds of black smoke, while just becoming distinguishable to the naked
eye the huge hulks of several battleships could be discerned.

"This sure is luck," exclaimed Robert Meade. "I’ve often wanted to see a
lot of battleships come to anchor together, but never have been on the
spot at the right moment."

"Let’s call off the fishing and row out to their anchorage; it’s only a
little over a mile farther out. What do you all say?" asked Donald,
appealing to the others.

"Yes,--let’s!" spoke up the ubiquitous Tommy. "We can go after the fish
later if we like."

"You would not be so much in favor of that extra mile or two if you were
pulling on an oar, kid," vouchsafed Gordon rather grimly, for the sight
of the ships brought to his mind that sooner or later he might be
passing his days on one of those very vessels.

"Right you are, sir, Admiral Graham, sir," quickly retorted the
coxswain, and even Dick joined in the laughter now turned on Gordon.

How differently he gazed at the ships to-day from what he would have
done a few days since. Then they would have meant so much to him, while
now he seemed to resent their very presence in the harbor.

The rowers had resumed their work and without further words Tommy
changed the boat’s course.

By the time the five boys in their tiny craft reached the vicinity the
great vessels were steaming in column towards the harbor entrance.  On
the fresh morning breeze was borne the sound of many bugles, the shrill
notes of the boatswain’s pipes calling the crew on deck, and the
crashings of many bands.

The boys resting on their oars drank in the beauty and majesty of the
scene with sighs of complete satisfaction while they interestedly
watched every maneuver of the approaching ships.  The powerful
dreadnaught in the lead flew the blue flag with two white stars of a
rear admiral.  From the caged mainmast and from the signal yard on the
foremast strings of gaily-colored flags were continually being run up or
down, and sailors standing in the rigging were waving small hand flags
to and fro with lightning rapidity.

"Those colored and fancy flags make the outfit look like a circus
parade," remarked Tommy, lolling back in the stern sheets with the
tiller ropes lying idly in his hands.

"That’s the way the Admiral gives his orders to the other ships,"
volunteered Dick.  "You’ll notice they run up every set of flags first
on the flagship, then the ships behind follow suit, finally when the
order is understood by them all and it comes time to do that which the
Admiral wants done, down they all go together."

"Jinks!  I’d think it a pretty tedious way of sending messages,"
remarked Donald Barry, watching the gay flags go fluttering upwards in
the breeze; "just imagine spelling out all those words.  I’d think that
sometimes they’d all go ashore or run into each other or something
before they half finished what they wanted to say."

Dick, having spent considerable of his spare moments in reading up about
naval matters, smiled at Donald and continued his explanation.

"It isn’t necessary to spell out the words.  Each group of flags means
some special command, and all you have to do is to look it up in the
signal book as you would a word in the dictionary.  Most of the commoner
signals become so well known after a little experience that it is only a
matter of seconds to catch the meaning."

"I wish we could go on board one of the ships, don’t you, fellows?"
mused Robert rather irrelevantly.  He was generally the silent one of
the party, but the lads agreed with him that his wish was a good one.
Yet such luck was hardly to be expected.

The flagship was passing but a few yards away, and the watchers could
readily see the sailors on her decks all dressed in white working
clothes, while on the broad quarter-deck a line of men, uniformed in
khaki and armed with rifles, were drawn up in two straight military
rows.  Near these men glistened the instruments of the ship’s band as
they stood playing a lively march.

Suddenly the boys heard a sharp command wafted to them over the water.
"Haul down!" were the words, and simultaneously from every ship in the
column the lines of flags were hauled down to the signal bridges.  Then
came the splash of anchors, the churning of reversed propellers, the
smoke and dust of anchor chains paying out through hawse pipes, and the
fleet had come to anchor.  Hardly had the great anchors touched the
water when long booms swung out from the ships’ sides, gangways were
lowered, and from their cradles swift launches with steam already up
were dropped into the water by huge electric cranes.

"What is the blue flag with all the stars they hoisted at their bows
when they stopped?" questioned Donald, turning to Dick as being the best
informed member of the party.

"That is the Union Jack," Dick replied, "and they fly that from the jack
staff only when a ship is in dock, tied up to a wharf or at anchor; and
also, if you noticed, they pulled down the National Ensign from the gaff
on the mainmast and hauled another up on the flagstaff astern at the
same time.  When the flag flies from the gaff it means the ship is under
way."

"It certainly is a shame, Dick, you cannot go to Annapolis in my place,"
remarked Gordon, regretfully; "you already know more than all of us
combined about the Navy.  But do you know, seeing these ships to-day and
the businesslike way they do things has stirred my blood.  It is just
wonderful! But for the life of me I cannot see how a chap can learn all
there is to know about them in only four years.  I rather think I shall
have to do some pretty hard digging if I ever expect to be a naval
officer."

"Keep your ship afloat, Admiral Graham, and hard digging won’t be
necessary," interposed Tommy, and a roar of laughter followed his quip,
as was usually the case.

The boys now began rowing towards the flagship, which in anchoring had
gone several hundred yards beyond them.  Nearing her, the strains of a
lively march were heard, and an officer in cocked hat, gold lace and
epaulettes, went down the gangway into a waiting motor boat.  No sooner
had the officer stepped into the boat than she scurried away for the
shore landing.  Again the boys stopped to watch proceedings.  When the
motor boat started from the gangway one of the sailors on deck blew a
shrill call on a pipe and the khaki-clad line of men, who had been
standing immovably with their rifles at the position of "present arms,"
brought them to the deck as if actuated by a single lever, and a moment
later they were marched away.

"Those soldiers are marines, aren’t they?" asked Robert.  "Anyway, they
are dressed the same as the marines up at the Navy Yard."

"Sure they are marines," answered Tommy; "I know all about ’em, for my
Uncle Fred was a marine officer once.  He swears by ’em, and says they
are the best fighters in the world."

This was Robert Meade’s first year at Bankley High School, having spent
all his life previously in an up-state town, and the soldier element on
board ship was not clear in his mind.

"I always used to think that the marine was a sailor," said he.  "At
least, most of the papers half the time must be wrong, for you see
pictures supposed to be marines landing at this or that place and they
are almost always dressed as sailors."

"That’s because the papers don’t know anything," commented Tommy
indignantly.  "Why, the marines are the oldest branch of the service;
older than the Navy or the Army.  Aren’t they, Dick?"

"Well, to tell the truth," Dick answered, "I’m a bit hazy about marines
myself.  Of course I’ve seen them around town and on the ships all my
life, off and on, but I’ve been so much more interested in the work of a
sailor that I haven’t paid much attention to the military end of it."

"The marine is ’soldier and sailor too,’" said Tommy, sententiously.
"That English poet, Kipling, says he can do any darned thing under the
sun; and if all my uncle tells me is true, it must be so. He was a
volunteer officer of marines in the war with Spain and fought in Cuba
with them."

"Well, if they are soldiers also, why don’t they stay ashore with the
army?" persevered Robert, wishing to understand more about the men who
had excited his interest.

"It’s a pretty long story to tell you in a minute," answered Tommy;
"besides, I may not get it all straight."

"That will be all right, Tommy," Gordon called out.  "I do not know
anything about them, either, and I suppose I had better learn everything
I can about the Navy now.  I’ve made up my mind, boys, that I do want to
be an officer on one of these ships, and I am going to tell my father so
to-night, as I know it will please him.  So, Tommy, I propose that when
we start for the boat-house, as you will have nothing else to do but
steer, you tell us all you know about these ’Sea Soldiers.’  Is my
motion seconded?"

As Gordon finished speaking they were lying a little off the starboard
quarter of the flagship, idly tossing in the short choppy sea that the
breeze from the Sound had stirred up.  A whistle from the deck now
attracting their attention, the boys looked up in time to see a small
marine with a bugle in his hand run along the deck and, after saluting
the naval officer who had summoned him by the shrill blast, receive some
instructions from the officer. After giving another salute to the
officer, a second or two later the little trumpeter blew a call, the
meaning of which was unknown to the silently attentive lads in the
rowboat.

All the boys had some remark to make at this.

"Hello, look at Tom Thumb blowing the bugle," called Tommy, and he
added, "If all the marines are his size, I should think someone had been
robbing a nursery."

"Wonder what all the excitement means, anyway?" inquired Donald, as he
saw various persons on the ship running about, evidently in answer to
the summons of the bugle.

"You know all the bugle calls, Dick, because you were the best bugler in
the Boy Scouts when we belonged; what was the call?" Gordon asked.

"You’ve sure got me buffaloed," answered Dick. "I learned every call in
the Instruction Book for Boy Scouts, and I know every army call, but
that one wasn’t among them."

During this time their little boat was drifting slowly astern again when
suddenly a long heavy motor boat rounded the battleship, just clearing
her, and at terrific speed bore down on the drifting rowboat.

Instinctively the occupants of the rowboat sprang into action.

A warning cry was shouted to them through a megaphone from the deck of
the battleship, the coxswain of the fast flying motor boat sounded two
short blasts on his whistle, threw his helm hard over, and the crew
shouted loudly.  Tommy Turner in the excitement of the moment mixed his
tiller ropes and sent his frail craft directly across the sharp bow of
the approaching vessel.

With a smashing and crashing of wood the heavy motor boat practically
cut the rowboat in two, forcing it beneath the surface and passing over
it, and more quickly than it has taken to relate it the five boys were
thrown into the sea.


       *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *


[Illustration: How the accident occurred]

                       How the accident occurred

1.  B is the position of the rowboat when the motor boat A came under
the stern along dotted line, heading directly at rowboat. Tommy pulled
on wrong rope and sent his boat in direction of B’. It can be seen the
coxswain steered in the same direction and the boats smashed at the
point B’.  The motor boat stopped about A’.

2.  The diagram illustrates also the manner of designating the
directions of objects from the ship by lookouts.  Example: A sailboat at
"C."  The lookout would call out "Sailboat, Broad on Port Bow" or he
might say "Four Points on Port Bow."


       *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *


Dick Comstock, coming first to the surface, looked about him for his
companions.  The motor boat was now about fifty yards away; her engine
had stopped and her crew were looking anxiously towards the spot where
the accident had taken place.

As Dick shook the water from his eyes and ears, he heard the voice of
the coxswain answering a question apparently addressed him by someone
from the deck of the flagship.

"I can’t reverse my engines, sir.  Something fouling the propellor," he
called out.

By this time Dick saw the bobbing heads of Robert, Donald and Gordon not
far from him.

"Where’s Tommy?" called Dick, anxiously, trying to rise from the water
as far as possible in his endeavor to sight the missing boy.

To these four lads the choppy sea meant nothing, in spite of the fact
they were fully clothed when so suddenly upset.  But in Tommy’s case it
was a far different matter, for, as has been stated, Tommy, though a
plucky little fellow, was unable to swim.

The wrecked rowboat had floated some distance away and with one accord
the four boys swam rapidly towards it in the hope that Tommy might be
found clinging to the débris.

Meanwhile on the deck of the battleship there was great excitement.  A
life-boat was being quickly lowered from its davits and active sailors
were piling into it.  The starboard life-lines of the quarter-deck were
lined with men in white uniforms and dungarees, for many of the engine
room force had been attracted to the deck to witness the episode though
they were not allowed there on ordinary occasions in that attire, and
also there was a sprinkling of marines in khaki.  Shouts, signals and
directions were coming from all sides, while two of the motor boat’s
crew were already in the water swimming back towards the boys to lend
them aid if necessary.

On reaching the wreck, Dick, who was first to arrive, half pulled
himself out on the upturned bottom in order to search to better
advantage. Discovering with sinking heart that Tommy was not there,
without a moment’s hesitation he disappeared beneath the boat searching
with wide open eyes for his little friend, nor was he alone in his
quest, for each of the boys in turn dove under the boat on arrival.
Staying as long under water as he possibly could Dick came to the
surface to free his lungs of the foul air with which they were now
filled.  Again his anxious eyes swept the roughened water in eager
survey and then with a loud cry of gladness he was going hand over hand
in the famous Australian crawl, but this time away from the boat and
towards the ship.

In that momentary glance he saw an arm and hand emerge from the waves,
the clenched fist still holding fast to a piece of tiller rope.  It had
shown but an instant above the surface and then disappeared.  Could he
reach the spot in time?  Could he?  He would--he must, and with head and
face down his arms flew like flails beating the water past him as he
surged forward.

On board the flagship, Sergeant Michael Dorlan, of the Marines, had been
an eye-witness of the whole occurrence.  For some time previous he had
been watching the boys in the boat.  The manner in which they handled
their oars showed him they were no novices.  He noted also that there
were five occupants in the unlucky craft when she was struck.  Calmly he
counted the heads appearing in the water beneath.

"One," counted Dorlan aloud to himself as Dick’s drenched head almost
instantaneously bobbed up, "two, three," he continued in rapid
succession, "four----," and then he waited, holding his breath, while
his honest Irish heart beat faster beneath his woolen shirt.

"They kin all shwim," he muttered aloud as the four lads struck out
vigorously in the water, "but, bedad, the fifth kid ain’t up yet."

During all this time Dorlan was unlacing his shoes with rapidly moving
fingers.  His coat he unconsciously took off and threw to the deck and
then he climbed to the top rail of the life-lines, steadying himself by
holding to an awning stanchion.  Never once did his sharp, gray-blue
eyes leave the surface of the water.  As Dick cried out and dashed
through the waves towards the spot where he momentarily glimpsed the
tightly clenched hand of Tom Turner, a brown streak appeared to shoot
from the rail of the dreadnaught and with hardly a splash was lost and
swallowed up in the sea.

Sergeant Michael Dorlan had also seen that for which he was looking and
like a flash he had gone to the rescue.  From the height of over twenty
feet his body shot like a meteor in the direction of the drowning boy.
To the officers and crew on board the flagship it seemed an eternity
before a commotion below them and a spurning and churning of the water
announced his reappearance.  And Dorlan did not come to the surface
alone, for it was seen that he was supporting the form of the boy he had
gone to rescue.

A great cheer filled the air as the crew of the ship spontaneously gave
vent to their relief, and a few seconds later the unconscious lad was
hurried up the gangway by willing hands, followed unassisted by his four
drenched and solicitous comrades.



                              CHAPTER III

                      UNCLE SAM’S UNINVITED GUESTS


"Right down to the sick bay[#] with him," ordered an officer as Tommy
was carried over the side in the strong arms of Sergeant Dorlan, who, on
climbing up the gangway, had tenderly taken the boy from the sailor
holding him.  "Hurry along, Sergeant, the surgeon is already there
waiting."


[#] Sick bay--The ship’s hospital.


After giving these directions the officer turned to the four dripping
lads and said:

"Are you boys injured in any way?"

"No," they replied as if with one breath.

"You look as though you had been struck in the eye pretty badly," said
the officer, giving Dick’s bruised cheek a close scrutiny, and for a
moment the boy blushed as if caught in a misdemeanor.

"I was hit in the eye yesterday," he finally managed to stammer; "it
wasn’t caused by anything that happened to-day," and then to change the
subject if possible, he inquired:

"May we have permission to go down where they have taken Tommy Turner?
We are all mighty anxious about him."

"Don’t you all want to get on some dry clothes first?" inquired the
officer.

The boys preferred, however, to hear first the news as to their friend’s
condition; consequently they were taken below, where already the ship’s
surgeon and his assistants were working hard to restore life to the
still unconscious Tommy.

Sitting on a mess bench which some men had placed for them, each boy
wrapped in blankets furnished by other thoughtful members of the crew,
they waited silently and with palpitating hearts while a long half hour
slowly ticked away.  Though many sailors were continually passing to and
fro they were all careful not to disturb the four shipwrecked boys who
sat there with eyes fastened in anxious hopefulness on the door to the
"sick bay," as the hospital is called on shipboard.

After what seemed an eternity, the door opened and Sergeant Dorlan came
out quietly, closing it behind him.  Immediately the watchers jumped to
their feet.

"Is he all right?" whispered Dick, plucking at Dorlan’s wet sleeve.  "Is
he----"

"Lord love ye, me lads, he’s as fit as a fiddle and will live to laugh
at ye in yer old age," replied Dorlan, cheerfully, and it was with a
mutual sigh of relief they heard the announcement.  A messenger
approaching at this moment, called to the boys:

"The Officer of the Deck says, seeing your friend’s all right, that you
are to follow me to the Junior Officers’ Quarters, where you can get a
bath and your clothes will be dried out for you."

"We’d like to see our friend first, if we might," suggested Dick.

"The little lad’s asleep and old ’Saw Bones’ wouldn’t let ye in to
disturb him for love nor money. Go ahead and get policed up," suggested
the sergeant, turning aft towards the marines’ compartment as he spoke.

"We do not know your name, Sergeant," spoke up Gordon, placing a
detaining hand on the marine’s arm, "but we all want to thank you for
saving Tommy Turner’s life.  It was just too fine for words, and I for
one should like to shake hands with you."

"It’s all in the day’s wurruk, me lad," said Dorlan, confused by this
frank praise, "but it’s happy I am to shake the hands of such plucky
lads as ye are yersel’s, so put her there," and he extended a brown
horny hand which they all grasped simultaneously.

"When ye git all fixed up and dhried out, come on back here and it’s
proud I’ll be to show ye about the old tub," with which remark he left
them at liberty to follow the Officer of the Deck’s messenger to the
Junior Officers’ Quarters.

Divesting themselves of their soaked garments on arrival there they were
supplied with soap, towels and bath robes and were soon enjoying the
bath. With spirits no longer depressed for fear of danger to their
friend, the four lads were now beginning thoroughly to enjoy their novel
experience.

"Which fellow said he wished he could visit a man-of-war?" questioned
Donald from the confines of a little enclosure where the sound of
splashing water announced he was already under the shower.

"It was the Sphinx," laughingly answered Gordon from his own particular
cubby hole.

"I didn’t want to come on board in quite the manner I did, though,"
called out Robert, "and furthermore, don’t call me Sphinx in the future.
If I’d had the sense of that old hunk of stone, I could have foreseen
the danger and been able to avoid it."

"Hurry up, you fellows, and don’t talk so much. Let me have a whack at
one of those showers," called Dick, who had been forced to wait, there
being not enough bathing places to allow all to indulge at the same
time.  "I want to hurry out of this and take a look around this ship
before I go ashore."

"Speaking of leaving," remarked Gordon as he emerged for a rub down,
"how do you suppose we are going to leave?"

"To tell the truth, I hadn’t thought of that," Dick replied, "and how
about your boat?  It’s all smashed up."

"She was about ready for the junk pile, anyway," said Gordon, "and I was
going to give her to the boat club before I left for Annapolis next
week."

"I wonder what Uncle Sam does when he smashes up your boats like that?"
questioned Donald.

"In this case," Dick vouchsafed, "I rather guess ’Uncle Sam’ will say it
is altogether our own fault. Poor Tommy was so rattled that he pulled on
the wrong rope and steered us right in front of the motor boat even
after they had veered off to avoid hitting us."

"Well, if they permit us to take a look around the ship, I am willing to
call it square," Gordon remarked philosophically.

A little later the boys were escorted to a vacant stateroom or cabin
where they found their underwear already dry and waiting to be donned.

"I call that quick work," exclaimed Gordon, and while he was speaking a
knock sounded at the door.

"Come in!" he called out, and a colored mess boy stuck his woolly head
into the room.

"Yoh clo’es will be ready foh yoh all in jest a jiffy, sah.  Here am yoh
rubber shoes dry a’ready an’ de tailor am a-pressing yoh pants and yoh
coats, sah."

"Where did you find our coats?" inquired Dick. "They were in the rowboat
the last I knew."

The colored boy grinned broadly, showing an expansive row of shining
white teeth.

"Ah don’t rightly know foh shu, boss, but Ah reckon dey foun’ ’em
floatin’ on de water an’ fetched ’em aboahd wid yoh boat, sah."

"You mean to say they have rescued the rowboat too and have it on board
this ship?" asked Gordon incredulously.

"Shu as shootin’, sah, an’ Chips wid his little Chips is fixin’ of her
up good as new.  Dey ain’t nuthin’ we cain’t do on one ob Unc’ Sam’s
ships, sah."

With which closing encomium the black face was withdrawn and the door
closed.

"Wonder what he meant by his ’Chips wid his little Chips’?" laughingly
questioned Robert Meade.

"You will have to ask Dick," answered Gordon rather enviously.  For now
that he had become so enthusiastic over his determination to follow his
father’s wishes and become a naval officer he felt he had neglected many
past opportunities for learning about the service.

"He meant the Chief Carpenter and his helpers, I ’reckon.  ’You see,
’Chips’ is a nickname in the Navy for the man who handles the saw and
hammer," Dick announced.

"When you boys are dressed come out into the mess room.  Put on your
bath robes till your clothes are ready for you," called a voice from the
passageway outside their door and needing no second bidding they all
walked out into the comfortable room where a number of junior officers
were standing about.

"I am Ensign Whiting, and these are the junior officers of the ship,"
announced the officer who had previously called to them, and he
introduced the lads to the others with an easy wave of his hand. "Sit
down and tell us all about the accident.  By the way, your friend Tommy
is still sleeping, and as it is noon we should be very glad if you would
accept our invitation to lunch.  The Captain sent word he wishes to see
you, but I told him you probably would eat with us, so, unless you are
in a hurry to get away, you need not go up to see him till later."

The boys gladly accepted the kind invitation and as the meal was
immediately announced they sat down in the places already provided and
proceeded to enjoy thoroughly their first meal on board a battleship.

During the repast they related how the accident occurred, and all were
high in praise of the marine sergeant who so promptly came to their
rescue. They learned that their wrecked boat had been towed back to the
ship and hauled out on board, and the damage to it was not so great but
that the ship’s carpenters could easily repair it.

"Mike Dorlan is a bit too fond of the firewater," volunteered one of the
officers, "but when it comes to being the right man in the right place
at the right time, it would be hard to find his equal."

"We tried to thank him for rescuing Tommy," said Gordon, "but we could
not make him understand what a noble thing it was."

"That’s Mike all over.  He’s a gruff old chap as a rule, and I suppose
saving anyone in such an easy manner, as he would call it, doesn’t seem
much to him," remarked Ensign Whiting.  "Mike already owns gold and
silver life-saving medals presented to him by the Navy Department."

"I never knew that," said an officer who had been introduced to the boys
as a Lieutenant of Marines.  "He never wears them at inspection nor the
ribbons for them at other times."

"Dorlan?  Wear medals?  Not that old leatherneck!"[#] exclaimed Whiting.
"Yet I happen to know that he has several in his ditty box[#] and if you
tackle him just right he will spin you some mighty interesting yarns.
Why, he was all through the Spanish War, first on a ship and then ashore
at Guantanamo; he fought in the Philippine Insurrection and was one of
the first marines to enter Pekin during its relief at the Boxer uprising
in 1900, and later he was in Cuba during the insurrection there in 1906,
and I believe he has landed for one reason or another in about every
place there ever was trouble brewing in the last fifteen years.  To cap
the climax he even has a medal of honor which he received for some
wonderfully impossible stunt he did out in China.  Ah!  Old Mike is a
wonder, all right!"


[#] Leatherneck--A sobriquet often applied to marines.  Supposed to have
originated from the leather collar which formed part of the uniform of
marines in the early days of the last century.

[#] A small wooden box issued to the men in which they keep writing
paper, ink, and odds and ends.  It is fitted with a lock.


"Do you suppose we can see Sergeant Dorlan later?" asked Dick eagerly.
"You see, he promised to show us over the ship, and this being the first
time that any of us has ever been lucky enough to get on board a United
States ship, we all want to make the best of fortunate misfortune, as
you might say."

"Why, certainly: right after you see the Captain," replied Ensign
Whiting, "and as your clothes are now ready, suppose you get into them
at once and I will take you up above for your interview."

Captain Cameron, of the U.S.S. _Nantucket_, flagship of the Battleship
Division of the Atlantic Fleet, was a big jovial man of ruddy complexion
and his greeting of the shipwrecked boys who were ushered into his cabin
by the marine orderly was hearty, and complimentary.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, young gentlemen," he said, shaking each
of them by the hand.  "I only regret your introduction on board my ship
was attended by such an unhappy incident.  However, it is to be hoped
that you won’t bear the Navy any grudge after I explain to you that we
are doing our best to make full amend for the accident. Mr. Ennis, the
ship’s carpenter, reports that his men will soon have your boat in
nearly perfect condition, and the surgeon states your young friend will
have no ill effects from his experience.  Please be seated and make
yourselves at home, for I have a few questions to ask you."

It was indeed an interesting place to sit, being filled with curios
which the Captain during his many years of service in the Navy had
collected in nearly every corner of the world, and while he talked they
found it difficult to keep their eyes from wandering about the room on
cursory inspection of the idols, weapons, pictures and objects of art,
attractively arranged on walls and tables.

"Now that we are all comfortable, suppose you tell me how the accident
occurred," said their host, turning first to Dick, who was seated
nearest him. Whereupon the boy told him the entire story and each of the
others added the details that came to their minds.

"It is needless to say that I wish it had not happened," said he; "my
coxswain was at fault for coming around so close under the stern of the
ship, but I can see that you are inclined to place the blame on your own
coxswain, who steered you across the bow of the motor boat after she had
blown the proper whistles.  However, I have endeavored to do the best I
can by you.  Your boat is nearly repaired; your oars and stretchers
replaced, your clothes recovered, and though they may have suffered a
little from their wetting I do not imagine any great harm has resulted.
It is true you lost your lunches but I am inclined to believe you have
not suffered on that account either, and even the box of fish lines was
picked up.  The only thing really worrying me is your friend Tommy, but
even in his case nothing more than a slight bruise on the forehead has
resulted.  Now I want to know if there is anything else I can do to even
up our account?"

"Well, sir," Richard answered, looking a little embarrassed while he
turned the edge of a rug with the toe of his shoe, "there is one more
thing you may do for us if you will."

Captain Cameron, believing he had already done more than he was called
upon to do under the circumstances, was surprised at this reply.

"And what may that be?" he inquired rather sharply.

"If you would permit all of us to have a good look around your ship,
sir, before we leave, it would be greatly appreciated and also, sir, we
should like it very much if Sergeant Dorlan could act as the guide.  You
see, he offered to do it," and Richard ended his request by looking
directly at his host.

"If that is all, my boys," said the Captain, once again his genial self,
"I gladly grant it, and furthermore, during our stay in port I shall be
happy to see you on board at any time outside of working hours."

Ringing a bell, the marine orderly answered the summons.

[Illustration: THE MARINE ORDERLY ANSWERED THE SUMMONS]

"Orderly, present my compliments to Captain Henderson and ask him to
detail Sergeant Dorlan to accompany these young gentlemen on an
inspection tour of the ship."

The marine snapped his hand to his cap in salute, and after his "Aye,
aye, sir," which is the naval way of replying to an order, he turned and
left the cabin, followed by the delighted youngsters.

Captain Kenneth Henderson, United States Marine Corps, was holding
five-inch gun drill when the orderly found him.  After receiving the
message from his Commanding Officer he immediately called Sergeant
Dorlan and gave him his instructions.

"Before you start out, Sergeant, you had better stop in the sick bay and
pick up the other member of the party.  When I came by there a while ago
he was feeling fine and getting ready to dress.  He of course will wish
to go around with you."

Tommy was feeling perfectly well.  A small blue mark still remained on
his forehead showing where he had been hit by some part of the wreckage
in the accident and knocked insensible.  Being fully dressed when the
others arrived, they all were soon investigating the wonderful
battleship.  For two full hours they pestered the patient Dorlan with
more questions and inquiries than he could have answered in a lifetime.
In the course of their personally conducted trip they were on a visit to
the bridge when their attention was again attracted to the small bugler
of marines who had been the innocent cause of their presence on board
the flagship.  He was again sounding the call which they had been
discussing when the motor boat dashed under the stern of the vessel and
crashed into them.

"What is the meaning of that call?" asked Dick of their guide.

"He’s callin’ away the motor sailer," replied Dorlan.

"Is he a marine--the little fellow blowing the bugle?" inquired Tommy.

"Surest thing ye know," was the answer.

"Why!  He can’t be as old as we are," remarked Dick; "how old do you
have to be to enlist in the Marines?"

"Those kids sometimes come in at the age of fifteen," answered Dorlan;
"they enlist as drummers and trumpeters and serve till they’re
twenty-one years old."

"May anyone enlist?" Dick asked.

"Sure, if yer old enough."

"And work your way up to a commission, as they do in the army?"

"Indeed ye can, if ye’ve got it in ye," replied the Sergeant; "Captain
Henderson come up from the ranks, and a mighty good officer he is, too,"
he added.

After this talk Richard Comstock remained very thoughtful.  A sudden
idea had come to his mind, and he wanted to think it over.  The sight of
the neat-looking marines, their military bearing, smart uniforms and
soldierly demeanor attracted him powerfully, and when he learned that
enlisted men were afforded the opportunity to rise in rank to that of
commissioned officer, he saw in this a means of following a career
which, if not exactly the one he had always desired to pursue, was
similar in many respects, at least.

A little later the boys were taken ashore in one of the flagship’s
steamers, first being assured that their own boat would be sent to the
boat club in the morning.



                               CHAPTER IV

                    SEMPER FIDELIS--ALWAYS FAITHFUL


The actions of Dick Comstock for the next few days were clothed in
mystery so far as his own immediate family was concerned, for he kept
his own counsel as to his movements when away from home. Even his sister
Ursula was not taken into his confidence.  In the meantime the day of
Gordon Graham’s departure for Annapolis arrived, and his friends went to
the station to give him a proper send-off.

Ursula and Dick were there, also Donald, Robert and Tommy Turner and
many of Gordon’s classmates, of whom Dick was the closest friend.

"I still wish you were going, Dick," said Gordon sadly when the express
pulled in under the train shed.  "It will be fearfully strange down
there with none of the old crowd around.  Have you made any plans yet
regarding what you are going to do?"

"Not fully," answered Richard.  "I expect to be leaving town in a day or
two, though."

"Where are you going?" inquired Gordon in surprise.  But Ursula
approached them at that moment, and Dick gave a warning signal for
silence which Gordon saw and understood.

"Good-bye, Gordon," she said prettily, and Gordon suddenly regretted
that so many of the boys and girls were there to bid him farewell.  He
would have much preferred to say his adieus to Ursula with no others
present.  Strange he never before realized what a beautiful girl she had
become, with her blue eyes looking straight out at one from under the
black eyebrows and the hair blowing about her delicately tinted cheeks.

"A-l-l A-b-o-a-r-d!" rang the voice of the conductor, standing watch in
hand ready to give the starting signal to the engineer.  The porters
were picking up their little steps and getting ready to depart.

"Good-bye, Ursula," said the lad simply, wringing her hand with a
heavier clasp than he knew, and though he nearly crushed the bones, she
never gave the least sign of the pain he was causing her; perhaps she
did not really feel it.

"Kiss me, Gordon," cried his mother, as she threw her arms around him.
"Don’t forget to write immediately on arriving."

"Come on, my son, time to jump aboard," cautioned his father in a
suspiciously gruff tone, and in a moment more Gordon mounted the steps
where from the platform of the moving train he stood waving his hat in
farewell.

"Give him the school yell, fellows," shouted Tommy Turner at the top of
his lungs, and with that rousing cry ringing in his ears Gordon Graham
started on life’s real journey.

That same evening while Dick’s father was engaged with some business
papers, the boy came quietly into the room.

"Father, may I interrupt your work for a little while?" he inquired.

"Nothing important, Dick, my boy," answered Mr. Comstock, laying aside
the document he was reading; "what can I do for you?"

"Mother has just told me you are going to New York to-morrow; is that
so?"

"Yes, I have business there for the firm.  Why?"

"I was hoping I might go along with you," returned the boy.

Dick’s father scrutinized his son’s face for a moment, wondering what
was behind the quiet glance and serious manner of the lad.

"What is the big idea?" questioned Mr. Comstock. "Want to spend a week
or two with Cousin Ella Harris?"

"No," replied Dick slowly, "I have something else in mind, but I don’t
want to tell you what it is until we get on the train.  It’s a matter I
have been thinking over for some time and--well, you will know all about
it to-morrow, if I may go with you."

"Very well," replied his father, turning again to his work; "pack up and
be ready to leave in the morning.  We’ll take the ten o’clock express."

"Good-night, Dad, and thank you," said Dick simply.

"Good-night, Dick," answered Mr. Comstock, without looking up,
consequently he failed to see the lingering look the boy gave the
familiar scene before him, as if bidding it a silent last "good-night."
For Dick was drinking in each detail of the room as if trying to fix its
every feature indelibly in his memory.

At breakfast next morning he was more quiet than his mother had ever
known him, and both she and his sister Ursula were surprised to see the
tears fill his eyes when he kissed them.

"I never knew you to be such a big baby, Dick," said Ursula.  "If you
feel so bad about leaving us why did you ask Father to take you on for a
visit with Cousin Ella?"  Although Dick had not said that this was his
object in going away, it was a natural inference on Ursula’s part, and
as he vouchsafed no reply to the contrary she consequently watched him
depart with a light heart.

In the crowded train Mr. Comstock and Richard succeeded finally in
getting a seat to themselves, and while his father finished reading the
morning paper, Dick spent his time in looking out the car window at the
familiar sights along the road.  But before long he was talking
earnestly.

"Dad, I’ve decided what I want to do," he began, "but I can’t do it
unless I get your consent."

"What’s on your mind, son?" said Mr. Comstock, folding his paper and
smiling at the boy beside him.  "Go ahead and I will pay close
attention."

"If I went to Annapolis," Dick observed, "I’d finish my course there at
the age of twenty-one, shouldn’t I?"

"Yes, the course is four years at the Naval Academy."

"It would be the same if I went to West Point. In other words, by the
time I was twenty-one years old I would, if successful at either
institution, be either an ensign or a second lieutenant, as the case
might be!"

"Quite true," remarked Mr. Comstock, still unable to comprehend where
this preliminary fencing was leading.

"Have you ever heard of the United States Marine Corps?" asked Dick
after the silence of a second or two.

"Most certainly I have," was the reply.  "The marines figure in nearly
every move our country makes in one way or another.  They are always
busy somewhere, though they get but little credit from the general
public for their excellent work.  I am not as familiar with their
history as I should be--as every good American who has his country’s
welfare at heart should be, I might add, though perhaps I know a little
more about them than a vast majority.  Were it not for the marines our
firm would have lost thousands of dollars some years ago when the
revolutionists started burning up the sugar mills and the cane fields in
Cuba.  Our government sent a few hundred marines down there in a rush
and they put a stop to all the depredations in a most efficient manner.
The presence on the premises saved our mill beyond a doubt.  But, how do
the marines figure in this discussion?  You don’t mean----"

"Well, you see, it’s this way," said the boy, and now his words no
longer came slowly and haltingly, "I’ve made up my mind to become a
Marine Officer, and if I can’t do it by the time I’m twenty-one, then my
name isn’t Richard Comstock."

"Bless me!  How do you propose going about it, Dick?  As I have told
you, there is no chance of going to the Naval Academy this year, and I
understand that all marine officers are appointed to the Corps from
among Annapolis graduates.  For that reason I do not believe you
have----"

"Excuse me, Dad, but that’s just where you are mistaken.  All the marine
officers don’t go through the Naval Academy.  Some of them enlist and go
up from the ranks.  They win their shoulder straps on their own merit.
That’s what I expect to do if you will only give me the chance.  And you
will, won’t you, Dad?"  Dick’s voice trembled with eagerness as he put
the momentous question.

A few moments elapsed before his father answered and when he began
speaking he reached out and gently placed his hand over that of his son.

"Evidently you have been looking into this matter thoroughly.  I know
now what has been keeping you so silent these last few days.  I
suspected you were grieving over your disappointment at my inability to
send you to the Naval School or possibly over the departure of your
chum, Graham, but I might have known my boy was using his time to better
advantage than ’crying over spilled milk.’"

Mr. Comstock paused a moment and then continued:

"I know how your mind is wrapped up in a military career, Dick.  Ever
since you were a little shaver you have played at military and naval
mimic warfare.  You love it, and I believe you would become a good
officer some day with proper training. Anything I may honorably do for
the attainment of your desires and your advancement I am but too willing
to undertake.  But, my boy, I am not sure of the advisability of
permitting you to become an ordinary enlisted man with that uncertainty
of ever gaining your point--I imagine it is a more or less uncertain
proposition.  Besides, Dick, you are pretty young to be allowed to start
out on such a hard life.  The career of an enlisted man is not a bed of
roses--full of trials and temptations of all kinds.  At West Point or
Annapolis you will be given kind treatment and be under careful
surveillance for four years and not subjected to the roughness and
uncouthness which must attend a start in the ranks.  In another year
there may be an opening for you at either place.  However, I will not
deny your request until I have looked further into the case.  I am
afraid your mother would never hear of such a thing for her only boy.
Why not wait and consult her regarding it?"

"I’ll tell you why, Dad," began Dick, launching again into his subject
at once so as to press home the slight advantage he believed he had
gained, "on the Fourth of July I’ll be seventeen years of age. Mother
didn’t happen to think of that, or she would have made me wait a few
days before going to Cousin Ella’s, where she believes I have gone. You
know, Dad, that for years I’ve been able to blow a bugle and handle the
drumsticks better than any other boy in town.  Well, last week, when we
were on board the _Nantucket_, I saw some young boys belonging to the
Marine guard of the ship, and I found out all about them.  Why, they
were smaller than Tommy Turner!

"It appears that there is a school for musics[#] at the Marine Barracks
in Washington, D.C., where boys between the ages of fifteen and
seventeen are given training.  They enlist to serve until majority, but
often after they have served a short time as drummer or trumpeter they
get permission to change their rank and become privates.  This puts them
in line for promotion to the rank of corporal and sergeant.  I’ve been
talking with Tommy’s uncle, and he was kind enough to have me meet an
officer of Marines stationed at the Navy Yard back home, who recently
came from recruiting duty. That officer, Lieutenant Stanton is his name,
told me that the Corps is filled up just now, and all enlisting stopped,
so that my only chance to get in right away would be in this school for
musics.  In two days more I’ll be too old to get in.  I knew if I
proposed the subject at home, Mother would offer such objections that I
just couldn’t refuse to do as she wished.  Therefore I’ve packed up and
left home for good.  Dad, you--you won’t stop me, will you?  You’ll give
me this chance?  I’ve set my heart on it so much!"


[#] In the Army and Marine Corps drummers and trumpeters are generally
called "musics."  On board ship the sailor man who blows the trumpet is
called a "bugler."  The school for Marine Corps musics is now located at
Paris Island, S.C. (1919)


Dick stopped talking.  It was the longest extemporaneous speech he ever
had made in his life, and as he watched his father’s face, he wondered
if he had said too much or not enough!

Once again a long silence ensued, while Mr. Comstock reviewed all the
boy had said.  What should he do?  To deny Dick’s request might be the
very worst step he possibly could take, for he knew the process of
reasoning by which this purposeful, upright son of his arrived at his
conclusions.  He believed thoroughly in his son, and wanted to make no
mistake in his decision.

"Let us go in to luncheon, Dick, and give me a little time to think this
over.  It is a little sudden, you know, and should not be gone into
unwisely."

During the meal John Comstock questioned Dick closely regarding this
subject uppermost in the minds of both.  He saw that the lad was bent
upon carrying out his project; that the boy had given it careful
thought; that he had weighed its advantages and disadvantages with more
acumen than most boys of his age.

Richard was a good student, and not for a moment did the father doubt
that his son if given the opportunity would win his commission.

"Was it your idea to go to the New York recruiting station to-day on our
arrival?" asked Mr. Comstock, when they resumed their seat in the day
coach.

"Yes, Dad, for if I enlist in New York the government sends me to
Washington and pays my way there."

"I have a better plan than that," said his father. "I will let my
business in New York wait on my return, and we will both go to
Washington this afternoon, and spend the night in a comfortable hotel.
To-morrow I will go to the Commandant of the Marine Corps with you,
armed with a letter of introduction, and we will talk it over with him.
In this way I shall have a much clearer and more authoritative view of
your prospects.  Then if you get by the physical examination and are
accepted I shall be able to see for myself how and where you will be
fixed."

"Then I may go?  You will allow me?" cried Richard, almost jumping out
of his seat in his enthusiasm.  "You are just the finest Dad in the
world!  And what is best of all about your plan is that Mother will be
less worried if you are able to tell her everything as you see it."

"That is one of my chief reasons for going about it in this way,"
quietly remarked his father.  "I know she will be heart-broken at first,
and probably will accuse me of being an unworthy parent; so, my boy, it
is a case of how you manage your future, which must prove to her that we
both acted for your best interests."

"I’ll work hard; I don’t need to tell you that, Father," Dick replied.

On arriving in New York they hastened across the city, luckily making
good connections for Washington, and the following morning the schedule
as planned was begun.

It was Richard’s first visit to the capital, and consequently everything
he saw interested him.  The wonderful dome of the Capitol building; the
tall white shaft of Washington Monument, the imposing architecture of
the State, War and Navy Departments, the broad streets, the beautiful
parks and circles with their many statues, all claimed his attention.

After securing the letter of introduction, Mr. Comstock first took
Richard to the Navy Department where, on inquiry, they found that Marine
Corps Headquarters was in a near-by office building. The original
structure built for the Navy was even then getting too small for the
business of its many bureaus.  The building they sought was but a few
steps away, and their route led them directly past the White House, the
official residence of the President of the United States.

While on their journey they saw but few persons in uniform.  Even in the
Navy Building there was a decided absence of officers or men in the
dress of their calling.  This seemed very odd to the boy, as he always
pictured in his imagination the "seat of the nation" was gay with
uniformed officials of his own and other countries.

"Why is it, Father, you see so few uniforms in the capital?" he
inquired.

"I am not positive I am right," replied Mr. Comstock, "but the American
officers, soldiers and sailors object to wearing their military clothes
except when they are actually required to do so.[#]  Our nation is so
democratic that they believe it makes them appear conspicuous.
Furthermore, in uniform they are often discriminated against,
particularly in the case of enlisted men.  This is one of the reasons
why a better class of men do not go into the service--they consider the
wearing of a uniform belittles them in the eyes of the public."


[#] Previous to the war with Germany officers of the United States
services were not required to wear uniforms when off duty and outside
their ship or station. Enlisted men were also permitted to wear civilian
clothing while on liberty, under certain restrictions.  Civilian
clothing was generally called "cits" by those in service.


"I think a uniform is the best kind of clothing a fellow can wear.  I’ll
be mighty proud of mine, and never will be ashamed of it."

"In Europe," continued Dick’s father, "a soldier is looked upon in a
different light, depending to a great extent in what country he serves.
They are honored and usually given every consideration, or at least the
officers are, and particularly in Germany, where militarism is the first
word in culture. The United States, on the other hand, maintains such a
small and inadequate army and navy that our men in uniform are really
more like curiosities to the people than anything else."

"But there are a lot of men in uniform back home," Dick remarked.

"Yes, enlisted men, seldom officers.  The reason is, the proximity of
several army forts, a navy yard and the frequent visits of the
men-of-war in our harbor.  So we at home are familiar with the different
branches of the service; but it is far from being the case in most
cities of our republic," answered Mr. Comstock.

They were now approaching the building wherein the headquarters of the
Marine Corps were located, when Dick exclaimed:

"Look, Father!  There are some marines now; aren’t they simply great?"

Two stalwart men in uniform were crossing the street just ahead of the
speaker.  In their dark blue coats piped in red, with the five shiny
brass buttons down the front and yellow and red chevrons on the arms,
trousers adorned with bright red stripes and blue caps surmounted by the
Corps insignia over the black enameled vizors, they were indeed a most
attractive sample of the Marine Corps non-commissioned officer at his
best.

"It’s their regular dress uniform," Dick announced, "and I think it’s
the best looking outfit I have ever seen, but, Dad, you should see the
officers when they get into their full dress!"

"Where did you pick up all your knowledge of their uniforms, Dick?"
asked his father curiously.

"Oh, Tommy Turner made his uncle show them all to us.  You see, he
stayed in the Corps for some years after the Spanish War, and he has
always kept his uniforms.  He believes that some day he may need them
again if ever the United States gets into a big fight, and if that time
comes he is going back into the marines."

Following the two non-commissioned officers into a tall structure, Mr.
Comstock and Richard were whisked up several stories in an elevator and
found themselves before an opened door upon which were the words, "Aide
to the Commandant."

A young man in civilian dress rose as they entered and inquired their
business, which Mr. Comstock quickly explained.

"Sit down, sir, if you please, and I will see if the General can talk
with you," he said.

They did as directed, while the young man disappeared into an adjoining
room.  A few moments later he returned and motioned for them to follow
him.

"What may I do for you, Mr. Comstock?" inquired a large, handsome,
gray-haired gentleman standing behind the desk when they entered.  He
too was in civilian clothes, but despite the fact, looked every inch the
soldier he was known to be.

Mr. Comstock introduced Richard to the General and then told him the
reason of his visit.

"My boy is anxious to become a marine, and I have promised to look into
the necessary preliminary steps.  I understand that you are not
recruiting just at present, but we were told that possibly my son would
be taken into the Corps as a bugler or drummer."

"Yes, we do take boys in for training as field musics," said the
General, glancing at Dick for a moment, "but your son, I fear, is too
old; the ages for this class of enlistment are from fifteen to seventeen
years, and judging by the lad’s size he already passed the age limit."

"He is very nearly, but has yet a few hours of grace," replied Mr.
Comstock.  "He will be seventeen to-morrow, and I was hoping that you
might enlist him to-day.  My son’s object in going into the Corps is to
work for a commission. That is one of the inducements which I understand
the Corps offers its enlisted personnel, is it not?"

"You are right, Mr. Comstock; at the present time our officers are taken
from graduates of the Naval Academy or from the ranks.  There have been
times when civilian appointments were allowed, but the law has now been
changed."

"In that case then, could you take my boy into your organization?  He
understands that his advancement depends entirely on his own merit, and
he has taken a decided stand as to what he intends to do and has my full
consent to try it."

"Does he also understand that the number of officers appointed from the
ranks are few, and picked for their exceptionally good records and
ability, and that he serves an apprenticeship until he is twenty-one
years of age?" inquired the Commandant.

"Yes, sir," answered Richard, speaking for the first time.

"Why do you not enter the Naval Academy, young man, and after graduation
come into the Corps?" asked the General, looking at Dick with his stern
eyes.

"Well, sir, I failed to get the appointment at the last minute."

"Do you also realize there are many unpleasant things connected with the
life of an enlisted man, and are you prepared to meet them?"

"Yes, sir, and I believe I can make good."

"I like your spirit, young man," said the General approvingly; "the
motto of the Marine Corps is ’_Semper Fidelis_--Always Faithful,’ and to
be a true marine you must bear that motto in mind at all times and under
all conditions, if it is your hope to succeed in the service."

He now turned to Dick’s father:

"Ordinarily, Mr. Comstock, our young men are held at the school for a
few days before we complete their enlistment in order that they may get
an idea of the life and duties to which they are about to bind
themselves when taking the oath of allegiance. In your son’s case, I
believe he knows what he wants, and he is the kind of young man we wish
to get.  Were he compelled to wait according to our usual custom he
would be past the age limit, consequently I will further your desires
and arrange to have him sworn into service immediately, providing he
passes the surgeon’s examination.  I will give you an order to the
Commanding Officer of the Marine Barracks which will answer your
purpose."

Saying this he gave the necessary directions to the aide, who had
remained standing near by, and a little later Dick and his father were
on a street car bound for the barracks, where the School for Musics was
located.  Arriving there they soon found themselves in the presence of
the colonel commanding the post, who, on reading the instructions of the
Commandant, looked the boy over with an approving eye.

"I reckon you will be about the tallest apprentice we have here," he
said, and calling an orderly directed him to escort Dick to the
examining surgeon, and invited Mr. Comstock to sit and await the result.

The Marine Corps is primarily organized for service with the Navy,
though this has by no means been its only function in the past, nor
likely to be in the future.  On many occasions the Corps has acted
independently and also with the Army, which is provided for in the
statutes.  Being attached to the Navy and operating with it at Navy
Yards, Naval Stations and on board ship its medical officers are
supplied by the Navy, for the Corps maintains no sanitary service of its
own.

The Navy surgeon gave the lad a very thorough examination, one even more
thorough than usual, and after Dick had been passed and departed he
remarked to his assistant:

"That boy is one of the finest specimens of the American youth I have
ever examined.  He is so clean limbed and perfectly muscled that it was
a joy to look at him."

After this visit, Dick, with the attendant orderly, returned to the
office of the Commanding Officer.

"Well, the surgeon states you are all right," said Colonel Waverly,
having glanced at the slip of paper the orderly handed him; "you are
quite positive that you wish to undertake the obligation, young man?"

"Quite, sir," was Dick’s laconic response.

"Very well," and the Colonel then called loudly for the Sergeant Major.
"Sergeant Major, this young man is to be enlisted as an apprentice at
once.  Make out the necessary papers."

Fifteen minutes later, with his right hand held high, his head proudly
erect, Richard Comstock took the solemn oath of allegiance to his
country, which so few young men seriously consider as they repeat its
impressive vows, and with the final words he graduated to man’s estate.



                               CHAPTER V

                     A DRUMMER IN THE U. S. MARINES


"Rise and shine!  Come on, you kids, shake a leg and get up out of
this!"

Dick Comstock sleepily rubbed his eyes for the fraction of a second and
then sprang out of his comfortable bunk as the sergeant’s voice bellowed
through the room.  In the long dormitory thirty-odd boys, their ages
ranging from fifteen to Dick’s own, were hurrying their preparations to
get into uniform and down on the parade ground in time for reveille roll
call.  Another day in a marine’s life had begun.

Out the doors and down the stairs clattered the noisy, boisterous
throng, fastening last buttons as they emerged into the light of the
midsummer rising sun.

August was half gone and Dick had now completed over a month and a half
in Uncle Sam’s _corps d’elite_, for such it was acknowledged to be by
well informed military men of both continents. During that time he had
not found the days hanging heavily on his hands.  Being fortunate in
knowing, before he came into the service, how to handle the ebony sticks
and blow a bugle, he had escaped a good deal of the monotonous
preliminary ground work which the boys in the "school for musics" were
required to undergo.  It is true that he first had to prove his ability
to his drill masters, and having received no regular instruction
previously, he made no mention of his accomplishments during his first
few days at the school.

With the others he had gone each morning to the basement, where the
drumming lessons were given; sat astride the wooden benches with his
companions and lustily pounded out "Ma-ma, Dad-dy," till the very walls
seemed to shake and tremble from the fearful racket.

The old retired drummer who called him up for his first lesson asked
Dick no questions.

"Comstock!" he had called out, and Dick went modestly forward to receive
his instructions from the old martinet, for such he was, and had to be
with that mischievously inclined, irresponsible lot of young Americans.
"I want you to start in practising this to-day--yes, that is right--you
hold the sticks correctly!  Now, make two strokes with the left
hand,--slow, like this,--then two with the right. Now watch me," and the
old fellow tapped the bench before him demonstrating his meaning.

With each two strokes of the left-hand stick he would say aloud,
"Ma-ma," and with the right-hand strokes, "Dad-dy," slowly at first then
more quickly, till finally the plank beneath gave forth the wonderful
roll of sound never acquired except by long and faithful practise.

"Now you see how it should be done!  At first you must only try to do it
slowly, for unless you get this down thoroughly at the start you will
never be a drummer.  Next!"  And Dick was moved along to practise in
playing "Mama, Daddy," "Mama, Daddy," for the next hour.

It had been otherwise with the bugle instructor. He saw at once that the
boy knew how to "tongue" the mouthpiece, and that his lip was in
condition, and after trying him out the first day and finding him able
to read notes, Dick was told to learn the calls with which he was
unfamiliar and left to work out his own salvation.

In a little over a month he passed the required examination and was
regularly appointed a drummer.

The prediction of Colonel Waverly that Dick would probably be the
largest boy in the school proved nearly correct, there being but one
other boy, Henry Clay Cabell, a Southerner, who approached him in size.
"Hank" or "Daddy" Cabell, as he was called by the rest of the school
until Dick’s entrance, had been the oldest boy there; he was as tall as
Richard, but did not have the weight nor strength.  From their first
meeting Dick and Henry formed a liking for each other which daily
increased and strengthened.  Henry confided to Dick that he hoped to
work his way up to a commission, and they agreed to help each other with
that end in view.  At the same time Dick was graduated and made a
drummer Henry Cabell was appointed a trumpeter, and it was their fondest
desire to be detailed for duty at the same station if sent away in the
near future, as was very likely to be the case.

On this particular August morning while the two walked back to their
squad room after the regular physical drill which followed the reveille
roll call, they were discussing this matter.

"I reckon it won’t be long before we get our walking papers," said Henry
in his deliberate Southern drawl, "now that we are no longer
apprentices.

"I’ll be glad to leave that crazy bunch, anyway," he continued as they
stopped for a moment under the barracks arcade and watched the
apprentices racing wildly across the parade ground after being dismissed
from their drill.  "I don’t reckon they ever will learn anything.  They
are only mischief-making children, and seem to have no sense of
responsibility at all.  Sometimes I wonder why they take such babies
into a crack organization like this. Do you reckon it ever pays in the
long run?  They try to fuss ’Old Grumpy’ the entire time, and never make
the least attempt to learn their lessons at school."

"I guess you’ve still a great deal to learn about the marines," remarked
Dick drily.  "In the first place, those boys seldom fool Gunnery
Sergeant Miller with their tricks.  He has been handling boys for such a
long time in the capacity of ’N.C.O.[#] in Charge’ that they have to get
up pretty early in the morning to put one over on him. He has been
through the mill himself, for he is a graduate from this very school.
It’s just because they are kids, that’s all, and most of them have not
had the advantages you and I have enjoyed, Hank, in the way of schooling
and home training and associations.  They get the spirit of the Corps
sooner or later, I guess.  You see, we were fortunate; we both went
through high school, and that is why we were excused from taking the
lessons those boys have to labor over.  Some of those chaps never got
beyond the primary schools till they came here."


[#] Non-commissioned officer.


"Where did you get all your dope, Dick?" inquired Henry, rather curious
to know how his friend found out so many things.

"Well, you see, Hank, I’m in the Marine Corps to learn all I can about
it.  I want to be familiar with its history in every way, and I’ve had
several talks with Miller and other N.C.O.’s about service things.  In
this way I get quite a little valuable information not put down in the
rules and regulations; and it may come in handy some day."

"Oh yes, I reckon so, and you may be right; but for my part the N.C.O.’s
are such an ignorant lot themselves, and more or less vulgar too, that I
avoid all of them as much as possible.  Until you came along, Dick, I
hardly spoke to anyone in the barracks.  It goes against the grain to
have too close an intimacy with them."

"Henry, you are too good a fellow to hold such ideas; and besides, you
are wrong about their being ignorant, or vulgar either.  I am beginning
to believe that every individual can teach us something which, if we use
the knowledge properly, is bound to help us and make us better men.  If
you hope to become a successful officer you will have to know your men,
how to treat them and to deal with them; you will have to make their
interests your interests to a great extent; but if you despise your men
because they all don’t happen to measure up to your standard, socially,
mentally and morally, I’ll tell you right now you’ve got a hard row to
travel ahead of you, old boy."

"Your argument doesn’t appeal to me, Dick," responded Henry, with a
little coolness in his voice. "I reckon I’ll get along.  So, as we can’t
agree on that point, let us cut out the discussion and get our quarters
policed up.  It is nearly time for mess call."

It was Saturday morning, and the quarters of the apprentices were due
for an extra cleaning, for on this day of the week the Commanding
Officer of the Post held his weekly inspection, and woe betide any
luckless youngster whose bunk was not properly made up, shoes not
accurately lined and shined, or whose steel clothes locker was not in
"apple pie order."

Each boy had his own work to do.  The narrow aluminum painted bunks were
carefully aligned along either wall of the long room.  Folded back on
the wire springs towards the head of the bed were the mattresses in
their immaculate white covers; on top of each mattress were the folded
sheets, their smooth edges to the front.  Next came the pillow in its
linen case; and finally surmounting these were the gray blankets with
the initials "U.S.M.C." woven in dark blue lettering across their
centers, while plainly in view were the owners’ names in white stencil.

In the five-foot spaces between bunks were the dark, green-painted steel
lockers in which were stored toilet articles, knickknacks, and wearing
apparel.  Each bit of clothing was laid with the folded edge outward and
flush with the front of the locker shelves.

The hard-wood floors needed but a careful sweeping and dusting, for
Friday is field day in every Marine Corps garrison, consequently the
scrubbing and preliminary polishing had been previously attended to.

The work was barely completed when the blaring call of a bugle announced
breakfast.

    "Soupy, soupy, soupy,
    The worst I ’ve ever seen:
    Coffee, coffee, coffee,
    Without a single bean:
    Porky, porky, porky,
    And not a streak of lean."


Thus sang the bugle!

Again the clattering down the stairs, as not only the music boys, but
the entire garrison "fell in" under the arcade and were marched into the
spotless mess hall to a breakfast of bacon and eggs, hot cakes and
coffee.  Then the clatter of heavy china dishes on the wooden mess
tables, the noise of knife and fork and spoon, the clatter of voices
filled the air. Messmen, who were themselves marines detailed for the
duty, for which they received an extra compensation of five dollars pay
per month, their uniforms covered with long white aprons, scurried to
and from the galley, with steaming pitchers of hot coffee or large
platters of golden-brown flapjacks, serving the hungry men at the
tables.

In the middle of this tumult an officer entered, dressed in khaki, and
wearing at his left side the famous "sword of the Mamelukes" in its
glittering scabbard.

"’Ten--shun!"

The command rang out in stentorian tones through the room.  Each man sat
bolt upright in his place.  The hustling messmen[#] stood halted in
their tracks and instant silence reigned.  Some N.C.O., catching sight
of the Officer of the Day coming through the doorway to inspect the
morning meal, called out the order, but only for a moment was the
progress of the repast delayed; almost before the noise had ceased the
O.D.’s command, "Carry On,"[#] was heard, and the din and clatter began
with redoubled energy.


[#] By Navy Regulations one mess-man is allowed for every twenty men in
the mess.

[#] A Navy and Marine Corps command, by voice or bugle, meaning for the
men to continue work, drill, or occupation in which they were engaged
when interrupted.  This command has been in vogue for many years.


In and out among the tables walked the officer, asking this or that one
questions about the food or calling the attention of the busy messmen to
some trivial defect, then he disappeared in the direction of the galley
to taste for himself the quality of the articles served.  This routine
was part of the O.D.’s duty.

In service, meals are quickly over, and no loitering is allowed at
tables, especially on inspection day.  Richard, having finished his
rations with all the gusto of a healthy boy, strolled from the mess hall
back to his squad room.  The apprentices were supposed to have their
quarters in proper "police" by mess call in the morning, and while they
were engaged in filling their stomachs, the N.C.O. in charge, Gunnery
Sergeant Miller, usually made his unofficial morning inspection in order
to discover and correct any violations of requirements before the
regular function by the O.D., or on Saturdays the Commanding Officer.

"Old Grumpy" knew boys from "A to Izzard," and though they were ever
attempting to play all sorts of pranks on him it was seldom they
succeeded.  Tall, lean, gruff, the boys soon found he possessed a heart
under the weather-beaten exterior, and honestly admired and respected
him.  He was never unjust, he gave them no work not necessary to their
welfare.  He heard their complaints, settled their disputes; or, if he
believed these could be settled only by a fistic encounter, he arranged
the match, and acted as referee, timekeeper and general adviser.

He also took charge of their scholastic career, so sadly neglected in
many cases.  It was called "Grammar" school, but its curriculum was
little more than the "three R’s."  Besides being the drill instructor,
Gunnery Sergeant Miller strove at all times to teach his young charges
the manly virtues of honesty, courage, self-control, obedience, industry
and clean living.

When Dick entered the squad room he thought at first it must have been
occupied during his absence at breakfast by a menagerie of wild beasts.
At the far end, where there happened to be a few empty bunks, a regular
free-for-all fight seemed to be in progress.  Shoes were flying about
the room in all directions, boys wrestling on the floor, pulling at one
another, yelling, laughing, punching, crawling. During "Old Grumpy’s"
inspection, while they were at mess, he had found several pairs of shoes
unblackened, others not aligned, and still others poked away in improper
places.  So he gathered all the shoes in the room in a heap and left
them for their owners to disentangle and set aright.  It was not an easy
job to find one’s shoes when mixed up in a jumbled mass of over sixty
pairs, and by the time the owners secured their rightful property, get
them again cleaned (for the scrimmage had effectually destroyed any
previous gloss), and aligned under the bunks, brass work of drum and
bugle polished, leggins khaki-blancoed, clothing and equipment brushed
and adjusted, guard mounting was over and first call for inspection
sounded from the area of barracks.

At the sounding of assembly the lads formed in two ranks on their
allotted parade ground, while the companies under arms and the band
marched to their assigned places.

This was the first Saturday inspection for some of the apprentices
recently arrived, so Gunnery Sergeant Miller took occasion to give them
a few last cautions regarding their duties, and ended by addressing them
as follows:

"I want to tell you boys that every time in the future I don’t find your
shoes properly policed at early inspection they all go into a pile as
they did this morning.  That means more work for all hands.  I can’t
stop to pick out the few that are all right when so many are all wrong.
Take the hint and all of you coöperate and save yourselves extra and
useless work.  That’s all!  At Ease!"

The strains of the band were now heard and the apprentices watched the
movements of the companies as they went through the ceremony of
inspection and review.

The United States Marine Corps band is one of the most famous
organizations of its kind in the world.  It is stationed at the Marine
Barracks in Washington, D.C., and plays during all parades, guard
mountings, and other like ceremonies.  Once John Philip Sousa was its
leader, and the band has always rendered his well-known march music to
perfection.  At this moment following the sounding of "Adjutant’s Call,"
the space between the barrack buildings was filled with marching men
forming in one long line with the band on its right, swords flashing,
guns glinting in the sun, and the red, white and blue of the silken flag
fluttering.  It was indeed a martial and inspiring sight.  Later, as the
armed men passed in review before Colonel Waverly to the sound of the
Marines’ own march by Sousa--"Semper Fidelis"--every step and movement
was in perfect unison.

"Any man whose feet don’t just naturally keep in time to that music
never will be a soldier if he lives to be as old as Methuselah,"
remarked Gunnery Sergeant Miller to the latest recruit near whom he was
standing, "and when you get to blow the bugle like those musics in rear
of the band, then you’re a field music and no mistake."

Behind the band twelve boys, all recent graduates from the school, among
them Richard Comstock and Henry Cabell, were adding volume to the music
during certain parts of the march.  It was then that the whole enclosure
fairly vibrated with the soul-stirring strains.

The review ended: the extra musics fell out and joined their fellows
under Miller, and the inspection of the troops began.  During this
function the band rendered various selections much to the delectation of
many curious sightseers who had been admitted at the Main Gate to the
barracks.  Many of these people were music lovers and could be found
seated on the same benches day after day, listening to the band.

"Do you see that pretty girl across the parade, Dick?" asked Henry.
"No, not where you are looking, but the one standing near the bench
under the trees--the girl looking this way."

Dick’s eyes following the directions of his friend soon spied the girl
referred to.  How familiar she looked!  She reminded him of--yes,--it
was,--Ursula, his sister, and by her side stood his mother and father.

Forgetting he was no longer a free agent, Dick gave a wild "whoop" and
started from the ranks. Just in the nick of time Henry caught him by the
coat-tails and jerked him backward to his place in line.

"Watch yourself, Dick," muttered Henry between his teeth, "here comes
the ’Old Man!’"  His prompt action probably saved Dick a severe
reprimand, if nothing worse.

Gunnery Sergeant Miller had whirled about on hearing the unaccustomed
war whoop but he was not swift enough to catch the culprit.  So he was
forced to postpone further investigation of the untoward circumstance
until another time, for Colonel Waverly was now but a few yards away,
coming to inspect the apprentices.

"Attention!  Prepare for inspection; Open--Ranks; March!"

The apprentices became a stiff line of human ramrods and at the command
of execution--"March,"--the rear rank took three paces backward and
halted, while in both lines heads and eyes were turned smartly to the
right.  Having verified the alignment of both ranks the Gunnery Sergeant
stepped to the front and commanded:

"Front!"

Each head snapped to the front.  The N.C.O. in charge then saluted the
Commanding Officer by bringing the sword he carried up to a position in
front of the center of his body, the right hand grasping the hilt a few
inches from his chin, with the blade slanting upward and slightly
outward. This part of the ceremony being over Colonel Waverly carefully
inspected every boy in line.  He examined their shoes, the fit of their
clothing, their equipment, the cut of their hair and even, if truth must
be told, their necks, to see if soap and water had been recently and
properly applied.

All this time Dick was nearly bursting with impatience.  He began to
believe the Colonel never would finish.  At last the ordeal was over and
immediately on being dismissed he requested and received of "Old Grumpy"
permission to speak to the Commanding Officer.  Approaching him, Dick
rendered his most military salute.

"What do you wish, Music?" questioned Colonel Waverly.

"Drummer Comstock would thank the Commanding Officer for permission to
go to the visitors’ benches and speak with his mother, father and
sister. They have just arrived, and are over near the gate, sir."

"Granted, young man, and you are excused for the rest of the day."

Dick Comstock cannot recollect whether or not he saluted his colonel
after a fervent "Thank you, sir," but he still remembers the feeling of
those motherly arms about him and the sweet kisses on his lips as Mrs.
Comstock gathered her stalwart drummer boy to her bosom,--drum,
drumsticks and all.



                               CHAPTER VI

                          A QUEER CONVERSATION


"We were here all the time, Dick," said Ursula soon after the first
outburst of joyful greeting had subsided, "and we all tried our level
best to catch your eye but, goodness--you were so military you would
look neither to the right nor left," and she straightened her back and
puffed out her cheeks in comic imitation of her brother on parade.

"It is quite as well I didn’t see you, for if I had, I’d have forgotten
every bit of military discipline I’ve absorbed since being here,"
responded Dick, smiling good-naturedly at his sister’s mockery; "as it
was I came near making a break when Hank Cabell pointed you out to me;
but fortunately he grabbed me and saved my reputation as a marine."

"Is ’Hank,’ as you call him, the boy about whom you wrote to us--the
Southerner?" inquired Dick’s father.

"Yes, Dad, and I want you to meet him.  He’s a dandy chap and comes from
a good family, though I believe they are very poor, and likewise very
proud."

"Sometimes that combination isn’t all that could be desired as an
asset," drily remarked Mr. Comstock.

"But he is all right, Dad," said Dick, quickly coming to the defense of
his friend against any possible insinuation.  "There he is now.  I’ll
get him to come over here."

Suiting actions to his words Richard presently returned with Henry, and
the formality of introductions over, Mr. Comstock invited his son’s
friend to join them at luncheon and for the day.  Henry’s rather sombre
face lighted up with pleasure.

"I should be very glad to go, sir, providing I can secure early
liberty," he said.

"How about you, Dick, are you in the same boat as your friend Henry?"
inquired his father.

"No, Dad; you see, when I told Colonel Waverly you were here he excused
me for the rest of the day," replied Richard, and turning to Henry he
said, "Suppose you hurry up and get permission, Hank, while I go and put
away my implements of warfare."

"Implements of war, indeed!" laughed Ursula, pointing banteringly at the
drum slung over her brother’s shoulder, "and are your weapons as
dangerous as my brother’s?" asked she, turning her questioning eyes on
Henry.

"Mine consists of a brass trumpet," replied the boy with a smile, "but
it has one advantage over the drum as a weapon, for it makes a handy
bludgeon in time of need."

"Run along, boys," cautioned Mrs. Comstock, "it is nearly noon and I for
one am famished."

"I reckon it would be better for us to get permission to wear cits; it
might be less embarrassing for you all," and Henry looked inquiringly at
Richard’s parents.

"Not for me," interposed Dick, with some emphasis; "I’m in uniform, and
I’m proud of it, and so are my people."

"I didn’t mean it in that light," Henry replied, flushing at the
suggested rebuke.  "I was merely thinking of your mother and sister and
the possibility of saving them embarrassment.  You may not know this,
but enlisted men in uniform are not greeted cordially everywhere, even
here in Washington."

"Excuse me, Henry, for being so hasty; I had not thought of that side of
the question," said Dick frankly, and he turned red himself because of
his readiness to find fault with his chum’s remark.

"Yes, Henry was quite right in what he said," stated Mr. Comstock.  "I
read of many such incidents in the papers; but there are laws now which
slowly but nevertheless surely are making people understand that the
enlisted man in uniform may no longer be treated with disrespect.  A
better class of men seem to be joining the colors these days, and they
are calling their defamers to a strict accounting.  But this is not
getting something to satisfy our appetites.  You boys hurry up now and
get yourselves ready."

After a bountiful luncheon at one of the best hotels in the city a tour
of the capital was proposed and an enjoyable afternoon of sightseeing
followed. In Dick’s spare moments during his stay in Washington he had
visited nearly every one of the public buildings and he took great
pleasure in showing his sister about.  The three young people even
climbed the thousand steps of Washington Monument, scorning the
slow-moving elevator which carried their elders up the five hundred feet
which still left them fifty-five feet beneath the apex of the wonderful
shaft.

Ursula was enchanted with this superb view of the "magic city," as she
was pleased to call it, and for a long time they all enjoyed the
panorama of land and water, field and forest, country and city, spread
before them to the distant horizons.

After this they walked back to their hotel, and while Mrs. Comstock
enjoyed a little rest before dinner and Mr. Comstock departed on a
business engagement the trio of young people occupied themselves in
animated conversation in one of the ornate reception rooms.

Feeling that Ursula and Richard might appreciate being alone together
for a while, Henry excused himself, promising to return in time for the
evening programme, which would not end until after the roof garden
supper following the theatre.

After his departure Ursula and Dick strolled over to one of the low
windows and pushing aside the long curtains which reached to the floor
they stepped into the vacant space of a small narrow balconied window
ledge and stood looking at the passing traffic.  A group of palms, the
half-closed blinds and the long curtains effectually concealed them from
the view of people inside the room.

The mere fact of being together was happiness in itself for these two
devoted young people and gradually a silence fell upon them as they
stood absorbed in the scenes outside.

A subdued murmur of voices came from the room behind them, and Dick
heard someone say:

"Here is a quiet place where we may talk freely."

Glancing over his shoulder the boy saw three men seating themselves and
deliberately placing their chairs near the window where he and his
sister were standing.  He was wondering why they took such care with the
chairs, when again the same voice gave him the reason.

"We can see from here whomever comes into the room, gentlemen, and it is
well to observe caution while discussing this question."

"Shall we speak in German, Señor?" brusquely inquired a heavily built
man whose blond hair stood up in short stiff bristles on his head.

"Si, Señor," deferentially replied the third member of the party, a
slender, black-haired man whose dark skin announced him a resident of
some Latin-American country, and from then on they spoke in the tongue
agreed upon, and so quietly that Dick could not overhear.  Knowing that
he was an unintentional eavesdropper he turned back again to the street
feeling it was unnecessary to move from the window, for unless he made
an especial attempt the words of the speakers were inaudible to his
ears. A little time passed in this way, when suddenly Dick placed his
hand over Ursula’s mouth, for she had turned, meaning to address him.
At the same moment he motioned her to be silent.

To both Richard and Ursula Comstock the German spoken language was an
open book, for Mrs. Comstock had employed German nursemaids to attend
them when they were little tots, and until Ursula was twelve years of
age she had had a German governess.  Even the cook, a family retainer
for years, was a native of Cologne.  In consequence the loud remark
which Dick heard from the room behind was as significant as if spoken in
English. He knew that the big foreigner from across the ocean had
uttered it.  There was no mistaking the deep, abrupt, explosive voice.

"The United States can do nothing!  Germany can whip her any day!
Germany can whip the whole world; and some day she will!"

The speaker had risen and the others now pushed their chairs back and
stood beside him.  Their voices came distinctly to the ears of the boy
and girl tensely listening in the shadow of the blind.

"Well, I should not go so far as that, you know!" protested the tall man
who had led them to the window for their talk and whom Dick decided was
an Englishman.

"Maybe you wouldn’t, but it’s so," reiterated the German, using his
words as a ruffian would a cudgel.  "Now, Señor, I must have your
decision regarding this canal business at once, or it will be too late
to be of any use to us.  If your revolution in Nicaragua is a success,
will the man you put in the presidential chair grant Germany the canal
right-of-way or not?"

"I cannot tell you, Señor.  It is a question which must be placed before
the committee.  I am only empowered to offer you the things already
mentioned in return for financing our uprising. The United States has a
concession, I believe--had it as far back as eighteen eighty-two.  They
would not permit us to agree to your proposal."

"I tell you that you are wrong.  The United States never made any treaty
with Nicaragua. Your government granted a concession to a private
corporation in 1897 to build a canal, and they bluffed for a while at
digging it on the Atlantic side.  The United States also sent a
commission down to Nicaragua several times, but nothing came of it. Then
they forced Panama into revolt against the Colombian Government, and
made her give them the present location.  Therefore if you want our
money and our secret aid your candidate must agree to Germany’s terms."

"Suppose we give Señor Cabanas a few days to consult with his
committee," suggested the Englishman in his mild voice.

"The committee knows it already," exclaimed the exasperated Teuton.
"The subject was thrashed out in Leon while I was there six months ago.
I tell you it is subterfuge, pure and simple.  They know what we want,
and they should have deputized their man to grant our demands."

"Pardon me again, Señor," came the suave voice of the little man, yet
his eyes must have flashed ominously at the brutal pounding of the
German’s heavy voice, "I assure you that this is absolute news to me."

"It shouldn’t be!  Your committeemen are a set of vacillating fools;
that is all, and the best I can say of them.  Go back to them and
arrange it; but I warn you--not a mark,--not a single mark, unless----"

"Be careful, Mein Herr, here comes the house detective--they are all
secret service men in Washington.  We had best postpone this and meet
again."

It was the Englishman who gave the warning, and with the words the three
conspirators moved towards the door leading to the hotel lobby.

Behind the curtains Richard and Ursula still stood, hardly daring to
breathe for fear of disclosing their presence.  Every word uttered by
the plotters since Dick placed his hand over Ursula’s lips had been
distinctly heard and understood by both, and they realized the import of
the information they had obtained so unintentionally.

Barely had the three men disappeared when Dick, exclaiming, "Wait for me
here!" was running towards the door in pursuit.

Henry Cabell, returning from his self-imposed absence, came around the
corner of the entrance at that identical moment, and the lads collided
forcibly.  The delay caused thereby was sufficient to enable the quarry
to efface themselves and though Dick made a careful search his efforts
were futile.

Returning, he found Ursula excitedly relating their experience to Henry.
They both looked up expectantly at Dick’s entrance.

"Did you catch them, Dick?" his sister inquired breathlessly.  "Did you
have them arrested?"

"No, I lost them," announced Dick in a disgusted tone; "I couldn’t have
them arrested anyway on the little we know; this is a free country.  But
I sure would have liked to see their faces.  All the time they had their
backs towards us, and I merely glanced at them when they first came in.
I do wish I’d been more observing."

"What would you have done had you caught them?" asked Ursula.

"I’m sure I don’t know; only I’d have pointed them out to that house
detective, for one thing."

"Could you identify any of them if you saw them again?" asked Henry.

"I’d know that big brute of a German by his back, in a million, but I’m
not sure of the others,--yes, I believe I could tell the Englishman
too."

"I should know him if I ever saw him again," said Ursula.  "I never
should forget that peculiar suit of clothes he wore, nor----"

Both the boys broke into a shout of laughter at this remark and Dick
said:

"That’s like a woman; noticing the dress first of all."

"Oh, you need not laugh, Dickie dear; I do not doubt that he has other
clothes, but the chief thing I should recognize him by was a peculiar
patch of white hair on the right side of his head behind his ear, and
also half the middle finger of his left hand was missing."

"We apologize most humbly for our premature expression of opinion
regarding your powers of observation," said Dick, bowing low to Ursula
with mock deference, "but now the question is,--what shall we do with
this information we have acquired?"

"Here is Father; let us ask him," and Ursula ran to greet Mr. Comstock
who at that moment approached them.

After hearing of the episode, Mr. Comstock advised Dick to write out all
the details as he and Ursula remembered them, and he, Mr. Comstock,
would see that the report was placed in proper hands.

"I believe you have discovered a very pretty plot, which would seriously
damage us if carried to an ultimate conclusion," said Dick’s father.
"We all know that Germany is expanding her trade lines enormously and
making greater strides in systematic foreign commercialism than any
other nation, but I can hardly conceive she would dare to finance such a
risky venture with the canal right-of-way as her only payment."

"Would Uncle Sam permit Germany or any other country to build a canal
across Nicaragua now that the Panama Canal is almost completed?" asked
Henry.

"I doubt it so much that I feel perfectly safe in saying, most
emphatically,--No!"

"The United States would never allow any country to acquire territory in
the Western Hemisphere--it would be contrary to the provisions of the
Monroe Doctrine," said Dick.  He leaned over and picked his campaign hat
from the floor, then pointing to the small metal object thereon, he
continued:

"This little insignia of the marines tells its own story; this is the
Western Hemisphere; across it the anchor and above the eagle with
spreading wings, holding a ribbon on which is inscribed the motto of our
Corps.  It is our part to look out for these little countries, and
according to history the marines have been doing it mighty effectually
since the United States became a nation.  And I guess we can keep up the
good work."

"With the able assistance of one Drummer Richard Comstock, U.S.M.C.!"
slyly interposed Ursula, and Dick joined in the laughter which followed
her remark.

"The thing I can’t figure out," said Henry, "is what the Englishman is
mixed up in it for!  Do you reckon England is joining hands with
Germany?"

"No, I doubt anything of that nature," answered Mr. Comstock.  "The
interests of England and the United States are too closely allied for
her to risk rupturing them by any such hazardous undertaking."

"I would not trust an Englishman as far as I could see him!  I cannot
bear them!" exclaimed Ursula, vehemently.

"Why do you feel so bitter against our mother country?" asked Henry, who
was surprised at her outburst.  "Is that the general feeling up North?
For I am quite certain it is not in the South."

"Ursula’s feeling is largely due to local influences," answered her
father.  "In our home town the English have never been popular since the
day during the Revolutionary War one of their officers, a major, after
having received the surrender of our brave Colonel Ledyard at the Battle
of Groton Heights, took that officer’s proffered sword and ran him
through the heart and then commanded his troops to massacre the
surviving gallant defenders of the fort, who were drawn up, unarmed, in
one of the bastions.  That same day our city was burned to the ground by
the traitor, Benedict Arnold."

"The brute!  Why!  I’d rather be Benedict Arnold than that Englishman,"
and Ursula’s pretty face looked very stern and her hands clenched in
anger.

"It was fortunate you both understood German," said Henry a little later
in the evening.  "I never could bear the study of languages, though I
did struggle along for a year or two with Latin at school."

"We neither of us have studied German, merely picked it up as children,
and we always use it talking to the cook.  But I like French and had it
three years at school, but really no practise in it," said Dick.

They were at the theatre and Dick sat next to his father, which afforded
the two many opportunities to converse during the vaudeville acts.

"I am glad, Dick, that you keep writing to your mother regularly," said
Mr. Comstock; "it is a fine habit to form and to stick to.  If every boy
wrote home at least once a week, I believe the world would be a better
place.  So many boys grow careless and after a while lose touch with the
home ties and associations.  Then, too, besides being a good thing for
you personally, you have no idea what those letters mean to your
mother."

"I like to get letters, and unless I wrote them on my part my mail would
be pretty slim," replied Dick.  "I have seen already how the men welcome
the sight of the mail orderly, and some who never get mail envy those
who do.  Some of our boys never receive home news, and they must be
homesick and heart-sick at times the way they sort of hang around and
listen when some fellow happens to read out a few of the things that
happen back in the home town.  I know I’d be, were I in their place."

"You will never regret being thoughtful when it comes to giving your
mother a little line or two of written happiness.  But in your letters I
have noticed an absence of complaints.  Is it because you have none to
make or that you didn’t want us to feel bad by recounting them?"

"I haven’t a single kick coming, Dad, for we are treated splendidly.
Good food and well cooked, good clothes, fine beds and healthy work.  I
only wish it was more strenuous than it is.  I spend a lot of time in
the gym and playing ball.  I did hope we musics would get more military
drill than we do, but outside of a little marching and physical drills
and a ’hike’ across the river into Maryland, we do nothing of real
soldiering.  One of the privates has taught me the manual of arms and
bayonet exercises, so I’m not wasting my opportunities.  I think that in
a year more I can get my rank changed to a private, then I shall be in
line for promotion to corporal."

"Time enough, my boy.  It is better to make haste slowly and thoroughly,
for I don’t doubt you will have to be very thorough if you are to
succeed. Have you any idea what books you will require?"

"Well, I’m studying the U.S. Army Guard Manual, which the marines have
adopted, and there is a book called ’Landing Force and Small Arms
Instruction’ for the Navy which is just filled with meat and will take
some time to digest.  I shall have no difficulty in getting the books as
I need them, and my high school education was along the lines that would
have helped me most at Annapolis--physics, chemistry, astronomy,
surveying and so forth.  All these are sure to be valuable, to say
nothing of the mathematics up to trig."

"It pleases me to hear you like the life," said Dick’s father.  "That is
more than half the battle always,--the interest and liking we have for
the task at hand.  No man ever became successful without being in
perfect harmony with his work and his environments, no matter what his
walk in life."

Richard’s mother was more solicitous regarding her son’s creature
comforts, and the following day she insisted on making a visit to the
barracks and seeing with her own eyes exactly how and where her boy
lived.  The manner of her request so enchanted Colonel Waverly when she
asked to be taken around the post that he volunteered to act as her
escort, nor was her New England sense of cleanliness and order once
outraged with what she saw.

They visited the living quarters, offices, mess hall, auditorium,
storerooms and galley, and she even tasted with approval the food in
preparation for the noonday meal.  A youthful Lieutenant of Marines,
accompanying the party, insisted on presenting Ursula with several pairs
of N.C.O. dress chevrons and trumpet cords from the Quartermaster’s
stores, with which she might decorate a sofa pillow, and not to be
outdone in gallantry, Henry Cabell, on seeing these evidences of the
officer’s regard for the charming sister of his friend, made a dash for
the post canteen before its closing hour and purchased for her a dainty
little gold and silver pin, a miniature of the Marine Corps emblem, for
which he required her to give him a copper in payment.

Dick and Henry had not been included in the inspection tour but they
later accompanied their visitors to the train which carried them away
that beautiful Sunday afternoon back to New England.

"These two days have been, sure enough, the happiest days I have spent
since leaving home," remarked Henry as the boys retraced their way to
the barracks.  "I didn’t half thank your folks for the great pleasure
they have given me."

"It was fine, wasn’t it?" said Dick simply, for his mind still dwelt on
the last proud look his father had given him; the suspicion of tears
bravely suppressed in Ursula’s eyes and voice; and the
never-to-be-forgotten good-bye kiss from his mother’s trembling lips.

Yes, it was fine indeed!

And how fortunate this visit was, for two weeks later came orders
sending aboard the cruiser _Denver_ a detail of marines to replace men
whose tour of sea-duty had expired, and with that detail went Richard
Comstock and Henry Cabell, Drummer and Trumpeter.



                              CHAPTER VII

                        OFF FOR TREASURE ISLAND


The little detachment for the _Denver_ were ordered to go on board fully
equipped.  This necessitated packing all personal belongings in the
khaki-colored canvas knapsacks and haversacks.

Gunnery Sergeant Miller happening through the squad room found Dick and
Henry thus engaged soon after they had been notified to be ready for
departure in two hours’ time.

"Want some help?" he questioned, stopping near their bunks.

And indeed they did want help, for though they had been taught how to
make up their packs, they had never before been required to stow away
every blessed thing they owned in one of the infernal things--this being
about the way they expressed themselves in answer to his query.

"To begin with, you won’t be allowed to have any cit clothing on
shipboard," said the Sergeant. "The best thing to do, if you don’t want
to send them home, is to sell them to Ikie Cohen across the street, or
if you choose, you can pack them up with the things you won’t need and
turn them over to the Police Sergeant for storage; then when you
transfer to shore duty again have them sent to your new station."

Following this sound advice the boys proceeded to divide their
possessions into two lots.  Even then it did not seem possible to carry
along everything laid out for their taking.

"Now dump the whole outfit on your bunk," directed Miller, "and first
fold your blankets and clothing in the way you have been taught.  The
detachment will travel in blues, so before doing anything else run down
to the Post Tailor and tell him to press them in a hurry and send them
up.  Here, Cabell, you take both uniforms with you and Comstock will
help you on your return."

Henry picked up the new blue uniforms, which the boys had not worn as
yet, and hurried to the Post Tailor.  Then proceeding under his able
instructor, Dick first packed his knapsack to its limit. Two blankets,
three suits of khaki, two O.D. shirts, three suits of summer underwear,
one pair of tan shoes, six pairs of socks, a towel or two, and his
toilet articles, one by one disappeared into the enchanted bag.  His
overcoat, recently issued him, was rolled and tied in straps to the top
of the pack after fastening down the flaps by means of the rawhide
thongs.  In the meantime Henry had returned.

"Put that extra pair of tan shoes in your haversack with all the rest of
your odds and ends," advised their instructor.  "You will wear leggins
and campaign hats, though personally I think it a poor combination with
blues, and you can hook your blue cap to the pack after you get it on."

"Sergeant, didn’t you tell me that marines used to have dress coats with
long skirts, black spiked helmets, white helmets and white uniforms?"
asked Dick, while he stowed away a little pocket edition of the New
Testament in his haversack as the final act of his work in hand.

"Yes, that’s right," answered Miller.

"Well, for the love of Mike, how did you ever travel with all that junk
and still always be the first to get there when there was trouble
brewing?"

"Indeed it was a question in the old days," said Miller reminiscently,
"but you must understand that when hurry-up orders came along we took
what was needed for the work in hand and no extra stuff at all.  When we
made a permanent change of station then we hauled along our whole
equipment, and what we could not carry on our backs was shipped to us by
the Quartermaster."

"About how much do you reckon this knapsack weighs, Sergeant?" asked
Henry.

"I should say at least sixty pounds--that means all your equipment, and
it is about the weight you would carry on a regular hike, counting arms
and ammunition and all that.  Now when you boys come to leave ship and
go to a shore station, you will be surprised to find how much more junk
you will have to send ashore than you took on board.  It’s always the
way.  Things accumulate, and you never seem to know where they all come
from. Many a souvenir and trinket I’ve left behind or lost in my time
which I’d like to have right now.  If you are able to, take my advice
and send all your little keepsakes back to your home people.  The day
will come when you will have a heap of fun looking them over and living
again the pleasure you experienced in acquiring them."

Word having been passed for the detachment to "fall in" for the O.D.’s
final inspection, Dick and Henry struggled into their harness.  Canteens
and haversacks were slung by their leather straps over opposite
shoulders and the galling heavy knapsacks adjusted as comfortably as
possible.  Besides these impedimenta each boy was armed with a web belt
from which hung a forty-five calibre Colt’s revolver in a fair leather
holster, tightly strapped to the right leg to prevent swinging.  Dick
was also loaded down with his drum and sticks, and Henry carried his
trumpet with the red trumpet cord attached.  The other men of the
detachment carried their Springfields--among the best military rifles in
the world--and bayonets in leather scabbards.

The trip to Philadelphia and its Navy Yard, where the _Denver_ was
lying, occupied a little over three hours, so that the men from the
Washington Barracks reported on board their future home in time for
evening mess call.

First Sergeant Stephen Douglass, commanding the Marine Detachment of the
U.S.S. _Denver_, a gray-haired, clean-shaven, wiry little man, was known
throughout the service as a "sea-going marine."  Never, if he could
prevent it, would he serve at a barracks, and his length of service and
known ability generally secured a respect for his wishes from his
superiors.  The meal having been quickly disposed of by the new
arrivals, he called them to his tiny office to assign them their
stations.

"Here is where we begin our web-footed existence," whispered Dick to
Henry as they stood waiting their turn outside the door.

"It is a little bit of a boat, isn’t it?" irrelevantly answered Henry.

"Don’t say ’boat,’" cautioned Dick, "for in the Navy everything big
enough to fly a commissioned officer’s pennant is dignified by being
called a ship."

"What is a ’commissioned officer’s pennant’?" inquired Henry.

"It is a long narrow flag tapering to a point, with the wide part near
the hoist, where it is attached, you know--blue with thirteen white
stars in the field, and the rest is divided in half lengthwise with a
red and a white stripe.  Vessels commanded by a commissioned officer of
the Navy only are entitled to fly it at the truck of the mainmast."

"Thanks, Dick; I reckon I am pretty green, but what’s a ’truck’?  It
sounds like a wagon of some sort!"

"That is the name given to the very top of a mast or flagstaff.  You’ll
soon pick up these little points," said Dick generously.  "I just happen
to know some of them because of being brought up in an old whaling port
and having seen and known about ships all my life; but I’ve a lot to
learn myself."

First Sergeant Douglass now called the boys in to interview them.

"Your first duty, eh?" he said after adjusting his glasses and glancing
over the enlistment record which accompanies every marine in his
travels. "Either of you know anything about a ship?" and he looked up at
the two youngsters with an approving gaze.

Dick said nothing, but Henry spoke for him:

"Drummer Comstock does; he has been making me acquainted with some of
the many things I never knew before."

"To-morrow morning I’ll have Corporal Dorlan take all the new arrivals
over the ship, and I want you two musics to become acquainted with every
nook and corner of her.  You will have to act as messengers for the
Officer of the Deck and must be ready to go to any place and find any
person without hesitation.  If you shouldn’t happen to know where the
place or person or thing is located then you must be prepared to know
how and where to find out about ’em in the most expeditious manner.  The
Officer of the Deck can’t be bothered with questions, so it’s up to the
messenger to know."

"Is Corporal Dorlan any relation to a Sergeant Michael Dorlan who was on
the _Nantucket_?" asked Richard.

"Couldn’t be closer related," answered the First Sergeant; "he is one
and the same person.  Do you know him?"

"I should say I do," beamed Dick; "he saved the life of a boy friend of
mine this past summer; but I thought he was a sergeant."

"He was a sergeant, but unfortunately an enemy of Dorlan’s got the best
of him, and he was reduced to the rank of corporal by sentence of a
court-martial."

"My, I’m sorry to hear that," returned Dick, honestly grieved over the
misfortune of his brave acquaintance.

"Yes, boys, everyone who knows Mike Dorlan is sorry, and I hope neither
of you will ever have an enemy like his, nor a ’court’ against your
record, nor any other kind of an offense, for that matter.  Your slate
is clean now; keep it so, and when you’ve finished your enlistment
you’ll be wearing one of these,--and proud of it too, I’ll warrant."


       *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *


[Illustration: The Marine Corps Good Conduct Medal]

                  THE MARINE CORPS GOOD CONDUCT MEDAL

Awarded to any enlisted man in the corps at the expiration of his
enlistment who receives a mark of "Excellent" and who has not been tried
by Court-Martial.  If the man reënlists the possession of this medal
entitles him to receive 83-½ cents a month additional pay.  If at the
end of subsequent enlistment he receives the Excellent discharge--a
bronze bar is awarded to be attached to the ribbon and suitably
engraved. These bars also bring additional monthly pay.


       *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *


The old sergeant opened a little drawer of his desk and took from it a
bronze medal suspended from a bar of like metal by a bright red silk
ribbon through the center of which ran a narrow band of deep blue.
Across the ribbon, almost covering it, were other narrow bronze bands
fastened.

"This here is a Marine Corps Good Conduct Medal, and each of the smaller
bands of bronze means a renewal of the medal’s original significance for
a whole enlistment.  But to earn one of these you must ’mind your p’s
and q’s’ and be ’Johnnie on the spot’ if it is your duty to be there at
all."

After the boys finished their examination of the trophy, the First
Sergeant continued:

"Now to return to business.  Comstock, your pay number is six, your
watch number is seven-twenty-one, your locker number, twenty-three, and
you are in the port watch; your station at ’Abandon Ship’ is in the
sailing launch.  Yours, Cabell, are, pay number, seven; watch number,
seven-three-naught-seven; locker number, twenty-four, and you are in the
steamer for ’Abandon Ship.’  Report to the Police Sergeant, get your
locker keys, draw your hammicks and find out where you swing. You will
find plenty of work to keep you busy from now till ’taps.’  Remember, I
am always ready to listen to your complaints if you have any and will
right them if able, but I also expect you to do your duty up to the
handle.  And just a word more before you go.  The marines of this
detachment are proud of their reputation of being the best looking,
cleanest, smartest division on this ship.  You are now responsible that
that standard isn’t lowered in the slightest degree.  You will find a
copy of the ship’s routine on the Bulletin Board in our compartment.
That’s all."

The sergeant rose as he finished his talk and both boys had
unconsciously straightened up to the position of attention.  At their
dismissal they simultaneously rendered the old veteran a military
salute, but First Sergeant Stephen Douglass was too much the proper and
precise marine to accept an honor to which he was not entitled.

"Wait!" he commanded as they turned to leave the office, "you salute
only commissioned or warrant officers in our service, never
non-commissioned or petty-officers, except at certain prescribed times
during drill or ceremonies.  Run along."

"I knew better than to salute him," said Henry while they were waiting
for Police Sergeant Bruckner to return from some duty he was at the time
engaged in, "but somehow it seemed to be the only proper thing to do, he
was so fine."

"Glad to hear you talk like that, Hank, old boy! I told you that the
N.C.O.’s were a pretty fine lot when you get to know them," and Dick was
very well pleased that his friend was beginning to come to his own way
of thinking.

Outside the office were the rest of the men who had journeyed with them,
all waiting to draw hammocks.  None of these men had served at sea
before this, consequently their conception of a "hammock" was formed
from those artistic things of net, made up in gay colors which decorated
the piazzas and lawns ashore.  It was quite a different article that
Police Sergeant Bruckner dealt out to each of them.  It consisted of a
white piece of canvas, six feet long by three and one-half feet wide.
Across either end eyelets were worked, through which passed the small
lines called "nettles," and these in turn were fastened to a galvanized
iron ring. These last two articles combined were called the hammock
"clews."  In addition to these, a manila rope lanyard was spliced to one
of the rings to facilitate swinging the hammock between hooks fixed
rigidly, in almost every conceivable corner, to the overhead beams of
the ship.  Each man’s hammock had a small piece of canvas sewed to it
about eighteen inches from the head upon which was his watch number in
stencil.  These watch numbers corresponded to the numbers over the hooks
where their hammock berths or sleeping places were located.  Every man
on shipboard who swings in a hammock has two issued to him; one of them
is in constant use and the other kept below in the sail-room, each
division stowing their own hammocks separately in large canvas bags made
for the purpose.

Mattresses made of "kapok"[#] and mattress covers were also given each
man, and with these articles under their arms the new arrivals returned
to the marines’ compartment where, after receiving the keys to their
lockers, they proceeded to "stow away their gear."


[#] Kapok is the product of a tropical American tree which was
introduced into the Island of Java and there extensively cultivated. The
tree has numerous uses.  It puts forth a pod somewhat similar to a
milkweed pod, filled with seeds to which a cottony substance is
attached.  This fibre is impervious to water and consequently being
buoyant has been found to be better than cork for use in
life-preservers.  Of late years our navy has utilized great quantities
of kapok in making sea mattresses, which in emergency could be used as
life rafts,--also jacket life preservers.  Kapok is very inflammable.


"This is like having the ’makings’ for a cigarette and not being able to
roll one," remarked Henry, as he gazed ruefully at the heavy canvas, the
rings, strings and rope, his mattress and blankets, lying on the deck at
his feet.

"The only difference being we don’t smoke, while we do sleep," sagely
added Dick.  "Perhaps some of these other fellows will initiate us into
the mysteries of this folding bed.  Let’s ask them."

With the help of willing hands the clews were soon tied in place,
mattress and blankets rolled inside the canvas, and the lashings
properly made. Then their long sausage-like beds were stowed away in the
hammock nettings to remain until the proper time came for reissuing them
to their owners, which was regulated by routine calls and schedule.

"I’ve learned another sea-going expression," said Henry as the two boys
finally completed their work, "and that is, never call a ’hammock’
anything but a ’hammick,’ or they will know you are a rookie."

At taps the boys found it to be quite an athletic feat to get into those
swinging contraptions, but having once succeeded they settled down for a
well earned sleep.  But who ever heard of rookies coming on board ship
for the first night who escaped at least one tumble to the hard deck
below, sent there by the sharp knife blade drawn across the taut foot
rope, in the hand of the omnipresent practical joker?  And the
experience of the two music boys this first night on board the _Denver_
was in no way different from hundreds of others before them.

Richard and Henry found the daily routine on board ship very pleasant.
At first Henry was inclined to feel peeved because there was not a
commissioned officer in command of the marine detachment which was
honored by his presence.  But he admired First Sergeant Douglass, and
daily he was losing his snobbish ideas regarding his messmates.
Shipboard life is a much closer relationship than life in the barracks,
and he was beginning to find that manhood did not necessarily go hand in
hand with riches, polished manners and a finely branched family tree.
At the first opportunity, Richard had made himself known to Corporal
Dorlan, and that worthy individual acted much in the status of guide and
mentor to the two boys, nor could they have had a better, for though
Michael was his own worst enemy, where others were concerned, he was
constantly preaching against the "Demon Rum," as he dubbed the agent of
his misfortune.

"’Twould be far better for me," said he sadly, "if the powers that be
never would promote me. For whinever I git to be a sergeant, then
begorra, I always have to celebrate, and it’s all off with old Mike."

Having taken the necessary stores aboard for her cruise, the gunboat
quietly slipped from her berth one brisk morning in November and was
soon on her way down the broad reaches of the Delaware River.  At the
Delaware Breakwater the pilot was dropped.  Many of the crew took
advantage of this opportunity to send ashore last messages and letters,
for the _Denver_ was bound for the West Indies; her first port of entry
would be Culebra Island, and her first landfall Porto Rico, a six days’
voyage.

It is a peculiar fact of ocean travel that whenever a ship is about to
put to sea the general topic of conversation seems to hover around one
point--seasickness.  Everywhere one turned that beautiful morning the
fatal word pursued one.

"Ever been seasick, Jack?"

"Well, only onct in a big typhoon coming across from Formosa," or:

"Nuh, this is the first time I’ve been to sea, but I’ve struck her some
rough in the lakes, and I guess I can stand it," or:

"Son, if you get sick and want a quick cure, take a nice piece of fat
pork, tie a string to it and----" but why go into further detail, when
the men who never before had seen blue water were half sick before they
left the wharf, so vivid their imagination, and thoroughly sick when
finally the _Denver_ began digging her nose in the short seas they
encountered on leaving the protection of the inland waterways!

Henry Cabell had fully determined he would not be seasick, but the sight
of so many in that predicament placed his resolutions in the realm of
other broken vows, and he was soon _hors de combat_. Dick, on the
contrary, never felt the slightest discomfort, over which good fortune
he was highly elated.  He did not do as many others did, namely, gloat
over the misery of the less fortunate ones.

The evening of the second day out found nearly all the sick men on the
upper decks, albeit many were "green in the gills" from their unpleasant
experience.

"You feel as if you didn’t care whether you died or not," said Henry,
while he and Dick stood at the bow of the ship holding to the life-lines
that encompassed the entire main deck, "but I don’t reckon I’ll be sick
again.  I feel nearly all right now, and even this sudden dipping and
stomach-dropping rising hardly gives me a squirm."

Dick did not answer.  He was hanging over the rail looking down at the
slight lines of phosphorescence spreading out in quivering angles from
the bows with each plunge of the ship.  He was enjoying every moment of
this new life.  No longer did he regret his inability to get the
appointment to Annapolis, for already the spell of the Marine Corps was
clutching at every fibre of his being, claiming him body and soul for
its service.  In the crew’s library he had found a copy of Collum’s
History of the Corps and for the first time he was reveling in its
illustrious deeds from the day of its inception, which antedated the
regular Navy and even the Declaration of Independence,--November 11,
1775, up to and including the part they took in the relief of Pekin in
July, 1900.  As they stood there, Corporal Dorlan, making the round of
sentinels, stopped for a moment’s converse.

"How goes it, me lad?" he inquired of Henry, and without waiting for a
reply, he continued, "To-morrow we’ll be findin’ of ourselves in the
waters of the Gulf Stream, and ye will believe that ye never saw such
blue water in yer livin’ born days. And ye will keep on believin’ that
till ye see the waters of the Caribbean and then ye will be changin’ the
moind of ye, like as not."

"I’d rather see some good brown earth and a little green grass at this
present moment," said Henry, wistfully.

"And there’ll be a-plenty of both on this cruise, I’m thinkin’," said
Mike cheerfully.  "But do you know where we’re goin’?  If ye don’t then
I’ll tell ye.  We’re bound for Treasure Island, and a foine place it is
to roam around in for a bit.  Ye can’t git lost and ye can’t git into
trubble unless ye look for it, and that’s more’n ye can say for most
places. Its right name is Culebra, which is the Spanish for ’shnake,’
but some feller wrote a wonderful story about it under the name I’ve
just mentioned to ye, so like as not if ye look in the right spot ye may
yet find some of the old pirates’ buried gold. Heigho!--I’d better be on
me way, for it’s about time to make me report of lights to the bridge.
Good-night, me lads," and off he tramped.

"And as a better man than I just said," remarked Dick a few moments
later, "’Heigho! I’d better be on me way’; let us get to bed."

"I second the motion," said Henry, "for I’m getting sick of this motion,
and the ’hammick’ sounds good to me.  Maybe by to-morrow I won’t be
bluer than the Gulf Stream, after a good night’s rest."



                              CHAPTER VIII

                          AN ADVENTURE ASHORE


Saturday afternoon!  Under the azure dome of the tropic sky the verdured
hills of "Treasure Island" sparkled with emerald brilliancy.  Stretches
of glittering-white, sandy beaches connected abrupt, green-clad
headlands in the semblance of Nature’s own rosary.  Coral reefs
everywhere, with varying depths of water over their treacherous beauty,
afforded so many wonderful shades of blue and green that the cleverest
artist would despair of reproducing their tantalizing colors on his
canvas.

In the deep but sheltered waters of Target Bay, close anchored to the
beach, swung the _Denver_, her graceful outlines reflected with
startling perfection in the mirror-like depths.  Under her white spread
awnings, members of the crew dozed, conversed or played games as their
fancy dictated.  On the bridge, the ever alert Quartermaster attended
the duties of his watch; while pacing the quarter-deck, the Commanding
Officer of the ship, Commander Bentley, and his Executive Officer,
Lieutenant-Commander Ogden, were earnestly conversing.  Near by, the
Officer of the Deck, with a telescope, the insignia of his office,
tucked beneath his arm, was trying to catch the drift of his superiors’
conversation without appearing to be too inquisitive.

"It is apparent, Mr. Ogden, that someone ashore is furnishing liquor to
our men.  The reports at the mast[#] for the last few days show it
clearly.  In spite of all the ’Alcalde’ at Dewey may say, the men are
getting the stuff somewhere."


[#] The "mast"--A fixed place on deck, often not near a real mast, where
complaints against the conduct of enlisted men are heard by an officer,
and judgment passed on them.


"I agree with you, Captain, and I wish we could get a clue sufficient to
convict the guilty party.  By your order the men are not allowed in the
towns of Dewey or Roosevelt, and every day that liberty parties are
ashore I have had patrols along the trails to stop men going in that
direction. Furthermore, we maintain a patrol in town, each ship taking a
turn at it, to arrest any of the men seen inside the restricted
district.  The revenue officer on the island has assured me that not a
store or shack this end of the place has a license to sell alcohol."

"It beats the Dutch," remarked Captain Bentley, after a short silence,
"how enlisted men will go out of their way to get into trouble.  A lot
of youngsters think it smart to be tough and rough, imagining they are
then real sailors.  They haven’t the brains to see that the navy man is
revolutionizing his habits and trying to live down the idea of him which
years ago was so prevalent.  The desire to ’spend their money like a
drunken sailor’ still holds an attraction for some of these brainless
idiots. Our older men have been through the mill, and the worst element
among them is weeded out.  They have sense enough to keep out of harm’s
way, but----  Oh, well, the fact still remains, they are getting liquor,
and bringing it on board too."

"I have had a talk with the officers and they in turn with their
C.P.O.’s, and also I have put Sergeant Douglass on the trail, so I hope
of getting some results soon."

"Keep at it, Mr. Ogden, and for the sake of all hands I hope we can run
the parties to earth; nothing is worse for the discipline of a ship,"
and with that parting remark Commander Bentley turned and descended to
his cabin.

For over a month the cruiser had been in and around the waters of
Culebra Island, generally anchoring for the night in Target Bay, but
during the day, excepting Saturdays and Sundays, joining with three
other ships of her class in division drills and maneuvers while at the
same time preparing for target practise.

The _Denver’s_ marines, having only two six-pounders in their charge,
did not take as great an interest in the gunnery work as marines
generally do on board the battleships and dreadnaughts, where they have
guns assigned them of larger calibre.  During this time they were mostly
occupied with work pertaining to their profession on board, or with boat
drills, and hikes on shore.  For this latter drill they were landed
twice a week and worked in coöperation with the detachments from the
other vessels.  Later on when the Fleet arrived combined maneuvers
ashore on a grand scale would be carried on.

Liberty was granted, to those whose duties did not intrude, on Saturday
and Sunday afternoons. On this particular Saturday, Drummer Comstock and
Trumpeter Cabell went ashore in the first liberty boat to leave the
ship.  Dick, already having made a name for himself as an oarsman, was a
member of the marines’ dinghy racing crew, and this afternoon he and
Henry helped pull the big cutter ashore and well up on the coral beach
in Firewood Bay.

From this spot it was about a two-mile walk over the hills, down into
the valley past Laguna de Flamingo to the perfect, crescent-shaped,
smooth, level sands of Flamingo Bay, where the mighty rollers swept in
with unrestricted grandeur from the blue Atlantic, stretching northward
farther than the eye could reach.  Here, in spite of the wonderfully
high surf there was little or no undertow and the bathing was considered
safe, and free from venturesome sharks.

According to their habit, the two boys undressed at Firewood Bay and
leaving their clothes in the cutter, wearing only rubber-soled sneakers
and bathing trunks, they were soon dog-trotting over the narrow trail
leading to a group of shacks on the saddle of the ridge they had to
cross.  With their swifter pace they soon passed the others of the
party.  After breasting the summit of the ridge they followed the
torturous downward trail to the Lake of the Flamingos.  The trail led
past an unused hut half-way down the hillside, at one end of which it
abruptly turned to the left.

Dick, well in the lead, having turned the corner of the hut, saw a man
dashing towards him, mounted on a fiery little West Indian pony.  There
was plenty of room for the rider to turn aside so as to avoid the boy,
while ordinary politeness would have led him to do so, therefore Dick
continued at his slow trot in the center of the path.  Nearer came the
rider, and the boy now saw he was reeling in his saddle and lashing his
horse viciously as he came tearing up the hill.  Still the boy did not
change his course.  The next moment the pony had of its own volition
jumped out of the trail to avoid collision.

At the moment he passed the native rider cut Dick a fearful lash across
the shoulders with his leather quirt, yelling loudly some vile expletive
in Spanish.  For the fraction of a second Dick did not comprehend what
had happened.  The blow across his bare back nearly brought him to his
knees and, missing his footing, he fell headlong. In an instant he was
up again holding a rough, jagged piece of rotten-rock in either hand and
running back after the reckless horseman.

Never before in his life had Dick been thoroughly angry--never before
had he felt that insane rage within him that knew no other impulse than
the desire to inflict bodily harm on another human being.

The horseman must have disappeared behind the deserted shack, for he was
nowhere in sight.  By this time Henry came swinging along the trail, and
he was surprised to see his chum coming towards him like a raving
maniac.

"Did you see him?" yelled Dick furiously.

"See whom?" questioned Henry.

"That black drunken scoundrel on horseback."

"What are you talking about, Dick?  I’ve seen no horseman."

"Didn’t a native just pass you on the trail, riding a pony like mad and
lashing the poor brute with a rawhide quirt?"

"Nope,--I reckon you must have been seeing things, Dick," and Henry
started to laugh.

"’Seeing things,’ nothing!  Look at that red welt across my back, if you
think I’ve been ’seeing things’!" shouted Dick, and he turned while
Henry examined with amazement the angry looking ridge across the broad,
sun-browned shoulders.

"I see it, right enough, Dick, but--you say a man on horseback did it?"

"Yes, and if he didn’t pass you on the trail then he turned by this hut
and went off into the bush, and I’m going to get him and thrash him
before this day is over," said Dick, and having delivered his outburst
he rushed off towards the clump of bushes, tall grass and cabbage palms,
clustering close to the far corner of the hut.

"Hold on, Dick," called Henry, "we can’t get through that jungle without
our clothes.  You stay here on watch while I go back and fetch them. The
rest of the liberty party will be along any time now and they will lend
us a hand."

"I don’t need any help to thrash that cowardly Spig,"[#] muttered Dick,
but seeing the wisdom of Henry’s suggestion he consented to wait.


[#] "Spig" or "Spiggoty"--A generic term for all inhabitants of
Latin-American countries and of the Philippines and Guam, given by
sailors, soldiers and marines only since the Spanish War of 1898.


Left to his own devices, he began a systematic scouting of the ground in
the vicinity.  The trail, baked hard by the sun, showed no signs, but
across the ground in front of the palm-thatched hut he found distinct
traces of recent hoof prints. Following them he came to a newly broken
trail through the long grass leading to the thicker undergrowth beyond.
Returning to the hut he pushed open the dilapidated door and entered the
musty interior.  The place was bare of furniture or utensils, a few bits
of rubbish littered the floor and in one corner were several bottles and
flasks, all empty.  Picking up one and extracting the cork he found a
strong smell of whisky.  Evidently this was the rendezvous of those men
from the ships recently found under the influence of liquor while on
shore.  Presently he heard the sound of footsteps coming down the trail.
Probably members of the liberty party with whom he came ashore, thought
Dick.

"Say, Joe," he heard a voice question, "where do you suppose that marine
was hot-footing it to?"

"I dunno," answered the one addressed, "when he ducked past me he yelled
something, but I didn’t get it, did you?"

"Nuh!  Glad he’s out of the way, ’cause him and the kid he runs with
think they are some class. They’d put a crimp in our game if they got
next to it."

"Any of the others in sight?" Joe now asked as the two stopped beside
the corner of the shack.

"No; get a hustle on," and with that Dick heard the two speakers run
past the front of his refuge and dash into the woods near the spot he
had just been investigating.

"The plot thickens!" mused Dick, looking at the empty bottle he still
held.

Again the sound of footsteps, but this time the men passed the shack
without stopping.  These men were bound for the beach at Flamingo Bay.

At first the boy thought of calling them back, but on second
consideration he decided not to.  He preferred working out this affair
with only Henry’s assistance.

That very morning First Sergeant Douglass had given the marines a talk
about the liquor traffic and asked them to try and trace it.  He had
said it would be a feather in their caps could they succeed in finding
the guilty parties.  For that reason, all the more honor if he and Henry
carried it through by themselves.

It seemed an interminable while before the soft patter apprised him of
his companion’s return.  As Henry reached the corner of the hut, Dick’s
warning hiss attracted his attention to the open door.

"Come in here, Hank," he called, and Henry entered, breathing hard from
the grind of his strenuous race up-hill.

While he dressed, Dick explained more fully about the drunken native and
of what had transpired during Henry’s absence.  The young trumpeter was
equally enthusiastic over the prospect of an exciting adventure ahead of
them and thoroughly agreed they alone could manage the business.

"I reckon we are on the right track for sure," said Henry, struggling
into his O.D. shirt.  "That fellow Joe Choiniski is one of the tough
nuts who joined us from San Juan in the last draft right after we came
here.  He’s been on some ’spit-kit’[#] stationed down in these waters
for a long time and speaks the native lingo.  The man with him is a bad
egg too, though he has never been caught so far."


[#] "Spit-kit"--Really "spit-kid," a small wooden cask set about the
deck for spit-boxes.  Spitting upon decks is an unpardonable sin. The
name is slangily applied to the smaller vessels of the Navy.


"What is his name?" asked Richard, preparing to open the door.

"Never did hear his right name; the men on board call him ’Slugger.’"

"I know now," said Dick, "they say he used to be a prize-fighter and
he’s all the time bragging how he can mix it up with the gloves, but no
one ever saw him put them on since he came on board.  He’s husky enough,
but all out of training."

"That’s the fellow,--a tough customer, I reckon."

The boys, finding the coast clear, emerged from the hut and were soon
following the trail which the two men and horseman before them had
presumably travelled.  For a while the way led through a veritable
tangle of briers, weeds, bamboo and underbrush, but after a quarter of a
mile with no break on either side the path joined into a wider and well
worn trail through a piece of timberland leading almost due north and
south.  In the shade of the tall hardwood trees the ground was softer
and the spoor of the horse was distinctly shown turning to the right.
This fortunate discovery saved the boys any possibility of going wrong.

The island at this point was sparsely settled, as in 1906 the Navy
Department had required all squatters to move off the government
reservations. The trail was now nearing the boundaries of the northern
tract.  For another quarter of a mile they went on, each moment hoping
to discover some evidence to substantiate their deductions, but the
silence of the wilderness was about them, only broken occasionally by
the cooing of the blue doves high up in the tree-tops.

Here and there the woods gave place to clearings covered with waving
grass or untended banana patches, affording long vistas of land and
water but not a house nor animal nor human being rewarded their sharp
searching.  To their left was South West Cay, separated from the larger
island they were on by a narrow dangerous channel.  To their right they
caught occasional glimpses of Flamingo Bay or the distant top of Mount
Resaca.

During one of their halts before emerging into plain view on the
hog-back trail, Henry caught Dick by the shoulder and pulled him down in
the shelter of the long grass which carpeted a steep slope on their
left, down to the very edge of the water.

"Look, there is your horseman!" he whispered excitedly, forgetting his
voice would not reach half the distance to the object at which he was
pointing.

[Illustration: LOOK, THERE IS YOUR HORSEMAN!]

"I see him," said Dick grimly, "coming up from that shack at the foot of
the hill."

"Yes, and see those two sailors going down to the beach; they’re toting
sacks or something over their shoulders.  They can go around to Firewood
Bay that way.  We’ve got ’em, all right," exclaimed Henry joyfully.
"What do you reckon we’d better do now?"

"I ’reckon’ there’s going to be one native of this ’Treasure Island’
who’s going to get the beating of his life in just about five minutes,"
answered Dick, taking an extra tug to his belt.  "That fellow is coming
right up the hill to this trail, and I’m going to be right at the top to
welcome him.  Come along, Hank, but lie low and leave him to me."

Stooping low, both lads ran across the open space till they came to the
edge of the farther wood, where they found an entrance to the trail up
which the lone horseman could be seen spurring and lashing his worn-out
steed.  The animal was too far gone to respond to the cruel treatment,
and plodded slowly and wearily upward.

"Hank, you go to the other side in case he should happen to turn that
way," directed Dick.  "That brute won’t escape us; and let me tell you
something, I’m not going to beat him up for lashing me, alone, I’m going
to try and even up some of the debt for that poor dumb animal he’s
torturing."

Henry scuttled to the north side of the trail, while Dick waited
impatiently where he first had hidden.

The labored breathing of the horse came to his ears, and then, preceded
by a volley of oaths, rider and horse reached the ridge trail.  The
native, a dark, swarthy, pock-marked man, about thirty-five years of
age, with black, bloodshot eyes and long, yellow teeth, was broad
shouldered, and though slender, was well knit.  On reaching the crest of
the hill the horse’s head was turned southward and again the rider
raised the heavy quirt to bring it down on the bleeding, swollen flanks.
That blow never fell, for with the quick spring of a tiger Dick grabbed
the rider around the waist and tore him from the saddle, throwing him to
the ground.  At the same time he snatched the quirt from the surprised
man’s hand and began belaboring him as he groveled at the boy’s feet.
The startled horse meanwhile had turned down the slope and was stumbling
towards the foot of the hill.

"How do you like that, you yellow cur?" questioned Dick coolly, giving
the coward a final blow across the legs.  "Do you think you want to try
any more tricks on me?"

"No!  No!  Señor!  Pardon, Señor!  Por Dios, no mas!" cried the man as
he saw Dick’s arm rise again and the lash snap ominously.

"Get up and vamoose," ordered Dick, pointing along the trail they had
followed.  "Never mind your horse; you can get him when I get through
with you."

Never taking his eyes from the man, Dick made him march in front of
them.  The native limped along protestingly, but every time he stopped
to argue Dick applied the lash with good effect.

On reaching the trail leading down to Firewood Bay, Dick pointed towards
the town of Dewey.

"You savvy Dewey?" he inquired.

"Si, Señor," came the surly response, and the shifty black eyes glared
for a moment at the boy.

"Well, beat it--pronto," ordered Dick, and with the words he gave the
man a push in the right direction, while both boys, as if performing a
military drill, simultaneously aided him with a persuading kick.

"Just to help you along a bit," called Henry and then he turned to Dick.
"Shake, Dick; that was a job well and nobly done."

As he spoke five bullets whistled past them, one dusting the ground at
their feet and ricochetting with a shrill "Z-z-z-i-i-n-n-g."

Instantly the startled boys dropped to the grass beside the trail and,
keeping under cover until a fold in the ground effectually protected
them, they ran for the boat landing.

"Wonder why he didn’t use that shooting iron before?" questioned Dick,
looking back over the trail.

"Reckon he was too plumb scared to remember he owned a gun," said Henry,
still beaming with joy over the adventure.  "Do you believe he’ll take
any more pot shots at us?"

"No, we are out of pistol range down here, and he can’t come down the
hill without being seen. Those shots were too close for comfort to suit
me, and yet I hated to have to run away as we did. Still it would have
been worse than foolhardy to tempt Fortune by hanging around up there
with that rascal in hiding.  How do you like being under fire?"

"Can’t say I’ve any hankering for it, but it didn’t scare me as I
thought it would," said Henry.

The men from Flamingo Bay were now coming over the brow of the hill and
soon reached the boat. They had not seen the native on the other side of
the hill, but all had heard the five shots.  The boys did not enlighten
them as to the cause, having decided to report the whole matter to First
Sergeant Douglass on their return to the _Denver_.

While they were shoving the heavy cutter into the water the two men, Joe
Choiniski and "Slugger" Williams, came from around the point and joined
the group.  Both men wore rubber boots, and Dick remembered that they
had taken them ashore that afternoon under their arms, whereas now they
carried their shoes, from the tops of which were sticking some finely
branched pieces of unbleached coral.  Dick also noticed how carefully
they got into the boat when all was ready to shove off for the ship.

"Wonder where they hid their booze," said Henry, "for I’d bet a month’s
pay they have it somewhere."

"I guess I know, and you watch Corporal Dorlan frisk them when they go
up on deck," answered Dick with a knowing wink.

Arriving at the port gangway, the liberty party went aboard and fell in
on the quarter-deck for inspection before being dismissed.  Corporal
Dorlan, standing at the top of the gangway, was surprised to hear Dick
whisper as he passed, "Search the rubber boots, Corporal," but he was
not slow of comprehension, and as soon as the men were all in line he
went directly up to Joe and "Slugger" and feeling down their boot legs
brought forth several flat flasks carefully wrapped in dry seaweed.

"What is this?" said Mr. Thorp, the Officer of the Deck.

And Corporal Dorlan merely answered:

"’Wilson--that’s all,’ sir."

"That is fine work, Corporal.  I congratulate you," said a hearty voice
behind the line of men who had witnessed this little scene, and turning
Dorlan found Commander Bentley standing near him.

"It’s not me what discovered it, sir.  All the credit belongs to Drummer
Comstock.  He’s the lad what put me wise, sir."

"We will hold ’mast’ and investigate this matter at once, Mr. Thorp;
have Comstock report here immediately."

Dick, having heard his name called, approached.

"Now, young man, tell me all you know of this business," ordered the
Captain, and having heard the entire story of the exciting afternoon
ashore he ordered Dick to go to the Executive Officer’s office and
dictate a full report to the Yeoman.

"A man like the one you describe has no business to be at large," he
said.  "I will communicate with the authorities ashore and have him
locked up.  In the meantime, Mr. Thorp, send a detail of marines ashore
under arms to search and destroy the shack these two boys discovered.
It’s on the government reservation and has no business there.  Trumpeter
Cabell will go ashore and act as guide."

Then turning to the two culprits, Commander Bentley said:

"I’ll keep you men in close confinement until a court-martial can
dispose of your case.  Have these two men taken to the brig[#] at once,
Mr. Thorp."


[#] Brig--Cell for confinement of men under punishment.


"Aye, aye, sir!" and Ensign Thorp gave the Master-at-Arms the necessary
orders.



                               CHAPTER IX

                         HISTORIC BATTLEFIELDS


"Speaking of that report against our horse beater," remarked Henry a few
days later, "reminds me, Dick, that I never thought to inquire if you
ever heard from the report you wrote out in Washington against those
plotters."

"No," answered Dick, looking up from the signal card he was studying, "I
wrote it the following Monday and sent it to Dad, but never heard
anything from it."

"We heard from your last report," said Henry. "That Spig was a wise
hombre, right enough.  The revenue officer found out all about him, but
’Mexican Pete’ was too quick.  He left for parts unknown that same day,
and all the authorities in Porto Rico are on the lookout for him.  He’s
a famous smuggler down in these regions and a regular bad man in the
bargain.  It’s said he has served jail sentences in nearly every town
from here to Vera Cruz.  He’s a Mexican by birth, a bad man by nature
and a wanderer most of the time by necessity."

"That is all true, Hank, but it is not getting down this Morse code,"
replied Dick.  "We’ve learned the semaphore, wigwag and Ardois, and I
think we can give the signal boys on the bridge a run for their money;
but I can’t seem to get these sound signals.  Guess my ear isn’t attuned
properly!"

"I don’t see why you want to bother with it, anyway.  You don’t have to
learn it."

"Never can tell when such knowledge will come in handy; besides, Hank,
it helps pass the time when we’ve nothing else to do.  It proved pretty
useful last week when we were having that scouting drill ashore and by
knocking two rocks together I was able to tell you to go to the left of
that clump of bamboo.  If you’d gone the other way the enemy would have
captured you and your message, which would have meant the capture of our
whole detachment."

"Yes, I’d forgotten that, Dick, and seeing that we both hope to be made
privates some day the extra pay we will pull down as first class
signalmen is not to be sneezed at.  Well, here goes; see if you can get
this!"

Thereupon Henry began a quick tap-tap with a pencil against the rim of
the brass bugle he held on his knees.

For an hour the two boys practised at their self-appointed task, never
using a spoken word in the meantime, but often smiling at each other
over the messages they sent back and forth.

Richard Comstock was not wasting his time in the service.  He had
enlisted with one stated purpose in view, and all his work was to him a
means to an end.  Every new bit of knowledge acquired connected with his
profession was just one more step in the ladder he meant to climb, until
his hopes and ambitions were realized.

The friendship existing between Henry Cabell and himself was of great
help to both boys.  They often had their differences of opinion, but
petty quarrels and bickerings never entered in their discussions.  Both
lads were high spirited, quick to take offense but as quick to
acknowledge their errors in the light of reasoning.  Day by day, Henry
was losing his attitude of snobbishness. His association with Richard,
who tried to find something worthy in every person with whom he came in
contact and to see the bright side to every cloud, was the best thing
which could have happened for the hot-headed Southerner.

Their duties on board ship were not particularly arduous.  They stood
four-hour watches as messengers for the Officer of the Deck, dividing
this duty with the ship’s sailor-buglers; assisted in the work of
keeping their part of the ship clean, accompanied the marines on their
drills ashore and participated in the routine drills of shipboard life.
Sometimes the musics on the larger vessels are members of the secondary
battery gun’s crews or have other battle stations at "general
quarters,"[#] but not so on the _Denver_, which was only a third-class
cruiser of a little over three thousand tons.  Also on shipboard the
marine drummer has but little use for his drum and sticks, which are
generally put away in the storeroom and a bugle issued in lieu thereof,
as all calls are given by means of the trumpet or the piping of the
boatswain’s whistles. Therefore, in so far as their duties were
concerned, the boys did identically the same work on the _Denver_, and
except when their watches interfered they were generally to be found
together.


[#] When the ship is ready to go into action.  The drill for this
preparation is called General Quarters.


One day they were conversing about the former achievements of the
marines, and Dick, who by now had read Collum’s history from beginning
to end, said:

"I wonder if when they put those new dreadnaughts in commission they
will reverse the time-honored custom and move the marine detachments up
forward!"

"I don’t reckon I know what you mean, Dick; why shouldn’t they put the
marines wherever they want to on the ships?"

"These days there is no real reason why they shouldn’t," said Dick.
"But you know what the relation of the marines was originally as regards
the ship’s crew, don’t you?"

"Y-e-e-s; at least I think I do.  They were the policemen on the ship,
weren’t they?"

"Oh, Hank, you simply must read the history of this organization before
you go any further.  It will be the best thing to make you get the right
kind of ginger into your work.  It will make you proud of your job and
proud to be a U.S. Marine; it is one of the chief things you
need:--_esprit de corps_--it’s what has kept this outfit up to snuff,
and without it no organized body of men could make a name for themselves
any more than you can ’make a silk purse of a sow’s ear.’"

"All right, if you say it takes _esprit_ to make that purse, Dick, I’ll
take your word for it, but don’t get started preaching.  Now tell me why
should or should not the marines be moved, and if not, why not, or
whatever it was you began on when you lost yourself on Pulpit Street.
Go ahead, I’m listening!"

"To begin with, the sailors in the early days were a mighty tough lot of
customers, picked up from nearly every nation under the sun.  They were
employed to work the ship; whereas the marines were organized to do the
fighting and were picked men. Because of the mixed and unruly element in
the crew the sailors often became mutinous.  In those days all weapons,
and firearms particularly, were stored in the after part of the ship
where the officers had their quarters and having this advantage, they
were able to keep the crews under subjection.  But there were only a few
officers as compared to the crew, consequently the trustworthy marines
were given that part of the ship to berth in between the officers and
the sailors, who generally were berthed in the forecastle.  I don’t know
just when this was made the fashion, but I do know that it has been
handed down to the present day and you will always find marines in a
compartment next the ward-room. Now do you see what I mean?"

"I understand what you have said, Dick, but what has it to do with the
new battleships?"

"Why, I was wondering if another old Navy custom is going out of vogue,
that’s all.  For in these new ships the officers are going to change
places with the crew--their living space is going to be the forecastle
instead of the stern.  Question: What will they do with the marines?"

"When did you say that custom started, Dick?"

"Oh, I don’t know, Hank; way back in the days of bi-remes and tri-remes,
I guess."

"Then all I have to say is that it’s high time a change was made; allow
the officers a chance to take care of themselves--we marines have nursed
them altogether too long," said Henry, and they were yet laughing at the
remark when Police Sergeant Bruckner came along the deck seeking them.

"The ’Top’[#] says you boys should go with me to the storeroom and draw
rifles, so come right along and get ’em."


[#] "Top"--Top sergeant--first sergeant, or also applied to the highest
ranking sergeant at a post.


"Get rifles?" questioned Dick.  "What are we going to do with rifles,
I’d like to know?"

"Ask the Top; don’t bother me with your questions;" and Bruckner led the
way below.

"They’re brand new shooting irons, and you will have some job getting
off the cosmoline, so I adwise you to get busy before you report to the
First Sergeant," cautioned Bruckner, whose German origin accounted for
the manner in which he pronounced his letter "V" on occasions.  He had
come to the United States as a lad of fifteen years and after ten years
spoke, with this exception, almost like a native-born citizen.  Six of
these ten years he had spent in the Marines.

After noting the number of each rifle in order to enter them on the
public property card of the musics, they all repaired to the upper deck
and the work of cleaning the new rifles was soon under way.

"You musics will fall in for aiming and sighting drill each morning,"
called out Sergeant Douglass, who saw them at their labors.  "Although
you aren’t required to handle a gun you are required to know how to
shoot straight.  Come to my office when you get through with that work,
and I’ll give you each a score book which one of our Marine Officers got
up and it will give you all the best dope on rifle shooting."

It was not long before the boys were applying for the promised books.

"When shall we have a chance to fire on the range?" asked Dick.

"From the ’galley yarns’[#] flying about the ship, it would not surprise
me if we were on our way to Guantanamo in a day or two, and when we get
there I’m going to try my best to have the guard put through the regular
Marine Corps practice as well as the Navy course, and I want to keep our
high showing up to standard."


[#] In some mysterious way stories get started on shipboard, generally
founded on guess or rumor and turn out to be true; all are supposed to
start in the "galley," hence the name.


"Do we get a medal or anything like that out of it?" asked Henry.

"Yes, you have an opportunity to get a number of things out of it.  The
marines shoot the same course for qualification as that prescribed for
the army.  There are three grades which pay you well for trying to do
your best.  The highest is that of expert rifleman.  If you qualify, you
get five dollars more pay per month from the date of qualification to
the end of your enlistment and also a silver badge,--crossed rifles with
a wreath around them. Sharpshooter pays you three dollars per month till
you next shoot for record the following year and a badge consisting of a
silver Maltese cross, while a marksman’s qualification pays two dollars
and you get only a silver bar with ’Marksman’ on it.  But you will find
out all about it in those books.  Run along now and don’t bother me any
more with your questions.  By the way, Cabell, to-morrow morning you
will report to Ensign Gardiner as orderly for the summary court-martial
at ten-o’clock, in the ward-room.  Mr. Gardiner is the recorder of the
court."

"What is the recorder of a court?" asked Henry, who was as full of
questions at times as a hive is of bees.

"He is to a summary court what the judge advocate is to a general court,
and the prosecuting attorney to a civil court," answered the First
Sergeant patiently, "and I hope your acquaintance with all of these
gentlemen may be that of an orderly or a witness only.  And, Comstock,
speaking of witnesses, reminds me you had better stand by for a call, as
both Williams and Choiniski are to be tried to-morrow for smuggling
liquor on board ship."

Promptly at ten o’clock the next morning the "musics" were in attendance
at the meeting of the court-martial, but no testimony was required, as
the accused sailors both pleaded "guilty" to the specifications[#]
preferred against them, and merely put in a plea for clemency.


[#] The written statement of specific acts for which the accused person
is being tried.


Richard was standing outside the ward-room door when Chief
Master-at-Arms Fitch brought the two prisoners aft for their trial.

"I’ll get you for this, you fresh Leatherneck, and I give you fair
warning to keep out of my way when I get out of the brig," muttered
Choiniski, glaring malignantly at the drummer.

"Shut up and don’t talk so much or I’ll see that you get hung," snapped
Fitch on hearing the remark.  "After you two birds get out of your cage
you’d better be looking round for friends, not enemies, I’m thinking."

And two days after the trial with the entire crew of the _Denver_
mustered aft on the quarter-deck, the sentences were published to the
two offenders.

"Whew!  You’ll never catch me smuggling any liquor on a man-o’-war,"
said Dick to his friend, Corporal Dorlan, as they sat talking in the
marines’ compartment soon after the crew had been dismissed.

"No, it’s bad business no matter how ye bring it on board, inside or
outside," said Mike, dolefully, "and it’s meself who should know, bad
’cess to the stuff."

"Have those two men got to stay in those hot little cells up forward
with nothing but bread and water to eat for thirty days, and lose three
months’ pay, and in addition, do three months’ extra police duties with
no liberty meanwhile?"

"Not quite that bad, me lad; they’ll be after gittin’ a full ration on
every fifth day, so as to show them what they’re missin’ in the way of
good chow,[#] and accordin’ to my way of thinkin’ it will do them both a
world of good.  Until they came to this packet ’twas the happy ship; but
the likes of them are always makin’ trouble."


[#] A Chinese term generally used by men in the service for food.


"Did you hear that we are going to Guantanamo Bay before the fleet
arrives here, Mike?" questioned Richard.

"Well, it won’t be the first time Michael Dorlan has been in that place,
and well I remember the time we showed the Spaniards they couldn’t fool
with Uncle Sam’s Marines and git away with it."

"Were you in a fight there during the Spanish War, Corporal?"


       *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *


[Illustration: The Sampson Medal]

                           THE SAMPSON MEDAL

The medal commemorating the U.S. Naval Campaign in the West Indies,
during the war of 1898.  The ribbon has a blue center with red on either
side.  Commonly called The Sampson Medal after the
Commander-in-Chief--William Sampson, U.S.N.

A similar medal for Admiral Dewey’s victory in Manila Bay was awarded,
suspended from a ribbon with broader band of blue in center and yellow
on either side.


       *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *


"Right ye are, me lad, and ’twas no slouch of a scrimmage, at all, at
all.  The Navy wanted a good sheltered harbor as a base for their ships
close to Santiago, where that foine old Spanish Admiral, Cervera, was
bottled up. So Guantanamo Bay, being the foinest kind of a place, they
decided to go in there, dhrive away the enemy and hold it.  Well, the
ships shelled the beach before we landed and then us marines was sent
ashore under Colonel Harrington; and a hot reception we got, I’d like ye
to know."

"How many marines were there in the fight?"

"About four hundred altogether, and out in the bosky[#] there were over
three thousand Spaniards pouring the lead into us at every opportunity.
We took the beach with a rush and charged up the hill back of our
landin’ place, and then havin’ got a toe-hold we dug in and we stayed
dug in, with the Dagoes a-takin’ pot shots at us every time we showed a
hat."


[#] Really the word "Bosque"--Spanish word meaning wood, and
pronounced--boskay.


Henry, having joined the little group surrounding Dorlan and Richard, as
usual asked a question at this point in the recital:

"Did the army come to help you, Corporal?"

"Army nothin’.  They was busy gettin’ ready to take Santiago, and didn’t
bother about us.  We marines was the first to land and the first to
fight, but unless we drove those Dagoes out of the woods it wasn’t goin’
to be a very healthy place to stay put."

"And did you drive them away?" inquired Dick. He had read all about the
fight, but to get first hand news from one who had participated in the
actual fighting was much better than reading it from a book.

"Of course we did.  You see, the Colonel learned from friendly Cubans
that the Spaniards in that region depended for all their water on a well
a few miles away over the hills--Cusco Well, it was called.  So if we
took that well then they’d have to git out of the country.  It was up to
us to destroy the well.  We made all the arrangements, and one of the
ships was told to shell the locality where the well was located.
Finally we started off dhriving the Dagoes ahead of us, when suddenly
the shells from the ship began droppin’ all about us instead of into the
ranks of the enemy.  Every minute they kept comin’ hotter and faster and
there was little chanct of us bein’ successful as things were goin’.
Then I saw one of the nerviest jobs pulled off that mornin’--one of the
things ye often read about and believe is fiction.  Right behind us in
plain view was a high bare hill and on the top of that there hill, his
back to the Spaniards and facin’ the flashin’ guns of the ship, was a
marine sendin’ wigwag messages to the ship and tellin’ them where to
shoot. Begorra, the bullets was a-flyin’ around him like hail.  Kickin’
up little spats of dust at his feet, cuttin’ down the cactus on either
side of him, singin’ through the little flag he was a-wavin’, but did he
stop?  Not onct--and before long the shell fire lifted and began fallin’
among them Dagoes and off they went with us marines after them, chargin’
and yellin’, sweatin’ and swearin’.  Yes, we found the well and
destroyed it and went back to our own lines carryin’ our dead and
wounded with us.  And onct again the good old Corps had scored, for
Sergeant Major John Quick, the feller what did the signalin’, won the
first medal of honor in the War of 1898."

"Tell us some more, Dorlan," one of the bystanders pleaded.

"Ah, g’wan with ye.  Sure I’m so dhry now from so much blabbin’ I can
drink the scuttle-butt[#] dhry, and that without half tryin’."


[#] A tank holding drinking water.


"Let us see the campaign medal the government gave you, will you, Mike?"
asked Dick.  One of his chief ambitions was to be able some day to wear
some of those little bronze medals suspended from the bright colored
silk ribbons on his own coat. Their intrinsic value was small but what
an honor it would be to have the right to wear them.

Mike Dorlan opened his ditty-box, upon which he was sitting, and
fumbling around in its interior brought forth two bronze medals; one
considerably larger than the other.

"This one," said he, holding up the larger medal, "is the Sampson Medal,
given for bein’ on board of a ship of the U.S. Navy in some of the
actions against the coastwise towns or with the Spanish Fleet.  You all
know that Admiral Sampson was in command of our naval forces that
bottled up Cervera in the harbor of Santiago.  That feller Cervera was a
brave man indeed, and he fought like the gentleman he was, with no more
chance of escapin’ than I have o’ bein’ made the Commandant of the
Corps, and you know how likely that is, bedad.  This other little piece
of bronze is the regular medal everyone got who was in Cuban waters or
on Cuban soil durin’ the war.  It’s the Spanish or West Indian Campaign
Medal."

"Why don’t you ever wear your ribbons and medal, Mike?" asked Dick.
"Believe me, if I had ’em I’d be so proud I’d want to show ’em to
everybody I met.  I would like to see you with them all on some day at
inspection."

"I’ll tell ye why, me lad, and ye can belave it or not, as you please;
there’s one medal I want mor’n all of these combined and until I can
wear that one, I’ll not be wearin’ of any."


       *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *


[Illustration: Medal for Campaign in the West Indies and for Spanish
War]

       MEDAL FOR CAMPAIGN IN THE WEST INDIES AND FOR SPANISH WAR

Issued to those of the Army, Navy and Marines who served on the high
seas en route to or in immediate vicinity of Cuba, Porto Rico or
Philippines between certain dates.  In case if the army or navy service
was not in the West Indies the inscription read "Spanish Campaign."


       *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *


"Which one is that, Dorlan?"

"It’s one of them good-conduct medals the Top Sergeant was showin’ of ye
that first day ye come on this ship, and I’ll git one yet!  In three
days more me present enlistment expires.  I’m going to ship over right
off, and I’ll be makin’ a bargain with ye right now!"

"What’s the bargain?" asked Dick.

"Well, if I don’t git one of them little bronzes at the end of my next
enlistment, I’ll be givin’ all the rest o’ me medals to ye, and ye can
melt ’em up into copper pennies; but if I do git it, I’ll string the
hull lot of them across me chest at the first inspection what comes
along."

And midst much laughter from the group surrounding them, Dorlan and
Richard shook hands on the "bargain."

Ten days later the "galley yarns" came true, as they sometimes do, and
the _Denver_ steamed through the narrow entrance and into the wonderful,
green bordered, blue waters of Guantanamo Bay, where she anchored for an
indefinite stay.

Upon the first opportunity, Sergeant Douglass took the entire guard
ashore for a view of the historic battlefields.  Landing at Fisherman’s
Point, they climbed the steep slopes of McCalla Hill, where stands the
monument erected in memory of the heroes who lost their lives in the
memorable engagement.  But it was Corporal Michael Dorlan who explained
to the interested men every phase of the landing and the attack; who
showed them the hill from which the intrepid Quick had signalled so
calmly oblivious of personal danger, and finally he took them through
the dusty cactus and chaparral to the old well, the destruction of which
forced the Spanish troops to evacuate and leave the field to the sturdy
soldiers of the sea.

At a later date, the boys in company with Dorlan and others made a
week-end "liberty" to Santiago, where the winning battles of the war
were fought on land and water.  They saw the exact spot where Hobson and
his brave crew blew up the _Merrimac_ in the harbor entrance; they
scaled the walls of Morro Castle, which withstood with hardly a scar the
fierce bombardment of our fleet; and they rode out to San Juan Hill,
where the gallant soldiers of Shafter’s army fought so valiantly and
successfully.

These little trips to old battlefields resulted in a great demand for
books dealing with the wars of that period, and the crew’s library of
the _Denver_ was more popular than it had been for months.



                               CHAPTER X

                        WINNING HIS FIRST MEDAL


Overhead the sun shone mercilessly from a cloudless sky.  Hardly a
breath of air stirred the stubby grass and scrubby bushes which covered
abrupt little hillocks of piled-up coral lightly spread with clinging
bits of sandy soil.  From the floor-like level of the baked sand flats,
covered with white streaks where the sun’s rays had gathered up the
water and left small deposits of salt, the heat-waves rose, bubbling and
boiling, a snare to the unwary or unknowing riflemen, who, from various
ranges and positions, were sending little pellets of lead encased in
steel jackets at rows of paper targets surmounting the earth and
concrete parapets, known as the "butts."

It was a busy and interesting scene of action. Marines in khaki and
sailors in white were sprinkled over the vast plain, all intent on
watching the bobbing rectangles of brownish paper with black, round,
bull’s eyes whereon was marked each shot-hole caused by the bullets in
their flight.

For days the preliminary drill had been under way.  To the men who never
before had fired there seemed to be much useless labor and time wasted.
Position and aiming drills are monotonous at best, and to stand at long
intervals raising the rifle from the hip-position of "load" to a certain
height, then bringing it to rest against the right shoulder, bending the
head and squinting over the sights at small round black pasters an inch
in diameter stuck to a bulkhead or wall and finally snapping the
trigger, seemed the height of folly.  When, however, the sighting drills
progressed to their making tiny triangles by getting points on a piece
of white paper twenty feet distant from the rifle sights and connecting
these with straight lines, followed by explanations why certain
triangles were good and if a bullet had actually travelled along the
indicated path, excellent or poor scores would have resulted, then the
drills held more interest for Richard and Henry.

Each day Sergeant Battiste, one of the famous shots of the Corps and
attached to the _Denver_, gave lectures on rifle shooting.  A celebrated
coach, member of many winning teams in the National Rifle meets, holder
of the coveted Distinguished Marksman Medal, and Military Rifle Champion
of America for two consecutive years, he was well fitted for his task.

Marines are entitled to fire the regular record practise for
qualification under the Small Arms Firing Manual of the United States
Army once during each target year; but those men who made the grade of
Expert Rifleman were not required to fire again during their current
enlistment and for that time received each month the extra pay which is
a reward for their merit.  Naturally all hands were anxious to make the
score necessary to acquire these benefits and Sergeant Battiste left no
stone unturned to help them in their desires.  Each step had been
carefully rehearsed, instruction practise completed and to-day the
record firing would decide their final merit.

"I’ve already told you," said Battiste, the men being gathered around
him on arrival at the 200-yard firing point, "not to get excited and to
take your time.  Get your rear sight in perfect alignment with the front
sight and the ’bull’ sitting oh top; fill your lungs--then, the moment
you are ready to fire hold your breath for that instant and squeeze the
trigger--don’t pull or jerk it, first take up the ’creep,’ and by now
every one of you should know just when that little additional pressure
will be sufficient to release the firing-pin.  We’ve a perfect day for
shooting, and if you don’t make good scores it’s your own fault.  As we
go back to the longer ranges the wind will come up, but it will blow
steadily from the left or nine o’clock,[#] if I know anything about this
range and the action of the wind here, and I claim I do.  We shall have
to watch out for mirage.  Your targets have been assigned.  Each man
knows the number he will fire at and there is no excuse for shooting on
the wrong target.  To do so would possibly spoil another fellow’s score,
and it means you will receive a ’goose egg’[#] for your own shot, and
goose eggs mean low qualifications."


[#] When facing the target the range is supposed to represent the face
of a clock.  Twelve o’clock is at the target; six, at the firing point;
three, to the right, and nine, to the left.  The direction of the wind
is easily designated by reference to any hour of the clock dial. A
clock-face is also imagined on the target-face; twelve at the top and
six at the bottom, facing the firer.

[#] A Zero on the score.


"Are we permitted to blacken our sights on record practise, Sergeant?"
inquired Dick, as Battiste paused for a moment.

"Yes, you may blacken both front and rear sights.  I’d suggest the use
of camphor, and I should also smoke the barrel well, as this sun makes
the blued metal glare badly.  The red flag is up in the pits, so the
’sand rats’[#] are ready for us to begin.  Get on the line, men, and
begin firing when your target comes up.  Each shot will be marked.  If
you fail to hit the target a red flag will be waved across its face,
indicating a miss; the white disk placed over the shot hole means a
bull’s-eye, or five; the red disk, four; the black and white disk a
three and the black a two.  If any of you wish to challenge the marking,
Mr. Gardiner, who is the Range Officer, will call up Mr. Thorp in the
butts and have the target gone over carefully. Remember to keep your own
score in your book and see that it corresponds with the marking and with
the scorekeepers’ records."


[#] Men who operate the targets and signal the hits from the butts.


"How many shots do we fire?" called out Private Jones, the most
inattentive man of the guard, but also the one always spotlessly clean,
which reputation had gained for him the position of one of Commander
Bentley’s cabin orderlies.

"This is slow fire at 200 yards," answered the coach, who seldom lost
his temper and had the patience of Job.  "Each man will fire two strings
of five shots each from the standing position, then we shall move back
to 300 yards, and fire the same number of shots from either the sitting
or kneeling position.  No sighting shots allowed at either of these
ranges.  The targets are up, men!  Commence firing!"

Immediately following the command came the crack of rifles all along the
line--the record practise was under way.

Neither Richard nor Henry, before this week on the range at Guantanamo
Bay, knew anything of rifle shooting, though both, one in the New
England woods, the other along the bayous of the Mississippi, had spent
many happy hours with dog and shotgun.  Practise with the high-powered
military rifle was a decidedly different proposition, but they took to
it as a duck does to water, and during instruction practise they
agreeably surprised Sergeant Battiste with work that was excellent for
beginners.

Dick, having more patience and being more cool-headed, strong and
nerveless, was without doubt the better of the two.  Henry’s one failing
was his impatience to "get the shot off."  In case he failed to bring
his sights in perfect alignment on the bull’s eye with a steady hand, he
would fall back on the quick "fly shot" so necessary to the hunter armed
with a fowling piece, but disastrous to one who aspires to perfection
with the military weapon.

"Five o’clock three for you, Cabell," sang out the coach; "must have
pulled down on your gun at the last moment.  Remember my caution--take
your time and squeeze the trigger.  Good work, Drummer Comstock; you’ve
found the bull first shot.  It’s nipping in at twelve o’clock.[#]  It
pays to be calm and deliberate."

"I’m way off to the right, Sergeant," called out Jones irritably; "all
three of my shots have gone in the same place--twos at three o’clock,
and you said there wasn’t any wind blowing."


[#] "Nipping in at twelve o’clock"--A rifleman’s term for a bull’s-eye
just barely cutting the black at the top.


"Not a bit of wind, Jones, and if you would only remember to set your
wind gauge properly those twos would have been bulls, every one.  You
have almost three points of right wind on, and you shouldn’t have any.
Apply your quarter-point rule.  Each quarter-point on your wind gauge at
200 yards moves your shot how many inches on the target?"

"It moves it two inches, and three times two is six inches," said Jones
smugly.  "My shots are about two feet from the center of the bull, so
there must be wind blowing from the left."

"Your arithmetic needs a little oiling, Jones. There are four quarters
in every full point and that makes twelve quarters altogether for your
three points.  Each quarter point moves you two inches, making
twenty-four inches in all.  You see, that is the two feet that your
shots are out, which is what I said in the beginning."

Jones sheepishly corrected his sight, and the next shot on his target
was marked a "pinwheel."

Thus it was the coach went up and down the firing line, offering the
advice of long and successful experience.

At the completion of the firing at 200 yards the line of riflemen moved
back to the 300-yard point, and taking the sitting or kneeling position,
began the next stage of the course.  A "possible" or perfect score of
ten shots would mean fifty points towards the three hundred points
necessary to qualify the men as marksmen, and this they would have to
get in order to be permitted to shoot the sharpshooter’s course.  The
firing at 200 yards was the hardest in Dick’s estimation, and though he
had started off with a bull’s-eye, or five, as already stated, he did
not continue to see the little white marker or spotter in the black
space as he hoped would be the case.  His first and last shots were
fives and the rest fours, making his total score forty-two.  Henry was
six points below centers, or thirty-four.

Three hundred yards was an easy range for Dick and he surprised himself
with the high score at that stage--forty-seven points, all bulls but
three, which fell close outside in the four-ring.  Henry had made one
over centers, or a score of forty-one.

"Now we will go back to five and six hundred yards," said Battiste.
"Each man must fire two sighting shots at both those ranges before he
can count his shots for record.  The firing will be the same as it was
in instruction--from the prone position.  I expect every man to average
up his score at the 500-yard range, for the bull looks as big as a
barn-door, and you can’t miss it.  You know we change the size of the
targets now and use the mid-range or B-target, and the bull’s-eye is
twenty inches in diameter.  In the short-range or A-target it is but
eight inches, and in the long-range or C-target it is thirty-six inches.
For this reason B-target at 500 yards and C-target at 800 yards are what
we call ’easy marks.’"

"Supposing we fire the twelve shots and the first ten are bulls but the
last two goose eggs, would the latter count against you?" asked Henry,
as he rearranged the leather sling on his rifle around his left arm
before lying down.

"It’s your last ten shots which count," replied the coach.  "Firing
regulations require you to take the two sighting shots, and you can’t
juggle them around to suit yourself; they’ve got to be the first two
fired.  The mirage is no longer boiling straight up,[#] but it’s moving
off to the right a bit, so I’d advise you all to take your sighting
shots, make your own deductions and then wait for me to see how nearly
correct you are."


[#] Mirage--Heat waves near the earth, visible on some days to the naked
eye, but more clearly seen through a telescope.  It is really the air
travelling on the range, and the best guide for windage, as it is the
actual air through which the bullet travels.  When there is no movement
to left or right the wind is either still for a moment or carrying the
mirage directly towards or from the target.  It appears to rise and is
said to be "boiling."


The moment Dick’s target appeared he lay flat on his stomach with his
body at an angle of about forty-five degrees to the firing line, feet
spread apart with the heels turned inwards.  His leather sling was
fastened tightly about the upper part of his left arm, and the left hand
was well under the rifle, bearing against the lower swivel, which held
one end of the sling.  The butt of the rifle was placed, with the aid of
his right hand, against the right shoulder, both elbows on the ground,
the right hand grasping the small of the stock with the forefinger
curling around the trigger.  His cheek was against the left side of the
stock and his right eye so near the rear of the cocking-piece that to
one uninitiated it would appear dangerous.  But it was the safest
position he could assume, and the rifle in his grasp was steady as a
rock.

Crack!  Crack!  The first shots sped on their way to the butts, as Dick
and the man on his right fired almost simultaneously.

Nothing followed!  Dick’s target screen did not move.  He was certain
his position, his aim, his pull, were all perfect.  The shot must have
gone through the black paper in the center or one of the black annular
rings and was not seen by the "sand rat" in charge.

"Mark number three target," shouted the sailor who was keeping Dick’s
score, and the man at the field-telephone relayed the message to the
butts. A second or two later "number three" was "sashed," or pulled
down; then up it popped with the fatal red flag waving back and forth
across it as if in derision.

Dick was surprised at this, for he was positive his first shot must have
been a bull’s-eye.  He looked at his sight critically.  What was wrong?
Perhaps the wind was blowing enough to throw him off the "bull," but
never could that light breeze throw him off the target altogether.  He
had one more sighting shot, and unless he found the target with that one
he would have no "dope" for his ten record shots that were to follow.
Already he had a quarter-point of left wind on his gauge, which meant,
at this range, if he took one-half a point windage that would move the
shot one-half the width of the "bull"--enough to put him in the
four-ring if his aim deviated the slightest and his "dope" happened to
be wrong.

He was about to make the change, even though against his better
judgment, when the man at the end of the telephone called out:

"Two shot holes in the bull on Number Four target!"

Dick drew a long breath of relief.  He had fired his first shot not at
his own but at his right-hand neighbor’s target.

"Thank your lucky star, young man, for the sighting spots, or else your
score would have been spoiled in the making," quietly remarked Sergeant
Battiste, who was standing back, enjoying the lad’s perplexity.  "Let it
be a lesson to you--always take a squint through your peep sight at the
number below your target before you fire.  One of those fives in Four
Target was right in the center--a pin wheel!  How much windage did you
have?"

"A quarter-point of left wind," answered Dick.

"Just right--now, go ahead and make a possible."

And that is exactly what Drummer Comstock did--every one of his
following shots hitting the bull’s-eye for a perfect score, and to the
present day he shows that page from his score book with great pride.

Dick’s luck continued with him at 600 yards, which to many old and tried
riflemen is one of the most interesting ranges.  With forty-three points
here and the fifty at 500 yards, Dick now had a total score of one
hundred and eighty-two points.

"What’s your total, Hank?" asked Dick while they rested during the noon
hour.

"One hundred and sixty-three, so far; but do you know who has the
highest total for the day?"

"No, I didn’t get through at six hundred in time to look over the
score-boards; why, who is it?"

"Oh, a fellow named Richard Comstock!  Great Scott!  If you keep this up
they will be hailing you as the Military Champeen of the World, Dick.
That was great shooting you did at 500 yards, old man."


       *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *


[Illustration: A Leaf From Dick’s Score Book]

                     A LEAF FROM DICK’S SCORE BOOK

1. This leaf is from Dick’s Score Book, which he inked in after he left
the range.

2.  It will be noticed the mirage was bad and Dick’s 2nd sighting shot
and first four record shots were low, therefore he raised his sight 25
yards.  The bull’s eye of this target (B) is 20 inches in diameter.  25
yards up on sight gauge would be about 6-¼ inches.

3.  "The square rule" is, changing the elevation 100 yards at any range
gives change on the target equal to the number of inches in the square
of the range.  Example: at 500 yards equals 25 inches.

4.  On the 9th and 10th shots, Dick raised his sight again and kept in
the bull.  The mirage had increased, tending to "throw" his shots low.


       *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *


"I am proud of it, of course, but when you read how some of these crack
shots make a string of bulls as long as your arm at that range then it
loses some of its lustre as a star score."

"They didn’t get those wonderful records, though, on the first real
practise, as you have done, Dick; and Battiste says you have a natural
gift for shooting which further practise will surely develop."

"Yes, I got along pretty well with the slow fire, Henry, but I’m rotten
in rapid fire, especially at 200 yards.  Somehow I can’t get the knack
of it."

"That is funny, for I am perfectly at home in rapid fire," said Henry.

"If I can get on my tummy and shoot ’em I am safe, therefore I don’t
fear the skirmish runs.  How many more points can be made from now on?
Let’s figure it out!"

"We could make three hundred more.  Each of the two skirmish runs counts
one hundred, and the scores at rapid fire at 200 and 300 yards are fifty
each, but I don’t reckon we will get anything like that.  Besides, you
shouldn’t worry, and I need but one-thirty-seven to qualify as marksman,
and you a hundred and eighteen."

"You are wrong, Hank.  It’s true you require but three hundred points to
make you a marksman, but you need as many points as you can get.  I’m
not satisfied just to scrape through in a matter of this kind, and
because the thing appears easy is all the more reason we should try for
the highest score we possibly can get.  Then there is another reason;
your marksman’s score is added to what you make in the sharpshooter’s
course, and you’ve got to make a total of four hundred and fifteen
points to get the qualification, which then gives you the right to shoot
the expert test."

"You are right again, Dick, and thank you for the tip, or I might have
missed my badge and the extra pay."

[Illustration: Marksman badge. This is the badge of the lowest
qualification.  Below this men are rated as "1st class," but receive no
badge.]

That night when the different divisions of the _Denver’s_ complement
returned, tired and hungry, to their ship, Sergeant Battiste worked till
late arranging the scores of those who had fired, and out of twenty
aspirants for the honor all had qualified as marksmen and would shoot
the following day. Of the twenty, the top notch shot was none other than
Dick, and fighting for last place were Trumpeter Cabell and Private
Jones, both with 323 points to their credit.  Dick had made the
excellent score of 449 out of a possible 500 points.

[Illustration: The Badge Awarded to Henry Cabell]

The following evening when the shooting cohorts returned on board having
finished the Sharpshooter’s[#] Course, he was still leading the
detachment with a total score of 586 points.


[#] This course consisted of ten shots slow fire at 800 yards, same at
1,000 yards, and ten shots rapid fire at 500 yards; a possible score
being 150 points.


"The 1,000-yard range was my Waterloo to-day," he explained to First
Sergeant Douglass, who did not have to fire, being already an expert
rifleman; "a fellow needs a lot more practise than I’ve had to be able
to find and hold the bull at that distance, especially if there is a
’fish tail’[#] wind blowing, as happened to-day.  Anyway, I’m sure of my
Maltese Cross; but I want to pull down that expert’s badge to-morrow,
for it’s the finest of the lot."


[#] A wind coming from a direction nearly parallel with the flight of
the bullet:--the course the bullet travels through the air is called its
trajectory.


The expert rifleman’s test consisted in first firing ten shots slow fire
from 600 yards over an embankment at the silhouette of a kneeling figure
of a man with his arm raised as in shooting.  Then came five shots at
500 yards and five at 400 yards at the same figure, only in this
shooting it bobbed up above the butts for five seconds and might show up
at any point, with five-second intervals between appearances.  Next, two
strings of five shots each at the "ducks," or Target F, the silhouette
of a man lying, are fired at 500 yards.  These "ducks" are supposed to
fall over when hit, and at 300 and 200 yards the target first fired at,
Target E, is pulled across the range on a track fifty yards long, in
thirty seconds, while ten shots are being fired. Every hit counts one
point, and the firer must make twenty-five hits out of fifty shots to
qualify.

                         Expert Rifleman badge.

  1. This badge is of silver metal. For every three years of
     re-qualification a bar is awarded with years engraved thereon and
     suspended between the crossed rifles and the top bar.  This is the
     badge won by Dick at Guantanamo Bay Rifle Range.

It is a true test of the individual’s ability, where steady hand, quick
eye and excellent judgment are prime qualities for its successful
accomplishment, yet, in spite of his fine showing on the two previous
days, Dick barely scraped through with the exact number of hits to win
out.  But he had won, and two months later when the little silver
emblems were received from Headquarters, it was with mingled pride and
thankfulness he saw his own name neatly engraved on the reverse of the
pin which Sergeant Douglass handed over to his keeping.

Five new experts, eleven sharpshooters and four marksmen was the final
result of Sergeant Battiste’s course of training.

"Well, I don’t believe," Dick remarked as he strained his eyes to see
the bright new badge he had pinned to his khaki coat preparatory to
Saturday morning inspection, "that I’ll ever have as much pleasure in
winning anything as I had in winning this, my first real medal."

"You may be right, Dick," said Henry, looking a little regretfully at
the new sharpshooter’s badge he held in his hand, "but what appeals more
to me is that extra pay these little silver gadgets bring in each
month."



                               CHAPTER XI

                         A REPUBLIC IN DISTRESS


Christmas and the New Year’s holidays passed by uneventfully, and the
_Denver_ still remained at anchor in Guantanamo Bay.  Other vessels
arrived and departed, but no orders came for the cruiser, much to the
disappointment of all hands.

Rumors of trouble at various points often reached their ears, but the
crew finally began to lose hope of moving.  The Department must have
forgotten them!  The Secretary of the Navy was going to make her a
station ship!  The Admiral of the Fleet had it in for the Captain, and
wouldn’t let him move!  All sorts and kinds of excuses and reasons were
forthcoming, but they were as unsatisfactory as they were improbable.

Over six months of outdoor life, swimming, boating, fishing, riding
horseback, taking a leading part in athletics, for which his days at
Bankley High School and the healthy life in the New England seaport
formed a splendid foundation, had developed Richard Comstock into a
tall, broad-shouldered, small-waisted, powerful young man, one able to
give an excellent account of himself, no matter what the situation.  As
bow oar of the winning marines’ dinghy race-boat crew he had already
given evidence of the strength and endurance of his well-knit muscles.
He was nearly as brown as the Cubans who plied their bum-boat[#] trade
at the port gangway during meal hours, and with his straight black hair
and dark eyes he might easily have disguised himself as one of them.


[#] A shore boat which sells fruit, post-cards, curios, etc., to ships
visiting the port.


The months had likewise worked a change in Henry Cabell, but his figure
was much slighter and less robust than that of his boon companion.  The
boys were trying to master the Spanish language, and when ashore on
visits to Caimanera and Guantanamo City, as frequently they were, it
became a practise to carry on all their conversation in that tongue,
much to the amusement of themselves and particularly the natives with
whom they came in contact.  However, the practise was good for them, and
they were able to converse quite fluently, and to chatter glibly with
the Phillipino cooks and mess attendants, of whom a number were attached
to the ship.

Usually their evenings were spent ashore at the Marine Barracks on
Fisherman’s Point, where a nightly programme, consisting of the best
moving-picture plays, were shown on the screen or boxing and wrestling
matches, in both of which Dick occasionally took part, helped pass the
hours.

In the meantime Joe Choiniski and "Slugger" Williams, having completed
their term of punishment in solitary confinement, were released and
restored to duty.  The long enforced diet seemingly wrought a change in
Williams’ attitude towards the world in general; and the ship’s athletic
officer, Lieutenant Robling, hearing of the "Slugger’s" reported prowess
with the gloves, had interested him anew in boxing, and he had gone into
training with a view of winning laurels when the Fleet should finally
put in its appearance during the winter maneuvers and target practice.
Choiniski belonged to the "black gang,"[#] and his living space was far
removed from the marines’ compartment, consequently the boys rarely came
in contact with him, but if black looks could speak for anything it was
certain that Joe’s feeling for them was still full of animosity.


[#] A nickname for the Engineer Division on shipboard.


Altogether Captain Bentley’s ship was having a peaceful, rather than a
wildly exciting time.

Then like a bolt from the blue came a cable message--received at the
little station near the lighthouse.

"Revolution in San Domingo.  Proceed immediately to Monte Cristi and
report to Senior Officer Present for further assignment on arrival."

Thus ran the order.

It was Saturday afternoon, and most of the crew were ashore.
Immediately the "Cornet"[#] was hoisted at the foremast, which was a
peremptory order for everybody to return on board at once regardless of
length of leave.  It told those on shore that the ship was under sailing
orders and about to get under way.


[#] A signal flag used to recall all boats and liberty parties.


Conjectures were rife in the boats hurriedly returning from all the
various places to which they had gone for the afternoon’s outing.
Swimming parties hardly waited to get into their clothes before shoving
off for the cruiser; officers playing golf did not stop to look for the
balls they had sent flying along the "fairway" or bouncing into the
"rough"; the baseball game in progress halted as a batsman in the act of
making a "home run" cut swiftly across the diamond from second base and,
grabbing his sweater, made his final spurt for the boat landing.

"Back to the good old U.S.A. for us, boys!"

"Hooray!  Broadway and the white lights, fellers!"

"Philly’s good enough for me!" called out one enthusiast from the stern
sheets of the loaded sailing launch.

These and many other such remarks filled the air.

"Whoop her up, boys, for ten days’ leave in the old home town, no matter
where it may be!" yelled one joyful youngster, and all who could lent a
willing hand on the heavy oars.

Then came the disappointment!

Within an hour the gangways and boat booms were rigged in, awnings
furled, cutters and steamers hoisted aboard, life-boats secured for sea,
all the hundred and one things necessary to the departure of a
man-of-war attended to.

Last of all the mail was sent ashore, for this might be the only
opportunity for days,--possibly weeks; who could tell?

Now came the peeping of the boatswains’ whistles and raucous voices
bellowing throughout the ship.

"All hands, Up anchor!"

Silently the divisions fell in at their proper stations.  Slowly the
propellers began their revolutions, which would not cease until the
arrival at that island of trouble, San Domingo--the Hispaniola of the
Spanish Main.

Ashore the little garrison of marines lined the beach at Fisherman’s
Point.  They had heard the news and when the _Denver_ passed, clouds of
smoke issuing from her funnels, her ensign snapping in the breeze, and
her crew drawn up on deck, the envious men ashore gave her three rousing
cheers to speed the parting guest.  On past the lighthouse, out through
the narrow entrance of the harbor into the deep indigo waters of the
Caribbean, where, once the coral shoals were well astern, the course was
changed to due east, and one by one, buildings, bay, and lighthouse were
swallowed in the distance and the bluish haze which hovered over the
terraced hills and shore of Cuba’s southern slopes.

Captain Bentley, unlike most naval officers of his day, believed in
informing his officers of all the reasons underlying his official
actions and the movements of the vessel he commanded.  The idea which so
many officers held,--divulge nothing, keep officers and crew in
ignorance of situations, destinations and intentions until the last
possible moment, was not in accord with his conception of good
management, executive ability and coördination, therefore, unless
absolutely forbidden by his instructions, he made it a point to explain
fully all orders which would sooner or later affect them, so that they
might familiarize themselves with all the ramifications of the probable
events.

Following out this policy he summoned the heads of all departments to
his cabin after supper, and there being no officer in charge of the
marines, he included First Sergeant Douglass among those present, and
furnished them with a short résumé of all the messages he had received
since the first one ordering him to sea so unexpectedly.

"Gentlemen, for some months the political situation in the Dominican
Republic has been hovering on the brink of another revolution, and from
these despatches received to-day, armed conflict has at last become a
fact.  Our government anticipated this state of affairs, but owing to
various causes we have not sufficient ships in San Domingan waters
adequately to guard the interests of American citizens nor protect the
customs, which as you are aware, are under the supervision of the United
States.  The situation is so acute, in the belief of the Department,
that already marines are embarking on board the _Dixie_ at Philadelphia,
and by morning will be on their way to Monte Cristi, where the greatest
activity against the organized government seems centered.  It will be
five days at best before the marines will reach here.  I have been
ordered to proceed there also and report to the S.O.P. for assignment.
Barring unforeseen accidents we should arrive at our destination on
Monday morning.  It is advisable for us under the circumstances to make
ourselves acquainted with such facts as are available regarding the
political, economical and geographical features of the unfortunate
republic.  Our duties may take us to any one of its ports; therefore a
study of the charts and a glimpse at the island’s history will be
beneficial to all.  I believe the day is not far distant when San
Domingo will become a territory of ours, or at least a protectorate
under us."

"If you have time and inclination, sir, I believe all present would
appreciate a short talk along the lines you indicate," said Lieutenant
Commander Ogden.

"Very gladly, and I will not waste time on preliminaries," said Captain
Bentley.  "Of course, you all know Christopher Columbus discovered Santo
Domingo on his first voyage, and by his direction his brother
Bartholomew founded the first European settlement in the New World on
August 4, 1494, naming it New Isabella.  From this time to the present
the island has been the scene of more continual fighting, and strife,
and dissension, than any other portion of the globe of equal size.  The
Spaniards were the first people to believe in the policy that ’a good
Indian is a dead one,’ and they proceeded to make them ’good.’  English,
French, and Spanish armies and navies have fought along and on its
shores.  Revolution has succeeded revolution.  The French end of the
island was declared a republic in 1801 after an uprising of the blacks
under Toussant L’Ouverture, who incidentally was the son of a Royal
African King.  The French and Spanish long disputed certain portions of
the island, and a treaty establishing the boundary was made January 3,
1777, but with the independence of Haiti the whole island came under the
rule of the negroes.  Soon the Spanish element revolted against the
blacks and formed an independent republic, and the old boundary lines
were reëstablished in 1844.  In 1849 President Baez endeavored to lease
Samana Bay to the United States, but our President, Mr. Pierce, did not
succeed in putting the measure through.  The countries of Europe were
fearful of our securing a base in the West Indies of such prime
importance, and a revolution against Baez, incited so it is claimed by
the English, overthrew the government.

"Strife was again rampant, and finally Spain was invited to take over
her former colony by the people in 1861.

"This lasted till 1865, when the Spanish yoke was again thrown off and
another futile attempt made to interest us in Samana Bay.  Hardly a year
has passed since without dissension and bloodshed.  In the interests of
our own and foreign citizens, and to carry out the policy of the Monroe
Doctrine, the United States has at all times endeavored to settle these
sanguinary conflicts, and with some success; but never has a permanent
peace resulted.

"About 1905 we agreed to manage their customs for San Domingo, and to
assist them to liquidate many of the enormous financial claims against
their government by various foreign and domestic concerns.  Germany,
ever on the alert to expand her power, was only too anxious to establish
herself in the Western Hemisphere, and in order to continue our stated
policy of protection against such invasion, some such act on our part
was absolutely necessary.  Deprived of the rich benefits of custom dues,
revolutions did not prove profitable, and a period of comparative quiet
ensued.  But it seems that a Latin-American people cannot long remain
stable, and now they are again on the rampage. European influence is
undoubtedly behind it, but I do not feel free to divulge that phase of
the matter. I hope I have not bored you."

"Are you able to give us the present situation regarding the contending
forces?" asked Lieutenant Robling, the engineer officer.

"Only in a general way.  The rebels seem to hold the interior towns and
country, and with the exception of Monte Cristi the seaports are all in
the hands of the government troops.  A great amount of smuggling is
being carried on between the rebels and Haitians, and the officials are
powerless to prevent it."

"Do you believe we shall land?" inquired the Executive Officer.

"That I cannot say; however, we must be prepared for any emergency."

"I will make all arrangements for the landing force to be ready for
instant service.  To-morrow is Sunday, but with your permission I will
’turn to’ in the morning, go over the details, and break out and stow on
deck our equipment."

"Go ahead with the work as you see fit, Mr. Ogden, and be sure that the
gunner gets his small-arms ammunition ready for issue.  Turn over to
First Sergeant Douglass enough rifle and pistol ammunition to equip the
guard.  The marines may be needed immediately on arrival for service
ashore. If that is all, gentlemen, I will bid you good-evening."

No feeling of disappointment prevailed among the _Denver’s_ crew upon
receipt of the news that they were en route to aid in putting down a
full-fledged rebellion, and everybody was once again full of
cheerfulness and smiles.  This elation was particularly noticeable among
the marines, for if there was "anything doing" ashore their
participation was a foregone conclusion.  The mere fact that a thousand
of their fellows were already sailing from Philadelphia was indication
enough that the situation was critical.

Time and again the marines had been rushed here and there and everywhere
to police up this or that fractious republic; it was an old yet ever new
story with them, and though the activities and general status of this
fighting branch of Uncle Sam’s armed forces were obscure to the majority
of people at home, they were well known and greatly respected in those
lands where they labored, fought and often died in their country’s
service.

Richard and Henry were greatly excited over the prospect and worked with
a will the following day in getting out stores, munitions, clothing and
otherwise preparing for the hoped-for duty ashore.

"It’s lucky we went to Guantanamo, Dick, else we might not have had any
experience with these big Colt’s forty-fives we pack around on our
hips," Henry remarked.

The two lads were at the time carefully oiling and cleaning their heavy
revolvers, the weapons the "musics" of the Corps carried into conflict.
Splendid shooting arms they were, too, and during the stay in Cuba they
had received a certain amount of practise with them in connection with
the Navy Small Arms Course, wherein scores with both rifle and revolver
were required.

As he spoke, Henry whirled the open cylinder about, and with a clever
twist of the wrist snapped it shut, then pointing the empty revolver at
a passing man he snapped the hammer rapidly.

"Stop that!" came a curt command, and looking up Henry found Corporal
Dorlan standing over him.  The look in Dorlan’s eye was not pleasant to
see, and the usual good-natured smile was missing from the older man’s
face.

"Stop what?" asked Henry, flushing because of the harshness in Dorlan’s
voice and glance.

"Stop that foolishness!  Ye ought to be gettin’ sense in the noodle of
ye after bein’ these months in the marines."

"I reckon I’ve as much sense and maybe a little more than some marines
around here, who’ve been in as many hitches[#] as I have months, and I
don’t need a trial by Summary Court to teach me lessons," and Henry
glared hotly at the veteran soldier.


[#] "Hitches"--Enlisted man’s term for enlistments.


"If that’s the case, me lad, let’s see ye use it, both in yer actions
and yer manners," said Dorlan, and the twinkle was now returning to the
gray-blue eyes; "but I’ll tell ye one thing sure;--it won’t be a
’summary’ but a ’general’ ye will be after gettin’ if ye go around so
careless like aimin’ and shootin’ yer gun at human bein’s, and ye can
put that in your pipe and shmoke it for the rest of yer life, and ’twill
do ye a wurrld of good."

By this time Henry’s better nature asserted itself and rising he put out
his hand frankly and asked the elder man to excuse his unwisely chosen
words.

Richard, witnessing the incident, was happy to see these two good
friends of his settle so amicably what might have developed into a
bitter animosity on the part of the young Southerner.

"Now that ’the battle is over, Mother Dear,’" quoted Dick, "suppose you
sit down, Corporal Michael Dorlan, and tell us the causes of the
Revolutionary War."

"And I could do that too, me lad," said Dorlan, smiling at Richard, whom
he claimed as his own particular protégé, "but I’ll sit me down and tell
ye somethin’ that may be of interest and profit to the two of yez."

Seating himself on a near-by sea-chest, Dorlan continued:

"Just a bit ago, young man, I saw ye pointin’ a gun at one of yer
shipmates and not only that, but pullin’ of the trigger," and he looked
severely at Henry.

"What of that?  The revolver wasn’t loaded--it couldn’t harm anyone,"
stated Henry.

"That’s where ye are wrong, lad, for it’s the gun what ain’t loaded
which generally goes off and kills yer best friend.  It’s the kind of
accident ye read about in almost any paper ye pick up in any part of the
world, and I’d make a bet with ye that the weapon the other fellow
’didn’t know was loaded’ since the invention of gun-powder has caused
more deaths and serious accidents than have the aimed shots in actual
warfare."

"But, Corporal, I knew my pistol was empty," protested Henry; "I looked
through the cylinder before I closed it.  Besides, we’ve had no
ammunition given us."

"Nevertheless, what I say is true, Henry, and here is a safe rule for ye
to follow for the rest of your life: never point a gun, loaded or
unloaded, at any human bein’ unless ye mean to kill or wound him."

At the instant Dorlan finished speaking a half dozen laughing
bluejackets came running around a corner into the marines’ compartment.
Following in close pursuit was a companion flourishing a noosed rope in
one hand and a revolver in the other. As he appeared he called out:

"Catch the bandits!"

It was innocent horse play and the men in the vicinity turned to watch
the chase.  The "bandits" disappeared through a door on the port side of
the deck, the pursuer aimed his revolver at them and pulled on the
double-action trigger.  There was a loud report and a leaden bullet
flattened itself harmlessly against the iron bulkhead.

The young apprentice seaman who had fired the shot stopped short and,
with a white face, looked in horror at the smoking weapon as it fell
from his nerveless grasp to the deck.

"I never knew it was loaded!" he cried hoarsely.

Reaching for the heavy Colt’s, Corporal Dorlan picked it up and broke
open the cylinder,--every chamber but the one just discharged was filled
with death.

"Come up to the Officer of the Deck, young feller," ordered Dorlan
grimly, taking the trembling sailor by the arm, and as they turned to
leave, he looked towards Dick and Henry, saying:

"As I said before--never point a gun unless ye mean to kill."

No more salutary lesson could have been given than old Mike’s talk and
its startling sequel.


Out into the windward passage; northward then eastward into the
trade-wind-tossed, white-capped waters of the Atlantic; past the
mountainous shores of Haiti and the famous or infamous island of
Tortuga, whence came the buccaneers and their notorious chief, Sir Henry
Morgan.

Then the character of the land changed from rugged mountains rising at
the shore line to low, gray, misty ranges rearing their serrated ridges
far inland.  Finally from out the sea a lone peak reared its crest;
growing ever higher and higher--the well-known Monte Granero, so called
by the great discoverer when he first saw it, and from the summit of
which can be seen the site where now are the ruins of New Isabella on
the northern shore of San Domingo.  On the low-lying plain a few miles
southwestward from the base of the mountain was the straggling town of
Monte Cristi, sweltering in the morning sunshine.

Since before dawn the spluttering snap of the wireless filled the air on
board the _Denver_ as the message sped through the intervening miles of
space to the flagship lying in the open bay off Cabras Island.

Captain Bentley on the bridge read the aerograms with interest, and
particularly the last one.


"Large force rebels reported operating vicinity Samana Bay.  Proceed to
Sanchez, investigate conditions, protect American and foreign lives and
property.  Guard customs.  Report conditions."


"We will continue on our present bearing, Mr. Ogden," said the Captain;
"read this, and send word to the Navigating Officer to report to me at
once in my cabin."

Captain Bentley then went below, and soon was poring over the chart of
Samana Bay, one of the finest harbors and most desirable bases in the
whole of the West Indies.



                              CHAPTER XII

                        SEÑOR PEREZ ASKS FOR AID


Before the mud caused by the dropping anchor rose to the surface of the
water, a shore boat containing two oarsmen and one passenger put out
from the wharf and pulled for the _Denver_.  That the passenger was in a
hurry was evidenced by his gesticulating hands, and by the black cotton
umbrella held by its bulging center which he waved in an attempt to make
the clumsy boatmen pull together.  From under the white cork helmet his
dark face worked spasmodically as with a mixture of Spanish, English and
German words he urged on his laggard crew.

Interested sailors and marines lined the ship’s rail, watching the
approach of the stout, excited little foreigner.  His rapid speech was
now quite audible though not intelligible.

"He is giving those peons what my mother would call ’gowdy,’" said Dick
to Henry, "and that is her worst swear word."

"Meaning our excitable friend is rather strong in his choice of
expletives?" inquired Henry.

"You’ve got it, Hank!  His language is hot enough to make a bottle of
Tobasco sauce weep tears of envy."

By this time the boat was within a few yards of the ship.

"Boat ahoy!  What do you want?" hailed the Officer of the Deck.

"I want to see the Captain.  I am the consul. I am Señor Perez.  There
is much trouble."

"Come alongside," ordered the Officer of the Deck, and walked to the
gangway to meet the consul who, with surprising agility, sprang from his
boat and waddled hurriedly on deck.

"Excuse the absence of honors, Señor, but we did not expect you.  The
Captain will see you at once, sir."

"I do not want the honors, I want the protection. I want----"

"Orderly, conduct Señor Perez to the Captain’s cabin," said the officer,
and still talking volubly the little man disappeared below, the marine
orderly leading the way.

"It was a regular vaudeville show," said Private Jones later, hardly
able to control his laughter while he related the interview to a group
of friends accosting him for news after he came off watch. "The little
Spig is our consul, all right enough, and after the Old Man had quieted
him down a bit he appeared to be a pretty agreeable sort.  But, say! He
was going strong when he first opened up, and that’s no idle jest."

"All right, Jonesie, cut that part and tell us what all the excitement’s
about."

"From what I gathered seeing the door to the cabin was open all the
time," continued Jones, "he’s all wrought up over the arrival of a bunch
of rebels in the hills back of the town.  He has just returned from a
trip to the States; came on a Clyde Liner Saturday.  His daughter was
struck in the leg by a stray bullet during the revolution two years ago
and has been in New York for treatment. He brought her back, also a new
German governess for his four children, the oldest being this little
girl--her name is Sol-la-de-da or something like that----"

"Guess you mean Soledad," volunteered Dick.

"That’s it,--Soledad!  Well, last night the rebs shot up the town, but
no one was hurt.  The little girl--he sort of worships her--was scared
stiff, and so was everyone else.  The government troops were afraid to
leave the fort, but added their shots and shouts to the general uproar.

"Some of the bullets hit the consulate, and Perez believes, because he
is the American Consul and Americans are unpopular with the rebs--also
because he was active in electing the present president--that they are
after him.  He’s a native of San Domingo, and I expect he ought to know
what he’s talking about."

"What did the Old Man tell him?" asked one of the men.

"The Captain told him he’d received orders not to send any forces ashore
unless absolutely necessary; in other words, that we are not to get
mixed up with any of the fighting at all if we can help it. He offered
to take him and all his family on board for a while."

"What did the Spig say to that?"

"Oh, he went up in the air at first, but it was finally settled to
arrange signals from his house to the ship, and if he was actually
attacked he could send up a rocket or two and we’d land in a jiffy. You
see, there are only about fifty insurrectos in the hills, so it’s
estimated, and there are two hundred government troops in the town, and
the rebs are afraid to come in to attack, even though the federals are
afraid of them.  We are going to keep our search-lights on all night,
and though we can’t see the Spigs in the bosky they’ll think we can, and
that’ll be enough to scare ’em.  After that Mr. Consul went ashore with
a bundle of rockets under one arm and his old bumbershoot under the
other, mollified but not satisfied."

"Is that all you know?" inquired another inquisitive man.

"You can’t expect me to remember everything; besides, I’m no evening
paper," answered Jones.

"You ain’t no yeller journal, that’s sure," said Joe Choiniski,
sneeringly, from the edge of Jones’ audience.  "I, for one, wouldn’t
give two cents to read all you’ve chawed about so far."

"Nobody asked you to butt in and listen," promptly answered Jones,
looking at the speaker, who was none too popular, especially with the
marines, "but I’ve got a dime thriller up my sleeve for the Sunday
edition."

"Loosen up, Jonesie," said a big marine, tossing into the circle a
quarter, which Jones deftly caught, "here’s two bits; you can keep the
change. What’s the scandal?"

Rather proud at being the center of so much attraction, an honor not
ordinarily accorded him, Jones continued:

"Well, the chief thing old Perez was excited over is a bunch of money
he’s got in his house.  He’s about the richest man in town, and is a
kind of banker too, and he’s got several thousands of dollars of
government money in his keeping.  He can’t get rid of it, for the
railroad is busted up. He’s afraid to let the Commanding Officer of the
government troops know about it, for the simple reason that a lot of pay
is already due him and his men, and they’d be liable to confiscate it
and his own coin too.  He claims that the rebel chief is an enemy of his
and wouldn’t hesitate to kill him and his whole family if he heard about
the money and could get it.  He can’t let the money out of his house for
the reason he’s received word a federal officer is expected at any old
time to get it, and if he didn’t have it ready for instant delivery,
he’d always be in bad with the authorities, and----"

"You have done enough talking, young man," interrupted First Sergeant
Douglass, who overheard the latter part of Jones’ discourse, "and I want
to tell you, if ever I hear you or any other orderly disclosing, without
authority, official matters which you may happen to overhear while on
duty in a position of trust, I’ll see that you get well and properly
punished.  You may not have thought of it in that light, but it’s a
sneaking, unmanly trick, and marines are supposed to be men, not
sneaks."

Private Jones was honest enough to feel the humiliation of this rebuke,
but that did not stop the tales he told from being quickly carried to
every member of the crew.

Soon after, "all hands" was called.  Rifles and ammunition issued to the
sailors and word passed that the landing force would sleep under arms
until further notice, after which recall sounded and the routine drills
were resumed.

Much to the disappointment of the crew, no one was allowed ashore, and
though the town did not offer much in the way of diversion or
entertainment, it was a new country and a new people for the majority,
and all were naturally curious.

On the steep slopes of the hill, rising abruptly from the water’s edge,
nestled the little town, consisting of one principal street following
generally a contour line, while from it on either hand were cobbled
lanes and narrow paths with no general symmetry or direction.  Back of
the town on a spur of the mountain stood the red-walled fort, a winding
road leading to its entrance.  Barefooted soldiers in red caps and blue
denim coats and trousers and armed with nearly every make of antique
rifle lined the walls of the fort or marched along the road.  At
frequent intervals strange calls sounded on high pitched bugles to which
no one seemed to pay the slightest attention.

Night fell!  A glorious rising moon spread its effulgent rays over a
peaceful scene.  From the little village on the hillside came the tinkle
of guitars, the shouts of playing children.  The shore lights twinkled
cheerfully, while in a large building a dance was in progress.  Added to
the moon’s brilliancy were the beams of the ship’s search-lights
constantly moving over woods and town, making objects clear cut and
distinct but casting massive black shadows where house or hillock
intervened.

"This is the bloodiest war I’ve ever heard about," said Henry in disgust
at the peaceful turn of affairs.  "I do wish they’d start something,
don’t you, Dick?"

Dick glanced about at the sleeping men, their rifles by their sides,
canteens and haversacks and bayonets within easy reach, ready for any
emergency, but instead of answering he emitted an unintelligible grunt,
turned over on his side and was soon asleep.

For two nights peace and quiet.  The insurrectos had withdrawn from the
near-by hills, so it was reported, but were guarding all the roads and
keeping fresh supplies from reaching the inhabitants.

On Wednesday afternoon liberty was granted a limited number of officers
and men.  Henry, being on duty, was unable to go ashore, so Dick found
himself alone soon after his arrival on the beach.

A small hotel attracted most of the men with its one decrepit pool
table, tinny piano and refreshment café.  The town was a little garden
spot, each yard filled with a profusion of flowers.  Dick turned to the
left at the main street and strolled along in the direction of the
consulate.  Passing the house, easily the finest residence in sight, he
noticed the bright colors of the American flag hanging from the white
pole, and on the spacious piazza three children, olive-skinned and
dark-eyed, waved their hands in friendly greeting to the young marine.
He addressed them in his halting Spanish, but they hung back bashfully,
making no reply.

Señor Perez’s residence was at the end of the well-kept street on the
outskirts of the town.  Dick, not noticing where the winding road to the
fort branched off, continued into the country before he became aware
that the road was little more than a wide trail, which had turned and
twisted away from the bay.  Occupied with his thoughts, and the tropical
vegetation and strange birds on every hand, he had gone much further
than was his intention.

He was about to retrace his steps when a woman’s scream from around the
bend ahead arrested him.  Though no words were uttered it was distinctly
a call for help, and without a second thought Dick ran towards the spot.
Arriving at the bend of the road he saw a young woman in the grasp of
two disreputable looking natives, while a few yards beyond a half dozen
others with rifles slung over their shoulders were turning off the trail
into the dense underbrush.

The leading man of those in the distance carried a struggling child, a
girl, in his arms.  From where he stood Dick noticed her face was
covered with a dirty cloth which stifled any outcry.  The two men
holding the woman were so occupied in keeping her from breaking away in
pursuit of the men with the child, and attempting to gag her, that they
were unaware of Dick’s timely approach.  The fact that the ruffians did
not see him favored the attack which the boy delivered silently and
swiftly.  One of the men was holding the woman’s arms while the other,
bending, endeavored to bind them behind her with a piece of rope.  She
twisted her supple body and kicked vigorously with her stout walking
shoes.

As Dick reached them he swung his right fist with all his strength on
the jaw of the standing man, knocking him senseless to the road.
Grabbing the other about the waist he fairly lifted him off the ground
and threw him heavily.

Like a cat the native was on his feet.  Rushing at Dick with a savage
cry he drew back his right arm, in which was a dangerous looking knife.
His assailant was within a few feet of him when Dick launched his one
hundred and sixty-five pounds of brawn and muscle in a low tackle which
did credit to his football training at Bankley.  Unaccustomed to such a
method of attack, the native had no chance at all, and again he fell to
the path, his head striking against a rock; the knife flew from his hand
into the bushes, and he lay there motionless.

In another moment Dick was up, and taking the pieces of rope he found
near by, he quickly tied both men securely, nor did he do the task at
all gently. The man whom Dick had first struck was now groaning, for the
terrific blow had fractured his jaw; as for the other, it was not
certain in Dick’s mind whether he was dead or not, for he had not moved
since his second fall.

For the first time Dick looked at the woman whose summons for help he
had so effectually answered.  To his surprise she was lying in the road,
her eyes closed and face deathly pale.  What should he do?  Was she
dead?  Had her assailants dealt her some fatal blow?  Had he arrived too
late to save her?

Kneeling at her side Dick looked anxiously into her face; he felt
incompetent to cope with this phase of the situation.  She was a comely
woman about thirty years of age, her fair complexion and light hair
proclaiming her of a northern race.  As he watched, the color began
slowly returning to the white cheeks.  He saw her lips move and bending
he caught the one word they uttered:

"Soledad!"

He was still bending over her when the eyelids quiveringly opened and
drawing a deep sigh the blue eyes of the woman looked straight up into
the dark eyes of the brown-skinned boy, whose straight black hair and
aquiline features, now covered in dirt and dust, brought to her mind but
one thought--the horrible men who had attacked her. She started to
scream, but the unspeakable terror again crept over her and again she
fainted.

Dick’s mind was working with lightning rapidity. The name "Soledad" must
be that of Señor Perez’s daughter; this woman must be the new governess!
Her two assailants, securely bound, were no longer a menace, but the
child was in a dangerous predicament.  The German woman would soon
regain consciousness and be able to secure help--but Soledad, the little
girl already in mortal fear of rebels, who for two years had suffered
from a former revolution, what of her?  If he returned for help her
abductors would be far away by that time. If he set out in pursuit at
once he might overtake them and--and what?

He was unarmed!  What could he accomplish against so many?  Six men had
disappeared in the tangle of woods,--there might be more, and those he
had seen were armed with rifles.  He remembered that point distinctly.

How fast his brain worked!--the pros and cons flashing before his mind’s
eye with kaleidoscopic clearness, in all their varying positions.  Would
those who had gone wait for their two comrades?

In that thought was a glimmer of hope, for it might be they were even
now waiting not far off. Could he find them?  The trail, the
country,--all were new to him!

His roving eyes swept the two men lying at the roadside.  Here were
weapons.  He at least would not go unarmed.  Rising, he went to the
trussed-up men and calmly took from them their revolvers, holsters and
ammunition belts.  The man with a broken jaw was suffering, but with the
stoicism of a brute rather than of a man.  From him Dick also removed a
two-edged dagger in its sheath, while the fellow glared at him silently.
A moment in adjusting his weapons, another to find his campaign hat, a
final inspection of the bound legs and arms of the natives, a last look
at the woman, who was showing signs of returning consciousness, and he
was running off down the road.  Not a mad dash such as he made in his
attack, but the long swinging stride of the cross-country athlete.

It seemed to Dick as though hours had elapsed, when in reality the
minutes had been but few.  In the stress of action, when brain and mind,
flesh and bone, nerve and muscle, are working in perfect coördination
even Time in his flight appears to stop and wait.  But Dick’s mind was
not engaged in thoughts of this character as he turned from the trail
and disappeared into the tropical jungle on his precarious errand of
mercy.

Fräulein Stauche opened her eyes slowly.  She almost feared to do so,
for the last thing she remembered were the black eyes of a dirty
ferocious native glaring into her own, his face so close she could feel
his breath fanning her cheek.  This time she saw nothing but the blue
sky overhead.  The sun, low on the western ridge, would soon sink,
bringing a premature twilight hour to the little town nestling at the
base of the lofty mountain.  The glare, however, hurt her eyes and she
closed them.  It was easier to collect her thoughts thus.  Why was she
lying here under the open sky, and who had been the man staring at her
when she looked but a second or two ago?  Where was Soledad?

Soledad!

The name brought back with such startling poignancy the fearful tragedy
through which she had lived that she struggled to her feet and looked
about her in fear and trembling.  She recalled how, with Soledad holding
her hand, they had strolled along this path, when without warning two
men sprang at her from the bushes and attempted to gag her, while
others, how many she could not remember, grabbed her dainty little
charge and ran along the path and disappeared in the thicket, leaving
her fighting and struggling.  She looked down the trail and caught sight
of a man just turning where the others had turned.

What had they done with the child?  What should she do?  Fear was
tugging at her heart and her knees shook with weakness.  A movement at
the roadside attracted her.  She looked.  Lying there were two men.
They were now still, but the eyes of one were fastened on her.  With a
scream of terror, Fräulein Stauche turned and ran as fast as she could
for the town behind her.

At last the consulate--and from the pole flew the stars and stripes in
the evening breeze!  Thank the good God that the gray ship was in the
harbor. Help would soon be forthcoming, and as she struggled on she
prayed it would not come too late.


When the officers reported their divisions at evening quarters on board
the _Denver_ that night another of the ship’s force was among those
missing.  For Drummer Comstock had already been reported as absent upon
the return of the liberty party at five-thirty, but now the Engineer
Officer stated that Joe Choiniski had jumped ship.

"How do you think Choiniski got ashore?" asked the Captain of Mr. Ogden.

"The only solution I can offer is that during the noon hour, while the
men were buying fruit from the bum-boats, Choiniski secreted himself
aboard one of them.  He was seen hanging around the port gangway at that
hour in dungarees and Chief Master-at-Arms Fitch ordered him below."

"Did he obey the order?"

"Fitch does not know, sir.  The Officer of the Deck called him at that
second to drive away some bum-boatmen trying to tie up to the starboard
gangway, and when he returned Choiniski was gone."

"That coal passer is a bad man, and I hope, now that he’s gone, that we
have seen the last of him; but, isn’t it a strange coincidence that
Drummer Comstock did not return on time?  Do you attach any significance
to that?"

"Oh, no, Captain, Comstock and Choiniski are not in the least friendly.
They would not hob-nob together."

"That is not what I mean.  I have heard that Choiniski threatened to get
even with Comstock on account of the affair in Culebra.  I was thinking
that he might have made his threat good.  I believe him capable of
almost any act.  I don’t like his face."

"Here is Sergeant Douglass, sir; he may give us some information," said
Mr. Ogden, and the Captain turned to the old marine.

"Sergeant, what have you heard regarding the actions of Drummer Comstock
while on shore?"

"From inquiries, sir, I find he did not stay with the others, but went
around town by himself.  Some sailors were talking with him in front of
the hotel, and they state that he started off for the fort. After he had
gone some distance they also decided to visit the fort and followed him,
but when they came to the road that leads up the hill they saw him still
going along the main road in an easterly direction.  They thought he
acted queerly in not asking them to accompany him, for they were
discussing the matter between them, and when they saw he didn’t go
towards the fort at all, they decided he must have some reason for not
wanting them along. That was the last seen of the boy."

"Thank you, Sergeant, that is all.  Let me know if you hear anything
further."

"Aye, aye, sir," and Sergeant Douglass saluted and turned away.

"It’s after six o’clock, sir, and if that is all for the present I will
get ready for mess."

Captain Bentley was about to reply when the Gunner came hurriedly up the
ladder and, spying Lieutenant Commander Ogden, he approached and
saluted.

"Mr. Ogden, the chief gunner’s mate reports to me that two Colt’s
forty-fives, and a dozen boxes of ammunition have disappeared from the
armory since morning quarters.  He put the revolvers away himself and
locked the door--it is a snap lock--which was still as he left it when
he went in the armory a while ago."

"Who has access to the armory, Mr. Nelson?" asked the Captain, and a
dark frown appeared on his face.  Too many inexplicable things were
happening on board his ship this day to suit him, and he was becoming
decidedly annoyed.

"I have the only key, sir, and I never allow anyone in the armory except
the chief gunner’s mate. Whenever he gets through his work there he
always brings the key to me.  Of course, Mr. Ogden has duplicate keys,
as you know, sir."

"Does the chief gunner’s mate permit anyone in there?"

"No, sir, I believe he obeys my order to the letter.  A few days ago he
asked and received permission to allow Drummer Comstock of the marines
in there.  The boy wanted to familiarize himself with the mechanism of
the Colt’s machine-gun."

"Hm-m-m-m!  What do you think now, Mr. Ogden?" and Captain Bentley gazed
scowlingly at the darkening shadows on the mountainside, and the lights
appearing, one by one, in the houses ashore.

Even while he looked there came distinctly to his ears the loud:

Sh-h-h-s-h-h! like escaping steam as from the vicinity of the consulate
a streak of fire shot into the air.  Then came the sound of an
explosion, while directly over the ship three green balls of fire cast a
ghostly glare on the upturned faces of officers and men.

Señor Perez had called for aid!



                              CHAPTER XIII

                        CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE


The three green balls of fire floated past the ship and slowly faded
away in the heavens.  Absolute silence reigned, while those on the
_Denver’s_ deck watched with fascination their weird progress.

From the shore came no sign nor sound of disturbance.  No calls, shouts,
nor firing of guns. What, then, was the meaning of the rocket?

"It was fired from the consulate," said Captain Bentley.  "My agreement
with the consul was to send up a rocket in case he absolutely needed
assistance, but he is such an excitable individual and his nerves are in
such state that he is quite capable of committing any error of
judgment."

"The shore looks peaceable enough," remarked Mr. Ogden.  "Shall I have
the search-lights turned on, sir?"

"Yes, and then I wish you to go ashore and investigate.  Take a squad of
marines with you and a bugler.  If in your estimation an immediate
landing is required, he can sound ’call to arms’ from the consulate.  It
will save time.  I seriously doubt if there is need of such drastic
action."

The search-light beams lighted up the shore while the Captain was
speaking and those officers who had binoculars scanned the town for
evidences of excitement.  A few people strolled about the streets
turning their faces from the glare as the travelling rays momentarily
flooded them with daytime brilliancy.

"Call away the steamer, Mr. Gardiner, and send word to Sergeant Douglass
to have a squad of men and a trumpeter ready to get aboard when she
comes alongside.  I will go ashore in the same boat," and having given
his orders Mr. Ogden disappeared below to get his sidearms.

Ensign Gardiner, Officer of the Deck, issued his orders promptly.  In
the marine compartment Douglass was besieged with requests from eager
marines to be among those landed, but his announcement that Corporal
Dorlan’s squad was detailed for the duty blasted the hopes of all but
the fortunate ones included.  Henry Cabell, being the only music left in
the guard, was also detailed, and a few minutes later Mr. Ogden followed
the last of his guard into the steamer.

"Shove off, coxswain.  Take your orders from Mr. Ogden," ordered Mr.
Gardiner, and the little steamer started on its way to the landing, full
speed ahead.

A little after five o’clock that afternoon Señora Perez awaited the
return of the governess and little Soledad.  The rebel forces had
withdrawn; the American sailors were ashore, and no thought of danger
entered her mind.  From the high ground of the garden in front of the
house she could now see the boats returning to the ship laden down with
the liberty party.  It was high time for Fräulein to be back.

A sound as of someone trying to lift the latch of the gate came to
Señora’s ears.

"They have come home," she thought as she turned to watch the entrance,
but the next moment, with a cry of apprehension she was running to
support the faltering form of the German governess.

"Where is Soledad?  Where is my child?" she demanded in a shrill,
strange voice.

But Fräulein Stauche was unable to answer. She had reached the limit of
her endurance, and she fell into Señora Perez’s arms, overcome and
speechless.

With the help of servants she was carried into the house and
restoratives given.  Messengers were sent for the consul and a
physician.  In the meantime the distracted mother listened to the
disconnected words and sentences which told her of her child.  Finally
the consul arrived and in turn was given the sad news.  But all this
took time, and nearly three hours had elapsed since Soledad was snatched
from the keeping of Fräulein.  Unhesitatingly the consul fired the
signal which would bring the most efficient aid he could command, and
while he watched its gracefully curving arc shooting out over the
darkening waters, and the three green balls of fire slowly drift across
the bay, he lost all hope of ever seeing his child, for he knew the
rebel chief Gonzales whose forces held the approaches to the town and he
knew nothing but evil of the man. Waiting there in the darkness he heard
the bugle on board ship calling away the boats, bringing aid to his
door.  He saw the search-lights illuminate the shore line and then he
paced from door to gate, back and forth waiting--waiting!  No longer a
fussy, ridiculous figure, for the despair which gripped his heart lent
him a new dignity.

Soon the tramp of men on the macadam road! No native soldiers ever
walked with that long swinging stride.  He watched them pass beneath a
glimmering street light at the corner, "two, four, six, eight," he
counted, as the rifle barrels flashed by.  What!  No more than eight
men, when hundreds were needed if ever they hoped to catch Gonzales!
Yes, more than hundreds!

Then he saw two more Americans pass the light, one a naval officer in
his white uniform.  Ah, perhaps this little body was merely an advance
guard!

Rushing to the gate, he met Lieutenant Commander Ogden and in the fewest
possible words, brokenly related his pitiful story.  Meanwhile Dorlan
and his men entered the grounds and stood at ease, silently attentive.

"May I see Fräulein Stauche?" asked Mr. Ogden.  "Perhaps she may
remember more incidents now that she has recovered a little.  Does she
speak English?"

"Si, Señor[#] Ogden, she speaks four languages fluently.  Come this
way," and the Consul led the officer to the hysterical governess, and
while the questions he asked her were being answered Dorlan stood by
listening.


[#] Yes, sir, or master, or mister. Señora is lady, madam, etc.  Niña
means little girl and niño, little boy.


"Yes, two men first attacked her.  No, they were not soldiers.  On
second thoughts she was positive one with whom she fought was dressed
like the American soldiers from the ship.  He was the one she remembered
bending over her when she recovered consciousness, and now she recalled
seeing him run down the road after the others with the child.  Yes, he
was armed with two revolvers. No, she did not understand why two natives
were lying near her on the road--she only remembered seeing the eyes of
one of them fastened on her and, becoming terrified, she fled.  Not a
word had been spoken, but the last man looked like a Spaniard. He was
good looking but very dirty."

Mr. Ogden was at a loss as to what action he should take.  It was out of
the question to send a searching party into the country; in the night
they could accomplish nothing.  Leaving Dorlan and his men in charge he
returned to make his report to Captain Bentley.  The Consul had sent
word to the Commandant at the fort, but that official said he could not
order his men out on such an errand without permission of higher
authority.  More than likely his men would refuse to go in any case.

"The evidence against Drummer Comstock and Choiniski seems to be
growing," said the Captain when Mr. Ogden had ceased speaking as they
sat in the cabin, after the Executive’s return.

"Yes, it is, startlingly so, for to-night Corporal Dorlan told me that
every man on the ship knows the Consul has a large sum of money in his
house. I supposed that fact was known only to you, the Consul and
myself."

"How did it leak out?"

"Your orderly, Jones, repeated what he had overheard the first day Señor
Perez came on board. Both the absentees were present and Choiniski even
questioned Jones later regarding the talk.  As for the Drummer, Fräulein
Stauche describes him very accurately, dark eyes, black hair, dark
skin,--you know how tanned he is--and ’dressed like soldiers from the
ship.’  Comstock claimed he was bound for the fort, and apparently was
anxious to be alone, but we know he did not go up there.  He was last
seen on that very road, and shortly before the attack happened.  Dorlan
swears that the boy is innocent, and believes he was hurt and possibly
is lying on the road wounded or else he has gone in pursuit of the men
who abducted the child."

"It is a serious matter," said the Captain.  "I dislike to hold a
suspicion of the kind against the young marine, but the circumstances
are certainly damaging, and there are some points you have overlooked."

"Something derogatory to the marine?"

"Yes.  If you recall, he was allowed in the armory as a favor, and
to-day two revolvers are missing from there; also the governess says the
last man who disappeared had on two revolvers."

"Well, sir, it looks black indeed.  If it is true then the rebel leader
Gonzales is not the guilty party.  But what is the object in taking the
child?"

"Having possession of the Consul’s daughter and knowing the Consul has a
large amount of cash, the object is altogether too plain to admit of
error in arriving at a conclusion;--hostage and ransom money, Mr. Ogden!
It is Choiniski’s idea, and Comstock’s help in the matter will make the
venture a success.  I was cruising in the Mediterranean when the
missionary, Miss Stone, was abducted in Turkey.  The bandits of the
Balkans and of Turkey resort often to this method of procuring funds.
Joe Choiniski was born in Krajik, a small village hidden away in the
wildest part of the Albanian Mountains.  To him this is no horrible
thing, as it is to us."

For a while there was silence in the little cabin. Then the Captain
continued:

"By morning I think we may have some news. I have no fears for the
child’s life.  She is too valuable alive.  Her abductors want money and
will find a way to have a message reach her father demanding payment.
But nothing can be done to-night."

"One more thing, Captain.  I have stated these facts about the young
marine, not because I am convinced of his guilt, but because every point
having bearing on the case should be weighed.  Now, if he is not guilty
or implicated, what has become of him? Corporal Dorlan wanted permission
to go up the road to where the attack took place and look over the
ground.  He feels that young Comstock may be lying there in the road and
unable to return.  He is staunch in his belief in the boy, and if you
have no objection I would like to send him on the errand. It could do no
harm."

"Is there anyone ashore who can read signals?"

"Almost all the marines are good signalmen, and Trumpeter Cabell is an
expert.  He can read any kind of a message not in code."

"Very well, send the order, and have Dorlan report by signal immediately
upon his return.  But he is not to go off the trail nor further than the
point mentioned.  You say he has a flash-light, and it should be easy to
discover traces in the dirt of the roadway."

Trumpeter Cabell felt the importance of his position when, a little
later, he began spelling out the message, from the string of red and
white lights, sent by Ardois[#] from the _Denver_.  Corporal Dorlan took
down each letter carefully, for he wanted to make no mistake in his
instructions.


[#] "Ardois" lights are used for night signalling in the Navy.


"It’s about time they was doin’ somethin’ regardin’ that lad," he
mumbled as he wet the stubby pencil in order to write more legibly.
"Now, young feller, ye wigwag to the ship, when they throw the light on
this balcony and can see yer, that I want ’em to keep that fool
search-light away from this place.  Every time they shine it over here
it puts the whole lot of us in plain view to git shot up by any Spig in
the neighborhood.  Tell ’em you will signal with a lantern, and we don’t
want their bloomin’ old light around here."

With this parting word the corporal started out on his reconnaissance
along the road where the Fräulein had met with her adventure.

There was no moon, and soon the trail turned back from the bay.  Here
the darkness of the tropical night hung heavily about the little party.
The old soldier took no chances in his work, and formed his three-man
patrol in accordance with the rules of warfare.

One man marched about fifty yards ahead, the other the same distance in
rear of Dorlan.  This formation lessened the danger of a surprise, and
increased the chances of at least one member of the patrol’s escape, if
attacked.  Dorlan had brought his small flash-light with which to search
the ground for clues of any import.

"I know that lad ain’t mixed up with that rascal Joe Choiniski," mused
Dorlan as he walked, "no matter what the First Lieutenant believes.
It’s more’n likely he’s the very one what knocked out them two fellers
what tackled the Dootch girl, and--ah!  Here we are!" he exclaimed.

With a low peculiar whistle he halted his men and began a systematic
search of the tracks in the dusty path.

"Here’s where the Dootch girl fainted, and here’s where the shoe marks
show the scrimmage took place.  These tracks were made by government
issue shoes and were worn by a marine.  The imprint of the strap of the
leggin’ is plain as the nose on yer face.  Them’s Dick Comstock’s
tracks; and it’s as I says,--he’s gone after them greasers for sure.
Hello, what’s this?  The grass and bushes all bendin’.  Ah, ye dirty
Dago ye.  I’ve got ye.  Come back here, Smithers, and help untie these
two fellers.  We’ll take ’em back and see what they’ve got to say for
themselves.  And I guess that’s about all I can do this night, accordin’
to me orders."

And back over the trail to the consulate went the patrol to deliver
their two prisoners and make their report.  But if the natives knew
anything, they refused to talk, and the whereabouts of little Soledad
and Drummer Comstock still remained an unsolved mystery.



                              CHAPTER XIV

                DICK MAKES THE ACQUAINTANCE OF COLUMBUS


Lieutenant Commander Ogden’s surmise as to the manner in which Joe
Choiniski jumped ship was correct, but as to the theft of the revolvers,
which he was inclined to fasten on Drummer Comstock, was not.

Just before the noon hour Choiniski, happening by the armory and finding
the door ajar, entered, confiscated the weapons and ammunition and with
them tucked inside his dungaree jumper left the place, snapping the lock
after him; he was unseen by any of his shipmates.

Since the _Denver’s_ arrival off Sanchez, he had been bargaining with
the bum-boatmen to secrete him and take him ashore in one of their
boats, but they would not risk the chance of discovery without payment,
and having lost all his money by sentence of the court-martial,
Choiniski was without funds, nor could he borrow any sum sufficient to
tempt their cupidity.  That noon, however, when he promised a Colt’s
forty-five together with cartridges in payment, the bargain was
consummated.

Choiniski had visited the Samana Bay ports previously while attached to
his former ship, and on one occasion he met the man Gonzales, a
Spanish-negro stevedore in the employ of the German concern owning the
one and only wharf.  Gonzales was now in command of the rebel forces
holding the roads leading into the town, and Joe felt sure his
information regarding the large sum of money in the consulate would be a
certain means of securing for him an established position with the rebel
chief. His familiarity with the language and his experience, not only in
the Navy but with the armed forces in the Balkans a few years before,
was enough to make him at least second in command if he worked his wires
properly in dealing with the rebels.

Within an hour after reaching the shore he was talking with Gonzales.

"And how much money do you say Señor Perez has in his house?" asked the
general.

"Many thousands of dollars.  I do not know the exact amount, but enough
to keep us both comfortably for many years," answered Choiniski.

"How do you propose getting it?"

"It should be easy," said Joe.  "To-night we will go to his house and
demand it.  The Consul will answer our summons.  We shall prevent him
from sending any message or signal to the ship.  If he does not give us
the money and if we cannot find it on searching the house, we will take
his daughter as a hostage.  It is said he loves her more than anything
else.  Having her in our possession he will pay up promptly."

"Your idea is good, Señor.  Now I must get my brother, Alfredo, to
assist us.  I do not trust these men with me on such work.  They would
want too much for their share.  My brother is in command of an outpost
on the Camino Real not far from the consulate.  I will go to him at
once.  In the meantime, Señor, await my return.  Adios!"

And off went the chief to consult with his brother, commanding a half
dozen picked men in hiding on the road along which Soledad and the
Fräulein, who was a stranger and who did not understand the danger, were
even then strolling.

Gonzales had no intention of permitting anyone but himself to reap the
benefit of the news confided to him by the deserter from the Yankee
ship. Least of all did he intend that Choiniski should be a gainer
thereby.  The plan was excellent, but the sailor would never see a peso
of that wealth stored in the house of Señor Perez.

Before leaving camp Gonzales gave orders to disarm the sailor and hold
him a prisoner.

"We do not need his help," said he, after having outlined the plan to
his brother.  "How do I know that it is not all a clever scheme to catch
me! Perhaps it is a spy who has come among us."

"Hush!  Hermano mio!" said Alfredo, and he gazed up the road intently.
"Ah!  We are indeed fortunate, for here comes the Señorita Soledad and
her duenna, along the trail.  Good luck is with us!  You will take the
niña, while Juan Mendoza and I secure the woman.  We will carry her into
the hills with us and at nightfall set her free.  She will be unable to
find her way back until morning. You and the rest of my men will carry
the child to camp and leave her.  To-night we will make our attempt to
get the money after the Yankee sailors sleep.  Then, before they can do
anything, we have the money and are gone."

This was agreed to and it was with great satisfaction that Alfredo, a
little later, saw his brother, Fernando, disappear in the bush carrying
the child and followed by his erstwhile soldiers.  But the duenna was
putting up such a desperate struggle that he was glad indeed Juan was
there to aid him.

As the rascal pinned Fräulein’s arms behind her, his black eyes sparkled
with happy anticipation of the prosperous days of joyous living about to
be his.  He grew careless in his efforts to hold the governess, and in
the one instant her mouth was freed she had called loudly for help.  But
this made little difference.  No one dared to leave the town these days
with General Gonzales’ band of insurrectos holding the roads, and----

Then came the crashing blow of a hard fist on his jaw and for a time he
knew nothing more.  As for Juan, though taken by surprise and thrown
heavily to the path, he was quick to attack on his own account, but with
the result that has been told.

When Juan recovered his senses darkness had fallen.  His chief, Alfredo,
was endeavoring to untie the cords which bound him, but to no avail.
They turned on their sides, and back to back, worked at the knots, each
trying to assist the other. Then their quick ears heard footfalls of
someone approaching from the town, and fearful of discovery they rolled
over and over in the grass and shrubs, away from the trail, only to be
discovered eventually by Dorlan and his men and marched back to the
consulate as prisoners.

Corporal Dorlan’s request regarding the searchlight had been observed
and the consulate was in darkness when the reconnoitering party
returned. It was then decided to hold the prisoners until morning before
turning them over to the military authorities and by the time the final
message to that effect was exchanged with the ship, "taps" had sounded
over the quiet waters, and the crew settled down to a night’s rest.
However, many discussions were being carried on in an undertone
regarding the circumstances connected with Dick Comstock’s absence and
Joe Choiniski’s "jumping ship."  In spite of Sergeant Douglass’ warning
another orderly had violated his confidential position and the news was
common property throughout the cruiser.  Most of Dick’s ultimate friends
were indignant at hearing the story, but the majority were inclined to
regard his actions as suspicious and proclaimed him guilty.

How fortunate it was that the object of all this commotion was unaware
of the nature of these rumors flying among his shipmates, for had he
known of them his brain would not have been so free to grapple with the
task he had set out to accomplish.

Soon after turning from the trail he was following at a discreet
distance the six men carrying off little Soledad.

How should he go about getting the child?  He must take no chances,
because to do so might mean his own capture and but add to the child’s
troubles; so he carefully trailed along behind her abductors, waiting
for some circumstance which would assist him in solving his problem.

That the men did not intend to wait for their two accomplices was
evident, for they proceeded through the forest without a backward
glance.  All the time Dick was drawing nearer to them, but as he was
forced to make his way warily, and often off the poor trail, he was
seriously handicapped.

Finally the men with the child emerged from the woods into a clearing in
which was situated the barrio[#] where Gonzales made his headquarters.
A dozen or more houses and shacks along either side of the road afforded
shelter for his troops, about one hundred in number.  A few native
women, and dirty, half-naked children could be seen, while the barking
of several mangy canines filled the air.


[#] Barrio--Small collection of houses.


Beyond the houses on the far side of the road were a few scraggly
bushes, and a thick grove of cocoanut trees filled the space to the
shore of the Bay.  Here some native boats were drawn up on the beach out
of sight of the water, and in the grove small groups of rebel soldiers
were engaged in various pursuits.

Perforce, Dick was obliged to stop on the edge of the woods and watch
General Gonzales and his small band cross the clearing and enter the
largest house on the far side of the road.  Dick crouched down in a
thick bed of ferns and studied the situation, keeping close tab on the
incidents taking place before him and waiting for the darkness which
would soon fall.  That the rebels were carefully guarding the road was
evidenced by the little groups of men, to be observed about one hundred
yards from either end of the barrio, who halted all persons approaching.

Near Dick’s refuge was a well which supplied the drinking water for the
community, and frequent visits to this well were made by men, women and
children.

It was nearly dusk when a small native boy came bounding out of the
quarters of General Gonzales, and the General himself appeared in the
dimly lighted doorway.  That he had been chastising the urchin was
evident from the way the boy rubbed his shoulders and from his loud
lamentations as he stood at a safe distance and observed the rebel
leader.

"Here you rascal, you!  Be quiet, or I will beat you more.  Go and bring
me some fresh water at once, or you will be sorry your namesake ever
discovered this island," and with the words Gonzales threw a battered
pail at the boy.

"Come now, hurry, you imp of Satan;" with that the General entered the
house and closed the door.

Painfully the boy picked up the pail and approached the well.  Dick
could hear his sobs as he drew near.  Arriving at the well he made no
attempt to draw the water but stood looking back in the direction of the
house.  Finally he shook his small hand in a gesture which Dick’s
knowledge of West Indian customs told him implied contempt and insult,
and from the boy’s rapid speech Dick heard enough to convince him that
here was a possible ally, could he but win the native lad’s confidence.

With a sibilant hiss Dick attracted the boy’s attention, but though he
looked about him in some fear he was unable to discover who called.

"Quien habla?"[#] he questioned, still looking about him.


[#] Who speaks?


"Un amigo: un Americano,"[#] answered Dick, and then before the boy had
time to make an outcry he spoke again.


[#] A friend, an American.


"Do you want to make plenty of money, muchacho?"[#]


[#] Spanish for boy.


The boy had now located Dick’s hiding-place and he approached warily.

"How can I make plenty of money?" he questioned in a dubious tone.

"If you will help me, I will see that you get it, and also I will see
that the big man is punished for beating you."

The boy was by this time squatting down on his haunches within a few
feet of Dick and even in the dusk, Dick could see the eyes flash with
anger at the mention of the past incident.

"But what can you, an American, do against General Gonzales, and all his
soldiers?  Everyone here fears him!  Even my father grovels at his feet,
and my mother must do as he says.  He will kill my father and my mother
and me some day, I fear, when he becomes angered.  He is a big chief. I
am afraid to do aught against him."

"There will be no danger if you do as I will suggest and----"

At that moment the door of the General’s house was thrown open, and
again the figure of the chief was framed in the lighted doorway.

"Columbus!  Columbus!  Come here at once!" roared the harsh voice across
the clearing.

"I must go, or he will send the soldiers for me. But I will return,"
said the lad, rising, and quickly filling the pail he ran back across
the clearing.



                               CHAPTER XV

                       THE ESCAPE FROM THE BARRIO


In an incredibly short time Columbus was back, and this time he nursed a
large bruise on the side of his head where the General’s cane had fallen
with no light force.

"If my father were able to fight he would kill that nigger," exclaimed
the excited lad.  "But my father was crippled in the last revolution.
That general, he makes our house his own.  He makes my mother to cook
for him and to wash for him. We could not leave my father when the
rebels occupied the barrio.  We had to stay to look out for him.  They
eat our food and kill our pigs and chickens, and never pay.  They----"

"Is your name Columbus?" inquired Dick in order to cut short the boy’s
tale of trials and tribulations.

"Si, Señor."

"Well, Columbus, here are two brand new Americano pesos for you, and
there will be many more if you do as I tell you," and Dick passed over
the silver coins.

"What must I do?"

"First of all tell me how many soldiers are in the barrio."

"Over one hundred, Señor."

"How far is it from here to Sanchez?"

"By the shore road it is nearly three kilometers. The shore road passes
through the barrio," said the lad.

"Is the road guarded by more soldiers than the group of men I could see
before dark on the outskirts of the town?"

"Oh, yes, Señor, they patrol the entire road every night.  The big light
from the ship does not frighten them."

"Can you see the ship from the beach back of your house, Columbus?"

"No, a point of land prevents that, but it is not far by boat,--a little
over a kilometer."

"Who is in your house with the General?"

"The five soldiers who came with him this afternoon, my mother and
father and a little girl the general stole from her people.  I do not
know her name.  She weeps all the time, but makes no noise. He has told
her he will kill her if she tries to run away."

"Columbus, I want to get the little girl out of that house and return
her to her father and her mother.  If you help me they will pay you
well."

"It is impossible, Señor.  I overheard the General making plans to go to
Sanchez and attack the house of her father to-night, and he gave his men
orders to guard the child carefully.  There are to be men both inside
and outside the house all the time."

"Would your father and mother help us?"

"No, Señor, they could not afford to.  They would fear to go contrary to
General Gonzales’ orders."

"At what hour does the General start for the town?"

"Very soon, for he expects to be there by ten o’clock, Señor."

"Are there any small boats on the beach?"

"Oh, yes, and the best canoe there is my own."

"Providing I get the little girl out of the house, will you go in the
canoe with me to the American ship?"

"No, Señor, I am afraid; but I will place paddles in my canoe and I will
do what else I can to assist you.  My canoe is the last one on the beach
nearest the town."

"Describe your house, Columbus.  Where are the windows and doors?"

"That reminds me, Señor--after all, I can help you.  If you approach our
casa from the rear you will find a little cocina[#] which opens into the
middle room.  My father and mother occupy the room on the right as you
enter from the cocina.  My room was on the left, but it is now the
General’s, and the little girl is lying in there now, weeping.  Long ago
I loosened a board at the side near the cocina so that it will slide
back, and I used it to go out when my parents believed me asleep.  I
will tell the child about you and the hole and she can escape that way.
First I will put my paddles in the canoe, and then you can take her in
it to your ship.  Keep close to the shore until you are around the
point, then go direct to the vessel.  There are no shoals to fear.  The
only thing to be careful about is passing through the cocoanut grove.
Avoid the hut, for soldiers are guarding a prisoner there also."


[#] Cocina--Kitchen.


"Another prisoner?  A native?" questioned Dick.

"No, he is a sailor who ran away from your ship and came here shortly
after noon to-day, and he told the General about the money and the
little girl. But the General had him imprisoned, for he distrusts him
and he had the sailor’s pistol and ammunition seized."

"Did you hear the name of the sailor, Columbus?"

"Yes, Señor, his name is José.  He is a dark man and very dirty, and
wears peculiar blue clothes."

"Joe Choiniski, or I miss my guess!" exclaimed Dick as he looked towards
the lights flickering through the grove on the far side of the road.

"Can you get me some meat, Columbus?" Dick asked, after a brief pause.

"Has the Señor hunger?"

"No, I don’t wish it for myself, but there are many dogs in the barrio,
and when they discover me they will betray me to the soldiers if I come
near the houses.  With the meat I could quiet them."

"Never fear, amigo mio; all the meat in this village would not be enough
to satisfy the appetite of the dogs in the barrio nor keep them quiet.
They are ever barking and fighting at night, so the soldiers would not
think it strange, especially in the early part of the evening.  If that
is all, Señor, I will go, for the General may miss me.  What time shall
I tell the niña to be ready for you?"

"Tell her to wait for three knocks on the wall of her room from the side
of the cocina, after the General leaves the house.  Then she must slide
back the board and I will be waiting for her in the cocina. Make her
understand I am her friend and will take her back to her people.  And,
Columbus, here is all the money I have with me, but I will see that you
are rewarded later on, if you carry out our plan," and Dick pressed all
his remaining currency into the hands of the boy crouching by his side.

"Thank you, Señor, but I cannot take this money.  I am a common peon and
my people are poor, but they would not wish me to accept money to help a
little girl in distress," and Columbus bravely handed back the bills to
Dick, though his fingers were itching to keep them.

He made his little speech with such an air of pride, however, that Dick
did not insist and with a low whispered, "adios, amigo mio," the brown
boy was swallowed up a moment later in the shadows and darkness.

Impatiently Dick waited in his refuge for the departure of General
Gonzales on his proposed expedition.  Finally becoming tired of such
long inactivity he arose and boldly stepped out into and across the
clearing.  Dick reasoned that in the darkness of the night should he
pass anyone inside the camp he would not be recognized nor suspected. He
pulled his khaki shirt outside his trousers so as to appear more in
keeping with the native soldiers’ costume should he happen to meet
anyone.

With rapid strides he was soon in the vicinity of the houses lining the
near side of the road.  The barking of a dog at his approach caused him
a little nervousness, but he kept on, remembering what Columbus had told
him.  Another dog came sniffing and growling at his heels.  He paused
long enough to kick the canine and it scampered away with shrill yelps
of pain and fright.

The following moments were the most thrilling of Dick’s life.  Turning,
after delivering the kick which sent the cur scampering off in the
darkness, he almost ran into a man.

"Get out of my way, you spawn," said a voice which he recognized as none
other than that of General Gonzales.  "Why are you on this side of the
road, anyway, when I told you to guard my quarters?  Go over there where
you belong, and let the dogs bark as much as they please, but attend to
your duties, or it will fare badly with you in the morning.  Obey me,
pronto!" and the rebel chief shoved Dick out into the wide street.

How grateful Dick was that no answers were required of him, otherwise he
might have been discovered.  He did not know now whether or not Gonzales
was following after him, and he feared to turn and look.  He could hear
no footfalls.  Now directly in front of him and not fifteen feet distant
was the house where Soledad was held a prisoner. According to Columbus,
and this was already verified by the remark of Gonzales, there was a
sentry guarding the house, and somewhere in the shadows ahead that
native soldier was walking.  What if he was waiting to attack Dick on
his nearer approach?  Perhaps he had heard the chief talking to Dick on
the opposite side of the road and was watching his movements with
catlike eyes.  Dick’s ears detected no sound as he drew nearer the
house.  Now he was within a few feet of the walls.  The next moment he
dodged around the corner of the building, and just in the nick of time,
for, as he did so, the front door was thrown open and the light from the
interior streamed into the street.  Flattening himself against the wall
Dick peered around cautiously.  Before the door stood Gonzales, while
emerging from it were five men, presumably those who had accompanied
their leader from the outpost on Camino Real.

"Everything is ready," announced the General. "Come, let us go.  The
others have already started, and we must not delay."  The party moved
off down the road in the direction of Sanchez, and once again quiet
reigned in the immediate vicinity. Dick now knew the time for action had
arrived. Forgetting for the moment that he had to deal with the sentinel
who was supposed to be here on duty he was about to step out in the
direction of the cocina when he observed the dim moving figure of a
soldier coming from the rear of the house.

Slowly the soldier sauntered towards Dick until he arrived so near that
the boy could have touched him.  Here the man stopped.  Dick’s heart
thumped so violently from the suspense that it almost seemed the soldier
could not fail to hear it.  The noise pounded in his own ears like the
striking of a bass drum.  It was so dark that he could not see what the
sentry was doing.  Perhaps the eyes of the native, more accustomed to
darkness than Dick’s own, were even then fastened on him and enjoying
his discomfort, perhaps----

A rattling noise assailed Dick’s ears.  It was the sound made by safety
matches shaken in a partially empty box.  The sentry had seen him, but
now was going to strike a light in order to discover his identity.

The match scraped along the box, but made no spark.  At the second
attempt the yellowish flame flared up.  In its light the dark brown face
of the soldier stood out boldly in the Stygian darkness. A white papered
cigarette was between the fellow’s lips and his dark eyes were bent
solely on the flame, seeing nothing else.  The flame wavered, then there
was the sound of a dull blow, the light disappeared and the sentinel
sank to the ground. Once again Dick Comstock’s hard fist had found a
victim, and once again he was binding and gagging a rebel soldier.

Dick used his own regulation belt to make fast his victim’s arms, while
the soldier’s belt sufficed to secure his legs.  Pulling the native’s
shirt over his head Dick stuffed part of it in his mouth and bound it
there with a handkerchief.  In the darkness it was difficult work, but
he did the best he could, and after dragging the soldier to one side and
under a bush, the drummer boy began to feel his way towards the cocina
at the rear.  A dim light, shining through the cracked walls of the
center room, saved him from stumbling into a collection of pots and pans
in the small lean-to, which Columbus had dignified by the name of
kitchen. Creeping cautiously to the wall of the building under the
lean-to, the lad rapped the boards three times, giving the signal agreed
upon.  Then he waited breathlessly for some response.  Finally he heard
the scraping of one board on another.  The noise came from near the
floor where he was waiting. Then he saw the white figure of little
Soledad squirm through the opening.  Quietly he assisted her to her feet
and without a word, hand in hand, the two stole from the house and out
into the grove in the direction of the bay.

They had gone about fifty feet when another figure suddenly confronted
them, and again Dick’s heart seemed to jump to his throat while his
right hand sought the pistol hanging at his side.

"Silence, Señor, it is Columbus.  I have come to help you find the
canoe.  Follow me, carefully, for we are near the house where the sailor
is imprisoned," and on the little party went like flitting shadows
through the grove.

Soon came the soft rustle of waves on the shore, and emerging from under
the dense overhead foliage of the palms, objects were more
distinguishable. They found the canoe, and in it the paddles which the
faithful native boy had previously placed there.  Dick took his place in
the stern, the little girl tremblingly, but with no hesitation, sat in
the bottom.  Then with a whispered "buenas noches,"[#] Columbus shoved
the frail craft from the sands out into the waters of the great bay, and
with a happy heart Dick sent the canoe on its way with long powerful
strokes.


[#] Buenas noches--Good-night.



                              CHAPTER XVI

                      THE ATTACK ON THE CONSULATE


Corporal Dorlan on making the rounds of his little force shortly after
taps noticed the Ardois lights from the _Denver_ were flashing
regularly. Not being an adept signalman he sought Trumpeter Cabell, who
was trying to snatch a little sleep on the back piazza of the consulate,
and shook him into wakefulness.

"Come, me lad, shake a leg, for the ship is callin’ of us, and I want ye
to read the message."

"Be with you in a jiffy," said Henry, going to get the lantern, which he
had already put to good use in the earlier part of the evening.

Soon he was acknowledging the call, and the message Corporal Dorlan
noted down as Henry called off the letters caused the veteran many a
chuckle of satisfaction.  It was a long message, and immediately it was
finished Dorlan and Henry shook hands over it in great glee.

"I knew that lad would turn the trick, and come out on top," remarked
the older man as he entered the house in search of Señor Perez.

In the center of the building was a room, which, because of past
revolutions, the Consul had prepared against the chance of stray
bullets.  It was but a makeshift affair, but it had served its purpose
on many occasions, and during times of danger the family always occupied
it.  Around the walls of this compartment rows of iron-wood railroad
ties were placed from the floor to ceiling and these tough native
timbers could be counted upon to stop the leaden bullets used in the
guns with which the opposing factions were generally armed.  Corporal
Dorlan’s knock at the door of the "strong room," as it was called, was
immediately answered by the Consul.

"’Tis the ’best of news I have for ye, sir," he said, and his face shone
with delight.  "Yer little daughter is safe and sound aboard the
_Denver_.  It seems that our drummer boy, Dick Comstock, followed them
rascals what stole her, and he’s just now got her away from ’em and is
back on the ship.  After ye give yer wife the good news I’ve got
somethin’ important to tell ye, and the quicker the sooner, sir."  With
that the thoughtful fellow closed the door and impatiently awaited the
Consul’s reappearance.

Soon the little man came out and, running up to Dorlan, he embraced the
marine in true European fashion by kissing him on both cheeks, much to
the old fellow’s embarrassment.

"Your good tidings have made me the happiest man in the world, whereas,
but a short time since, I was the most miserable," said the Consul, and
he again threatened Dorlan with another exhibition of his enthusiasm,
but this time the marine evaded it.

"That’s all right, yer honor, but we can’t be talkin’ of that now.
There’s other doin’s afoot this night, and with yer help we can do a
neat stroke of work to cap the climax of this day’s excitement."

Thereupon he outlined his plan, and an understanding having been reached
Señor Perez returned to his wife, while Dorlan made mysterious visits to
each member of his little force.  He then distributed them to his
satisfaction about the house and grounds.  All the lights were
extinguished except a low-burning lamp in the spacious hallway, and then
he sat down to wait behind the closed front door, much as a cat sits
before the mouse hole she knows will soon be the scene of some lively
action.

Since the end of the message from the ship not a light other than the
usual anchor lights could be discerned by the closest observer on the
shore.  Nor could activity of any kind be noted, but as a matter of fact
khaki-clad marines were even then silently embarking in one of the
cutters and under muffled oars were pulling towards the landing pier.
And from the opposite side of the ship three boat-loads of bluejackets
were as silently doing the same thing--but, pulling in the opposite
direction, en route to a little barrio less than three kilometers down
the coast.

General Fernando Gonzales at the head of his picket force of thirty men
halted on the beach road and looked out over the waters at the ship.  He
heard the beautiful notes of the bugle sounding the soldiers and sailors
good-night, and he saw the lights, which had been flickering at the
masthead for so long, cease punctuating the darkness.  With their
cessation he felt reasonably certain that the crew had a feeling of
security, and that they felt that everything ashore must be going well,
for the big search-light was not shining as on previous nights.  He did
not understand the meaning of the red and white lights, nor know that
they were just finishing a message regarding his whereabouts at that
very moment.  Such signals were unknown in the armies of San Domingo.

Already the people of Sanchez were closing their doors and windows; soon
the streets would be deserted.  Leaving his men concealed, General
Gonzales ventured forth in the direction of the consulate for a little
preliminary scouting.  It was high time his brother and Juan Mendoza
were at the rendezvous, but their non-arrival caused him no great
uneasiness.  The street before the Consul’s home was also deserted, and
he approached the place boldly.  As he passed the gate the lights in the
house were turned out,--the family of Señor Perez had retired.  A few
yards beyond the last few members of the Club were closing the door and
leaving for their homes.  He decided to wait no longer.  Calling his
men, he soon stationed them in the hedge and shrubbery surrounding the
consulate, then with his chosen half dozen villains he approached the
front entrance and mounting the broad piazza he knocked loudly.  Finally
the door opened a few inches and the face of Señor Perez appeared.

"Who are you, and what do you want at this hour of the night?" said the
Consul in a voice he tried hard to control.

"I wish to talk with you, Señor, on a matter of great importance to us
both.  Let me in."

"Who are you?" again came in inquiry, though the father knew well that
this was the man who had caused him so much heartache that day.

"I am General Fernando Gonzales, and if you do not admit me without
further talk I will shoot you," and a long-barreled revolver was shoved
ominously through the opening into the face of the consul, who fell back
into the dimly lighted hall. In a moment the General and six followers
rushed in, well pleased over the success of their operations thus far.

Was it a sudden draft of wind which closed the door so softly behind
them?  Gonzales never had time nor thought to inquire, for suddenly the
large room became a blaze of light, and he found himself staring into
the leveled muzzles of six gun barrels in the hands of Dorlan’s men.

"Hands up, ye spalpeens!" called out the voice of the Corporal, and
though not a man there understood his words they did understand the
menace in the voice, and in a twinkling there were fourteen dirty brown
and black hands held tremblingly aloft.

[Illustration: "HANDS UP!"]

"Take them guns and knives, and throw them in the corner, me lad," now
ordered Dorlan, and Henry began to disarm the rebels.  It was then that
the leader Gonzales, knowing what would be his fate if he were turned
over to the government troops, made a break for liberty.

Although he put up his hands with the rest he still held in his right
hand the revolver he had carried on entering.  Now with a wild yell the
negro half-breed fired one shot into the air, another in the general
direction of the Consul, and as he dashed for a window near by he fired
the remaining four shots at the marines lined up across the hall.  On
reaching the window he unhesitatingly jumped through the flimsy lattice
work which guarded it, and was running across the lawn before the house.

The sudden attack of the negro so surprised most of the marines, who
were not looking for any active resistance after the men had thrown up
their hands, that there was an appreciable moment of inactivity which
held back their fire.  But not so with Henry, for with the first shot of
the rebel chief, the trumpeter had pulled his automatic from the
holster, and as Gonzales jumped through the window he fired two shots.

One of those bullets found a resting place in the fleshy part of the
native’s leg.  The impetus of Gonzales’ rush carried him on, but now he
stumbled and called upon his followers hidden in the bushes to come to
his assistance.  Again he stumbled, this time falling headlong into a
flower bed.  As he attempted to rise, a figure in khaki rose in front of
him; there was the flash of a clubbed rifle, then the weapon descended
with crushing force on the general’s skull, and he sank to the ground.
The days of General Fernando Gonzales as a rebel chief were ended.

From all sides came a fusillade of shots.  The bullets tore their way
through wooden walls or spattered on the tin roof of the building, but
harmed no one.  From the fort on the hill came the sound of high pitched
bugles sounding the alarm, while flashes of light and the sound of guns
showed the government troops were as usual wasting ammunition by firing
at nothing in particular and everything in general.

Then a red star shot up from the main road a little to the west of the
consulate; there came a rush of heavy shoes on the macadam, a rattle of
accoutrements, and First Sergeant Douglass at the head of the remainder
of the _Denver’s_ guard charged down the road.  Again the search-light
of the ship flooded the shore and then, without waiting to see what had
befallen their leader, the rebels took to their heels and fled.

It was daylight before the excitement in the town subsided, but by then
it was known that the hold of the rebels over the inhabitants was
effectually broken.  The General was dead, his brother, his lieutenant,
Juan Mendoza, and the six others were turned over to the custody of the
Federal troops. As for those rebels in camp at the barrio, they too had
been dispersed, for when the landing party of sailors, guided by Dick,
reached the shore near the barrio and demanded the surrender of the
deserter Choiniski they fled incontinently, fearing an attack from the
Americanos, which they did not relish.

When a search of the barrio and the hut in the grove was made it was
found that Joe had either taken the opportunity to escape or the rebels
had taken him with them into the hills, for the place was deserted.  The
only persons remaining behind were the native boy Columbus, his crippled
father and his mother.  On learning how well the urchin had assisted
Dick, and how the rebels had treated the poor peons, a very substantial
purse was collected by the kind-hearted men and presented to the lad’s
mother, and the landing party was then towed back to the ship.

It was Dick Comstock’s privilege to escort little Soledad ashore at an
hour shortly after sunrise, and though Señor Perez was too much overcome
to thank the rescuer of his favorite, Dick felt fully rewarded just to
witness that joyful reunion.

Reports now began coming in from all points that the revolution was
toppling, and soon those who were still under arms were pleading to be
allowed to surrender and go to their homes and former occupations.
Orders also came for the _Denver_ to leave Sanchez and proceed on a
surveying trip near the border line dividing San Domingo and Haiti, and
incidentally to watch for some smuggling reported to be carried on
extensively in that vicinity.

The day of departure arrived.  In the afternoon a shore boat came
alongside carrying Señor Perez, his wife, children and the governess.
Captain Bentley met the party at the gangway, and after a few words he
gave orders that the crew be assembled aft.  When all had gathered there
in the shade of the awnings, Captain Bentley stepped forward and called
for Richard Comstock of the United States Marine Corps to come to the
mast. Then in behalf of the Consul, his family and the governess, the
Captain presented the drummer boy with a beautiful gold wrist watch,
appropriately engraved, which the grateful donors had ordered by cable
from New York City and which the Clyde Liner had but that morning
delivered.

Dick felt that he should make some reply, but for the life of him he was
unable to utter a single word. Suddenly there was a patter of light feet
on the white deck and to his relief Soledad rushed forward. As he bent
to take the child’s hand, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed
him squarely on the lips.  The look of amazement now on Dick’s face was
so great that the entire assembly roared with laughter, and Chief
Master-at-Arms Fitch, regulations to the contrary notwithstanding,
called out:

"Three cheers for our Drummer Boy and the girls he rescued."

They were given with a will, for now there was no longer doubt as to the
loyalty, faithfulness or bravery of Richard Comstock.



                              CHAPTER XVII

                        A MAP-MAKING EXPEDITION


"I consider that we are the two luckiest youngsters in the service,
Dick.  What do you think about it?"

Henry looked about him at the surrounding country, a combination of
river scenery, swamp land, tropical jungle and lush savannahs, with an
appraising eye.

The two boys stood on the rickety landing near the Captain of the Port’s
house at the mouth of the Estero Balsa, a branch body of water
communicating with Manzanillo Bay, where the _Denver_ was anchored, and
where certain members of her officers and crew were engaged in making a
chart of the coast line, river deltas and numerous lagoons.

It was interesting work for those so engaged, and each day the various
boats of the ship started at an early hour taking lines of soundings
from one point to another, measuring angles, plotting positions,
sketching in prominent features, or locating reefs and shoals.  At night
they combined their data, and with compass and rule worked over the
smooth copy of the chart which would be sent to the Department at
Washington when complete and eventually supplied to each ship of the
Navy cruising in these waters.

Having received permission from the Navigating Officer, Dick often
accompanied the chart makers on their expeditions, and, always eager to
learn, he proved himself a valuable helper with compass or sextant, in
taking angles, both vertical and horizontal, and working them out.

Also at night the _Denver’s_ boats were engaged in other and more
exciting work.  Owing to various causes there was a systematic smuggling
going on between the two island republics.  Small sailing vessels and
motor launches were suspected of carrying contraband merchandise back
and forth across the Bay at night, and organized bands of smugglers made
the passage of the Massacre River from its mouth up to and beyond the
San Domingan town of Dajabon, on its eastern bank, and the Haitian
village of Ouanaminthe, directly opposite.  The customs officers were
doing their best, but they were too few in number to cope with the
situation.  In consequence money was being lost to both governments.
The United States was administering the customs affairs of San Domingo,
and the Navy had to be called in at times to aid in putting a stop to
this illegal traffic.

The presence of the _Denver_ had its salutary effect, and the smuggling
by day in the boats had practically ceased, but at night activity was
resumed.  Consequently the ship’s boats, which during the day were
engaged in the aforesaid work of surveying, became at night a fleet of
armed patrols with certain definite sectors to cover.  Many exciting
chases resulted in the overhauling, arrest, and, occasionally,
resistance and escape of the venturesome smugglers.

The marines were often detailed for this night work in the patrol boats,
and they enjoyed it, for there was always a chance of a lively little
"scrap," and that is what marines enlist for--scrapping.

All articles coming across the border were supposed to be entered at
Dajabon, and after customs dues were adjusted the goods were sent to
other points along the only really passable road which led through
Copey, a town at the headwaters of the Estero Balsa, thence to Monte
Cristi or towns and cities of La Vega Real.

Somewhere in the dense jungle between Dajabon and the office of the
Captain of the Port, where the two boys were now engaged in
conversation, were trails unknown to the general public, and these
trails the smugglers used for their purposes. As charts made by naval
officers usually show but little of the interior terrain it was not the
intention of Captain Bentley to include any roads on the map his
officers were engaged in compiling.  However, if Dick and Henry
succeeded in getting information of value it was decided that their work
should be incorporated with the rest.  Both boys had studied surveying
while at school, and early on the cruise they had secured a volume on
Military Topography and spent many hours in acquiring a thorough
knowledge of what was needed in a military map.  First Sergeant
Douglass, seeing how they desired to get ahead and only too glad to give
them something to keep them out of mischief (for musics are generally
conceded by all hands to be mischievous), allowed them to have a cavalry
sketching case from his storeroom, and with this they became quite
expert in making position-sketches and road-maps.

In response to Henry’s question, Dick finally replied:

"Yes, I think we are lucky, but it’s not going to be an easy task,
Hank."

"Right you are, Dickie.  This country is all swamps and jungle, with few
trails really leading anywhere.  I believe it is going to be a difficult
proposition to cover the entire area between this place, Copey and
Dajabon, in time to be back and meet the steamer in three days."

"Let’s not count up the obstacles, though, Hank. We will meet them as
they come in the best way we can.  We are handicapped by being obliged
to do the work secretly.  Captain Bentley impressed that upon me.  You
know, since we were so lucky in the Culebra and Sanchez affairs he has
come to regard us as older than we are and capable of a man’s work, and
with a man’s reasoning powers and discretion.  I’m not so sure of it
myself; but it certainly is up to us to make good now that the
opportunity has come our way."

"Tell me just how we happened to get here, Dick.  I’ve been so busy
getting things together since you sprung the surprise this morning that
I’ve not had time to question you."

"Well, it was this way!  Last night I was out in the steamer on patrol
work.  Mr. Gardiner was in command.  About midnight one of the lookouts
thought he spotted a motor boat moving in from the west.  We gave chase,
but as often happens it was a false alarm and the lookout was conjuring
things from being so anxious to see something.

"Well, after it quieted down, Mr. Gardiner began talking about the
chart, and how it would aid the ships to be stationed here later on in
searching out smugglers.  Then he said it was too bad the trails between
the coast line, Dajabon and Copey couldn’t be sketched in on the map,
particularly as one of the ship’s boats was to get the data of the
Massacre River the following day.  With that, and all the trails in
between, the map would be of much greater value, he thought.  The
trouble was, they didn’t have enough officers to do the additional work
and get through in time, for we are expecting orders to leave here most
any day now."

"I reckon you didn’t let that opening get by you, Dick," Henry remarked.

"You just bet I didn’t.  I said that I thought you and I could do it if
the Captain would allow us, and told him how much we’d like to try it."

"What did he say?"

"Well, he said, ’Maybe you could,’ and he mentioned that First Sergeant
Douglass had shown him one of the road maps we made together, last
winter while at Culebra, and then the subject was dropped. But this
morning Top told me the skipper wished to see me in the cabin at once,
and when I reported Mr. Gardiner was in there, and the Captain told me
what was wanted, and that I might go ashore and try my luck.  He said I
should have to go on what was ostensibly a hunting trip, and that I
should probably get into trouble with the authorities if they discovered
what I was up to."

"Did you ask if I might come along?"

"Of course!  I told him we had worked together on road sketches and
showed him that one we made of the road from Playa Brava to the old
naval station.  He seemed satisfied with the work, but then he began to
doubt if it were wise to let two kids such as we are go on such an
errand."

"He surely put enough restrictions on us," said Henry.

"Oh, not so many, Hank, and they are all wise provisions."

"But why is it necessary that we should return each night to this place?
Why can’t we stay where we happen to be when night comes, then continue
our work next day right where we left off?"

"The Old Man wants to be sure we are all right. Each night I will make
up a report and send it in to him, and also all our data up to that
time, by the boat making the trip here on the high tide.  Then, too,
they are nearly through their work anyway, and orders for us to move on
are daily expected. The next reason is, that by making our headquarters
here we won’t have to move our camping outfit or our rations, and this
place is centrally located, so that each day we can cover new
territory."

"I hadn’t thought about all those things," said Henry thoughtfully, "but
I reckon the Old Man is right, after all."

"Well, now that you are satisfied, let’s get our gear up to the palatial
hut assigned for our use by Señor el Capitan del Puerto, fix things
shipshape, and make our plans for to-morrow."

This was done, and in the vacant, earthen-floored shack they unstrapped
their cots, arranged their bedding, hung mosquito bunk-nets, and after
building a fire, cooked their evening meal.  It seemed to the two boys
as though fried hen-fruit, baked spuds, crisped bacon, ship’s punk and
steaming java,[#] never tasted so delicious.  Nor did the coffee make
any difference to such healthy bodies and minds, when a little later
they crawled under their white nets and blue-gray blankets, and went to
sleep.


[#] Sailor and marine slang for fried eggs, baked potatoes, crisped
bacon, ship’s bread and steaming coffee.


Though advised against doing so by the native owner, they left both
doors to their domicile wide open to admit the night breezes.  In most
tropical countries, the natives, of the poorer classes especially, close
every door and window at night, so as to prevent the slightest breath of
fresh air from striking them, and it is for this reason, undoubtedly,
that during times of epidemic, the fatality among the natives in
semi-civilized places is so great.

Sometime before dawn the boys were awakened by the sound of agonizing
cries and the rush of many feet across the hard-packed floor of their
hut. Almost at the same instant they sat up, and reached for their
automatics.  Then they listened, but all was silent, except for the
creaking of night insects or the gentle stirring of the palm leaves on
their thatched roof.  Inside the room was inky darkness, nor was the
light outside much brighter.

"Did you hear that, Hank?" questioned Dick, softly, not quite daring to
make any further move until he knew where his companion might be and
until he understood a little more of the situation.

"I reckon I heard it right enough, Dick; but what was it?"

"I haven’t any idea.  I heard a yell and someone running and suddenly
found myself awake and sitting up."

"Same here, Dick, but I thought it was you chasing something or someone.
It looks a little funny, doesn’t it?"

"Keep quiet a minute, Hank; I believe they are still in here.  I hear
someone moving."

Silence followed the caution while they listened intently.  Then came a
deep-drawn sigh from the center of the hut, and the sound as of a heavy
body being dragged across the floor.

"Who’s there?" challenged Dick.  "If you move again I’ll fire."

Once again absolute silence, which was finally broken by a series of
sharp staccato taps.  Dick immediately recognized the private call Henry
and he used in their practise at telegraphy and sound signalling.  His
companion was rapping on a match-box with some kind of an instrument.
If the person or persons in the room understood English then any
conversation would inform them of the action to be taken against them.
Dick grinned delightedly to himself at Henry’s quick way to secret and
safe coöperation.  As the light sounds shuttled back and forth it was
evident to what a state of expertness these two young marines had
drilled themselves.

"Look out, I will turn on my flash-light.  Be ready to shoot.  Do you
understand?" came Henry’s message.

"It is dangerous.  Let me do it, and you shoot," cautioned Dick.

"No!  You are the better shot.  I think he is near the door, and if I
flash the light you can get him better than I can.  Stand by right after
I sound ’preparatory.’  Stand by!"

The safety catch on Dick’s automatic hardly made a sound as he pushed it
down with his thumb and peered into the darkness near the door.  The
weapon was already loaded, so that but a slight pressure on the trigger
would bring its deafening response.  Breathlessly he waited.  The next
moment came the rattle of the match-box as once again Henry struck it
with sharp emphasis:

One rap--two short raps--one rap--one rap!

Then the room was lit by the electric torch from Henry’s side of the
hut.  There was a wild rush of many feet, loud squeals filled the air,
and out of the open doorway raced and scrambled an enormous razor-back
pig with a litter of squealing, frantic piggies at her heels.

The sudden transition from the serious to the comical was so great that
both Dick and Henry burst into a roar of hysterical laughter, and both
made a solemn pact never to relate this part of their adventures to a
living soul.  After this, sleep being out of the question and the gray
dawn already lightening the eastern horizon, they prepared their morning
meal and made ready for an early start.

From previous tests each of the boys knew the exact stretch of ground
covered in one of his strides[#] and Dick’s stride being sixty inches,
even though he was a six-footer, and five feet being a most convenient
multiple, it was to be his duty to keep account of the distances between
observation points or stations.  For this purpose he carried an
instrument used in checking off the number of coal bags hoisted on board
during coaling ship, and with each step taken with his left foot he
recorded it by pressing on the lever with his thumb.  The tally was so
small it could be carried unobserved in the palm of the hand.  Besides
the tally Dick carried a small pocket note-book, conveniently ruled, in
which he entered his data and from which, on their return, they would be
able to make a very comprehensive sketch of their travels.


[#] A pace is the distance between footsteps; a stride the distance
between the spot where one foot strikes the ground and the next
succeeding fall of the same foot; a stride is therefore the equivalent
of two paces.


Henry was provided with a small prismatic compass by means of which he
read the angles from each selected point to the next station.  With
these simple instruments they could accomplish their work and arouse no
suspicion, at least in the minds of any ordinary native with whom they
were liable to come in contact.

There was but one trail for them to follow from their point of
departure, and it led to the town of Copey.  To follow this trail the
first day and plot in the cross trails between it and the Massacre River
on the following days was their intention, and as the sun rose in a soft
pink cloud of color, with shotguns under their arms, game bags over
their shoulders, and the heavy Colt’s forty-fives strapped to their
right thighs, the young surveyors started out on their quest with an
eagerness born of youth and enthusiasm.



                             CHAPTER XVIII

                           MEXICAN PETE AGAIN


The method followed by the two marines was very simple.  Having selected
a landmark some distance ahead of them on the trail, Henry, with the
sight-leaves of his compass raised, would look through them towards the
point and read the azimuth or angular direction with respect to the
north and south line, or meridian.  This angle was called the bearing of
the point or station.

Starting at the Captain of the Port’s house they named their point of
departure "A," and sighted upon a distant tree, calling it station "B."
A line drawn from "A" to "B" would form an angle with another line
passing through station "A" and the north pole.  This angle was read off
in degrees on the compass-card from north going around in the same
direction as the hands of a clock, and there would be two methods of
recording it.  They could state the whole angle as read from the
compass, which would then be the true azimuth of station "B," or they
could note the true bearing of the line A-B.  The true bearing of a line
is that angle less than ninety degrees which the line makes with the
true meridian.  The boys decided to use the true azimuth in their data.

Dick, having made the entry in his book, started marching towards "B,"
pressing on his tally register with every fall of his left foot.
Reaching "B," the number of his strides were entered, a new sight taken,
and the march resumed.

Where trails crossed or joined the route, their bearing was jotted down.
Features of the country to one hundred yards either side of the trail
were kept under observation; houses, corrals, streams, bridges and their
nature, cultivated fields, swampland, all were noted carefully.

It was several hours before they met a native, though there was every
appearance of the way being well travelled.  At noon they halted in the
shade of a clump of bamboo and ate their luncheon. There was nothing
about them to indicate they were members of a famous military
organization, because they had been supplied before leaving the ship
with some "cit" clothes.  Their canteens of water were carried in the
game-bags, for good soldiers never drink water found in strange
countries until it has first been boiled, and there was no time for work
of that nature while engaged in their present task.

Overhead the sky was a brilliant azure.  The sparkling beams of the
noonday sun danced gaily with the shadows cast by the leafy foliage and
a soft breeze whispered through the feathery leaves and hanging moss.
Little lizards darted about in quest of insects, butterflies floated by
on downy wing and the hum of bees seeking honey-laden blossoms added a
drowsy note to the lazy hour.

"When should we reach Copey, Dick?" asked Henry, with an undisguised
yawn.

"In about an hour, I guess.  We have been going slowly, but it won’t
take long on the return trip. From now on we must be extremely careful.
The country in front of us is more populated, and the trails joining
this one are more numerous."

"Hullo--here are some people coming along the road," said Henry, sitting
up; "sounds like a goodly party."

Soon after a considerable company came riding by, consisting of about
twenty mounted men and boys, driving before them a number of burros and
horses.  Most of the party passed without noticing the two marines, but
at the rear of the cavalcade was one man who permitted nothing to escape
his roving eyes.  Spying Dick and Henry, he rode up and inquired in
Spanish as to their business.

"Buenos dias, amigos!  I see you are hunting! What luck have you had?"

"Very poor luck," Dick replied, looking up at his interrogator but
without deigning to rise. "And what did you hope to shoot along this
trail, my friend?" inquired the native, looking searchingly at Dick.

"’Most anything--we heard that the ground doves were plentiful, but it
has not proven so to-day."

"Where do you come from, stranger?" the horseman now asked.  "I know you
are Americans, but I have never seen you around this part of the country
before, and I know every foreigner from Monte Cristi to the border."

"We are just passing through," said Dick, evading a direct answer.

"Ah!  Then, of course, you are bound for Copey. I regret I cannot be
there to offer you the hospitality of my home, humble though it is.  I
am Señor Don Antonio Lugo y Suarrez, alcalde[#] of the town, and if you
are to remain in this neighborhood for any length of time, it will----"


[#] Alcalde--Mayor.


"Thank you, Señor, but we are to be here but a short time,
otherwise----" and Dick, now having risen, waved his hand in a gesture
that was meant to indicate his regret.

"Nevertheless, I shall hope for the pleasure, Señors, and now I must
hurry along to my friends. Adios, amigos!" and with a low bow, the
alcalde put spurs to his steed and disappeared up the trail.

"That fellow is a slick one, Hank.  He talks too much, and he’s too
suave to suit me.  As for his expressions of regret and regard--it’s all
tommy-rot."

"He surely kept his eyes busy during his visit," drawled Henry.

"Well, there was nothing to satisfy his curiosity," said Dick, looking
around to see if he was correct in his statement.  "By jinks, Hank, if
he put two and two together he might have cause to suspect.  You know I
didn’t give him any satisfaction as to who we were, but as alcalde, he
naturally would have heard of the _Denver_ being busy around Manzanillo
Bay, and so it’s easy to connect us with the ship.  But if he wanted
proof of what we were doing, there is the evidence."

Henry immediately sat up to look where Dick pointed.  On a small tree
near by were hanging the two canteens of water with the black letters
"U.S.M.C." stenciled on their sides, while on the ground beneath, the
flap to one of the hunting-bags had fallen open, and there lay
note-book, pencil, tally register, compass, and a rough sketch of the
locality around the Bay, which Dick had brought along as a possible aid
in their work.

"If Señor Don Antonio and-all-the-rest-of-his-name, was half as wise as
he looked he knows pretty well, right now, what we are up to," added
Dick grimly.  "I wonder what his next move will be!"

The sound of a horse galloping along the trail came to them and then
like a streak, horse and rider dashed by and along the way they were
about to travel.  The rider was spurring and beating his steed as he
bent low in the saddle.  If he saw the boys, he at least gave no sign.

"That fellow reminds me of something or someone," mused Dick, watching
horse and rider disappear in a cloud of dust.

"The way he’s beating his animal makes me think of the Mexican you
horsewhipped in Culebra last winter," said Henry.

"By jinks, Hank, that’s who he is, and no mistake.  He was riding along
with that outfit a while ago, and now the alcalde has sent him back on
an errand.  I’d bet an old hat that it won’t help us any either; also I
hope Mexican Pete doesn’t see us, for we can hardly hope he won’t
remember us.  And if he does, the jig is up."

"I’ve got an idea, too.  If that is Mexican Pete, then he’s in cahoots
with the alcalde, and they are starting out on a smuggling expedition,
and the alcalde is sending back word to prevent us from any possibility
of getting information of it."

"That’s more than likely correct, Hank, and we shall have an interesting
report to send in to the Captain to-night.  Well, we’d better be getting
along, for I’ve a feeling the more we can accomplish to-day the better
it will be in the end.  If that outfit is a band of smugglers then it’s
up to us to discover their trail and see where it leads.  It will be
easy to find it, and we shall have accomplished our mission if we find
even one of their routes."

"Let us go after them right now," suggested Henry.

"If we go back now, of course we can pick up their trail easily enough,
but they have taken the precaution to send back word regarding us, and
they surely have left some people to watch us if we attempt to follow
them.  On the other hand, we may never get another such favorable
opportunity to finish up the road map to Copey, and as it will be a
valuable addition to the chart for future reference, I guess we’d do
well to complete it."

"Vamos,[#] then," said Henry, rising and starting off.


[#] Vamos--Let us go.


They worked more rapidly now, taking every precaution against arousing
suspicion.  The houses beside the road were more frequent, and often
they had to guess at the azimuths from one station to another when
curious natives were watching them. The pacing of the distances, though,
was not interfered with, and they hoped to be able to check up
questionable data on their return.  Fortunately it was the siesta hour,
and few men or women were abroad.  Even the streets of the town, when
they arrived, were fairly deserted.

The road on which they entered Copey continued through the town until it
crossed the broad highway which lay between Dajabon and Monte Cristi.
Arriving at this point and accosting a native lounger as to where they
could procure refreshments, they found themselves surrounded with
surprising rapidity, and the attitude of the men in the group was
anything but friendly.

"There is a good cantina there on the corner, Señor," replied one of the
men in answer to Dick’s question.

"Thank you," said Dick, starting for the store; "and perhaps you will
join us?" he added, believing it better to appear sociable even though
he did not feel so.

The native accepted with alacrity.  Inside the little building it was
cool and dim and they ordered, at the proprietor’s suggestion, "huevos
fritos, pan tierno y mantequilla, y cafe con leche."[#]


[#] Eggs fried, fresh bread and butter, and coffee with milk.


During the preparation of the repast, Dick and Henry, taking their
weapons with them, repaired to the yard in the rear of the cantina,
where a small brown girl brought them fresh water, soap and towels.
Dick, having finished his ablutions first, gave the diminutive maid a
silver coin, over which her little fist closed greedily, and the next
moment she was displaying it to her mother, who stood in the doorway of
the cocina, and who smiled pleasantly at the donor.

"Your child is very pretty, Señora," said Dick.

"The Señor Americano is very kind to say so," replied the woman in her
soft voice.

"And how do you know I am an American?" asked Dick.

"Hush!" almost whispered the woman, glancing cautiously back into the
cantina.  "Listen to me, Señor, your lives are in danger here.  It is
said you are spies sent here by the Americans, and everyone in the town
knew of you before your arrival.  You must never attempt to go to
Dajabon.  The alcalde here is very powerful, and his orders are law.
The feeling is very bitter against all Americans.  Some of your officers
were stoned yesterday in Monte Cristi.  Be careful!  I can say no more!"

"And why do you tell us this, Señora?" asked Dick.

"Because I like the Americans.  An American surgeon saved my child’s
life when she was ill last year.  You, too, were kind to her.  Hurry and
finish your meal and leave at once.  Watch out for trouble, as they will
follow your movements.  Do not let them suspect that you know anything.
Be careful--here comes my husband," and the woman hurriedly occupied
herself with some household duties.

"Everything is prepared, gentlemen, and awaiting your pleasure,"
announced the owner of the cantina, and the boys followed him to their
places at the table where their guest still awaited them.

During the meal conversation was confined to the subject of hunting, and
it was noticeable how their guest and host agreed that it was a bad
season for doves, that the birds never were numerous in the locality,
and discouraged any further attempts at enjoying sport of that nature
anywhere except along the coast, where snipe of all kinds abounded.

Many times the proprietor left them for the purpose of supplying
numerous thirsty individuals who seemed to flock to his little bar, and
all his customers seemed mightily interested in scrutinizing the party
seated at the marble-topped table. Finally, after paying their bill, the
boys bid good-bye to their host and, still accompanied by the native who
had partaken of their bounty, they began their return trip over the road
by which they had entered the town.

On reaching the outskirts of the village their self-appointed escort
volunteered the information that if his friends were returning to the
Captain of the Port’s house at Estero Balsa he would be glad to serve
them by showing them a short cut which was very easy to travel, but with
many expressions of good-will they declined and, with relief, they saw
the native turn back over the trail to town.

"Phew!  But I’m glad that Spig has gone!  I’ve been nearly bursting to
talk over what that woman told us," said Henry.  "Do you believe they
are up to anything?"

"Did you see any of those men coming into the cantina while we were
eating?" asked Dick, as he loosened the flap covering his automatic in
the holster, and turned it back so that he could easily draw the pistol
in case of need.

"No; my back was towards the door, and I thought it best not to appear
too curious."

"If you’d seen them you’d not feel very easy over the matter, Hank, for
one of them was none other than Mexican Pete; and he recognized us, too.
He came sauntering in, and I noticed him start when he saw me sitting
there.  He didn’t know I was looking at him; and later he kept his back
turned all the time, but was giving us the once-over in the
looking-glass behind the bar.  I saw him at the head of a detachment of
mounted men leaving town about fifteen minutes before we left."

"Do you reckon they expected us to take the short route and hoped to
catch us on some blind trail?" asked Henry.

"Possibly.  You see the country along the road is fairly open on either
side, and a considerable body of men would have some difficulty in
surprising us. But they can easily pick us off if they are good shots."

"I see you’ve unlimbered, and I reckon I’ll do the same," said Henry,
looking at Dick’s pistol; "also I’m going to change my load in this
pump-gun from bird to buck shot."

"Mine has been loaded with buck since we started this morning," said
Dick.  "If ever I had taken a crack at a wild pigeon and one of those
slugs hit, there wouldn’t have been enough feathers or bird left to
satisfy the appetite of an Argentine ant."

The boys kept up a pretty rapid pace, and it was not long before they
had left behind their noonday resting place and now were keeping careful
watch of the trail in order to discover where the alcalde and his troop
had turned from it.  The marks of the horses on the road had not been
disturbed, and about five miles from Copey the tracks plainly turned off
to the left up a trail through the dense woods.  It was certain that
here was at least one clue to their credit which would be of value to
the customs officials.

"Why did you hurry on by, Dick?  We might have gone up that trail for a
way.  We’ve plenty of time."

"Yes, and we might never have come down it and returned to the ship with
our information, Hank.  That is why I told you not to stop nor act as if
you’d noticed anything unusual.  I saw something I didn’t like when I
squinted up that beautiful sylvan dell, and I believe we’d better do
some tall hustling from now on."

"What did you see?"

"Well, it looked like a full-sized native jumping behind a tree.  I
believe they thought we might turn up that way, and were waiting for us.
As it is, I’ll feel a whole lot better when I can get around that turn
ahead of us.  I’ve an idea there is a gun pointing between my
shoulder-blades this minute, and it doesn’t feel a bit comfortable."

Unconsciously Henry turned his head to look back over the road; then
with a shout of caution he started forward on the run.

"Beat it, Dick; Mexican Pete and his gang are after us!"

With the words came a scattering volley, and the yells of the natives in
their rear, the sound of the leaden bullets tearing through the leaves
and shrubs, helped the boys onward in their flight.



                              CHAPTER XIX

                     A BRAVE ACT AND A CLEVER RUSE


As the two marines dashed around the bend in the road they found before
them an open plain with small clumps of low-lying shrubs here and there
on its sun-baked, level surface.  Three hundred yards to their right a
thatched hut of mud stood at the edge of the mangroves which bordered
the plain. Apparently deserted, it offered the only real shelter in
sight, and this was shelter from observation only, in all probability,
for its walls would offer little resistance to the shots of their
enemies.

"Make for the shack, Hank," called Dick, and together they dashed across
the firm ground. Before they reached their haven the bullets were again
zip-zipping about them.  Dick, in the lead, was within a few yards of
the hut when he was arrested by a cry of distress from Henry.  Turning,
he saw his chum on his hands and knees about twenty yards in the rear,
while from the direction of the bend an exultant yelling told him the
natives were aware that one of the party was injured.  Instantly Dick
doubled on his tracks and was soon at Henry’s side.

"Did they get you, Hank?" he inquired anxiously.

"Yes, in the right leg," answered the plucky boy, with a smile.  "It
knocked me down.  Doesn’t hurt much, but I can’t seem to use my leg."

"I’ll fix you all right," said Dick cheerily, though he felt far from
happy, and bending while Henry sat up, he easily picked up his companion
in the way he had been taught to use in carrying wounded men off the
field.  He took Henry’s left leg under his own left arm, and made the
injured boy bend over his left shoulder.  Then, grasping Henry’s left
wrist with his right hand, Dick was up and again running towards the
hut.  The shooting kept up while Dick was bending over his chum, but
when the natives saw him carrying away the fallen boy they redoubled
their fire and their yells increased in proportion.  Fortunately they
were poor marksmen, and Dick reached the shack without further mishap.
Here he deposited Henry on the dirt floor and reaching in his
hunting-bag he brought forth a first-aid package.  The wound was
bleeding freely, and without hesitation Dick ripped the right trousers’
leg from the knee downward with his knife (the same one he had taken
from Gonzales at Sanchez) and then with an expert hand he bound the
wound up firmly.

"I feel O.K. now, old chap, and you’d better squint outside and see what
those rapscallions are up to."

"They’ve quit shooting and there is no one in sight," said Dick, who
crawled to the empty doorway and looked out across the flats towards the
bend.

[Illustration: Map Showing Position of Hut in Which Boys Took Refuge]

"Do you reckon they’ve decided to let us alone?"

"I don’t know, Henry, but I’ll know in a minute. I’m going out after our
shotguns.  We’re pretty poor soldiers to leave our weapons lying all
around the country," and Dick’s grin was meant to convey the idea that
the task he was about to undertake was not of much importance nor
danger.

"Don’t try it, Dick.  Perhaps they are only waiting for us to show
ourselves and then when we do they hope to pot us."

But Dick had rushed out of the doorway before Henry finished speaking.
He zigzagged his way across the open space to about fifty yards, the
point where he had rescued Henry, and with his reappearance another
fusillade began.  As Dick reached the spot he saw the two guns lying
within a few feet of each other, and between them and the enemy was a
small clump of green bush.

Back in the doorway Henry now sat watching with bated breath.  He saw
Dick stop in his mad rush, then he saw him throw up his hands in a wild
gesture of despair and fall to the ground.  That his brave friend was in
great agony was evident to the helpless watcher.  He saw Dick roll over
and over, his arms and legs seeming to thresh the air.  Finally the
movements ceased and Dick lay stretched out like a log on the scorching
hot plain.  The tears rolled unheeded down Henry’s cheeks, and then,
hearing the loud victorious shouts of the natives as they streamed out
from behind the shelter of the woods near the bend, and on across the
plain, his lips pressed together and his eyes grew cold and stern, for
the brain behind was dominated by but one thought, the desire to avenge
his comrade.

With grim determination he placed all the spare magazines for his pistol
within easy reach and drew his heavy Colt’s from the holster.  Not a man
should ever reach Dick’s body if the steady hand and cool nerve of Henry
Cabell could prevent.

On came the natives, and Mexican Pete was leading them.  Even as they
came they continued firing at the hut and in the direction of the still
body lying behind the little bush where it had rolled in the last
struggles.  Henry, unheeding the pain in his leg, rolled into the
doorway on his stomach and, resting both elbows on the floor, he
squinted over the sights and took careful aim at the Mexican. He meant
to make every shot count, and so he waited until the leader should be
within seventy-five yards of him.  So intense was he on judging the
precise moment to open fire that he saw nothing but this one man whom he
covered with his pistol.

As he looked he saw the Mexican throw up his arms, whirl about and run
back towards cover. What caused this?  Henry lowered his pistol, and now
saw the rest of the gang wildly scattering, leaving two of their number
lying on the plain.  The next moment Henry was rubbing his eyes to see
if he were awake.  The body lying in the shelter of the bush had come to
life.  Dick Comstock was working his shotguns with lightning rapidity,
and clouds of dust flew up from the plain as the buckshot sprayed about
among the fleeing men.  As the last one was lost in the distant cover
Dick ceased his fire and came running, with both guns in his hands, for
the hut.

"Say, boy, but didn’t I fool ’em?" he joyfully shouted as he sprang
through the doorway.  "Did you see me get ’em, Hank?"

"Old boy, I thought they had gotten you.  I reckon I was pretty much all
in too, Dick, when I saw you go down, and I was just about to open up
when you began on them.  It was sure a good trick you played, but, Dick,
be careful to let me know about it the next time or I’ll die of heart
failure. Did they get you at all?"

"Not once; but one of their darn slugs took off my cap, right enough,
and right then the thought flashed through my mind to play the trick.
Whew! It’s some hot out there, and, Hank, do you still see those two
chaps that fell?  I wonder if they’re hurt, or--or----  Gee!  I feel
kind of squeamish, now that it’s over," and Dick sat down rather
suddenly with his back against the wall.

"No, they are not dead, Dick, for one of them jumped up and limped off
when your fire stopped, and the other is yelling for help right now.
Besides, they deserve no better fate, and our death would have meant
nothing to them in the way of regret, at least."

"I feel better, after what you’ve said, but for a moment the thought of
killing a man was making me sort of sick at my stomach.  I didn’t feel
that way when I was shooting at ’em, though," and Dick took a deep
breath of relief, then rising he looked out at the scene of recent
conflict.  Out in the middle of the plain the wounded native still
called for help, but if his comrades were within hearing they made no
attempt to render any assistance.

"I reckon those buckshot sort of stung a bit," snickered Henry; but his
snicker ended in a little painful gasp that he tried in vain to control.

"I’ve got to get you out of here, Hank, and in a hurry.  There is no
telling what they’ll do next, and they’ll be back as soon as the first
fright wears off.  I believe that path back of the hut will take us to a
creek which flows into the Estero Balsa and which the officers plotted
in on the chart last week when I was with them.  Anyhow, it’s worth
trying. If you feel well enough suppose you keep an eye out on the plain
while I reconnoiter in the rear."

"Good; I feel fine, Dick, so go along, and I’ll keep them off, don’t
worry."

In ten minutes Dick returned with the news that his surmise was correct,
and as luck would have it, a small boat with two men was even then
coming up the narrow creek.  Taking Henry on his shoulder once more,
Dick carried him to the bank of the creek, arriving there as the boatmen
reached a point opposite.  At his hail the boat was soon nosing the
bank, and the natives inquired what was wanted.

"My comrade just met with an accident, and I wish to take him to the
Captain of the Port’s house; will you row us there?"

The two fishermen at first demurred, but Dick settled the matter by
taking hold of the gunwale and at the same time drawing his pistol.  It
was no time to parley; in a moment they saw the force of his remarks.
Henry was placed carefully in the bottom of the boat, and soon they were
speeding down-stream.

Once during the passage the two boys looked at each other and winked
knowingly, for from far upstream came the sound of numerous shots.

"Seems to be a lot of hunting in this country," said Dick aloud.

"Oh, yes, Señor, the doves are very plentiful this year," said one of
the rowers.

Crossing the waters of the Estero, they drew up alongside the wharf,
where they had landed less than twenty-four hours previously.  One of
the ship’s boats was there, and the coxswain in charge hailed them.

"Hurry aboard, you leathernecks.  I’ve all the stuff from your camp.
The ship’s under sailin’ orders fer Nicaragua, where there’s a hot
little revolution goin’ on.  What’s that, one of you hurt? Well, they
shouldn’t let boys carry guns anyway; they’re all the time a-shootin’ of
themselves. Steady, lads!  Handle him with care, and make a soft place
fer him in the cockpit with them cushions. Shove off, for’rd!  Full
speed ahead!  Say good-bye to this heck of an island, fellers; we’re off
this time, for sure!"



                               CHAPTER XX

                        "TO THE DITCH AT PANAMA"


"There goes the good old _Denver_, Mike.  I guess she’ll reach the
fighting grounds before we do."

"Don’t let that be for worryin’ of ye, Dick, me lad," responded Corporal
Dorlan.  "We’ll be havin’ a bellyful of it, I’m thinkin’, if all signs
is correct.  Nevertheless, she was one of the foinest little crafts I’ve
ever served on, and they was a grand lot of Navy officers on her, too;
but I’m glad to git back to the Corps again.  I’m a marine, Dick,
through and through, and though I get along with them Navy men well
enough, I like to serve with me own kind best of all."

The old veteran and young drummer were standing on the wharf at
Cristobal, at the Atlantic end of the ten-mile stretch of land across
the Isthmus of Panama known as the Canal Zone, which by treaty with the
Panamanian Government had come under perpetual control of the United
States.  Fading away in the dim distance was the ship which for many
months had been Dick’s official home.  Diverted from her original
orders, she had put in at Cristobal long enough to land all her marines,
with the exception of Henry Cabell, who was still under the surgeon’s
care; and now she was bound for Bluefields, on the Mosquito Coast of
Nicaragua. In order to fill existing vacancies in a regiment of marines
hurrying to the scene of action on board the Naval Transport _Dixie_,
which ship was just appearing above the distant horizon, the guard of
the _Denver_ had been unceremoniously "dumped on the beach," as the men
put it.

There was no question that the revolution in progress, most active on
the Pacific coast of Nicaragua, was a lively one.  Marines were being
assembled from all available points, even reducing the guard at Camp
Elliott to a mere skeleton detachment. These men from the Zone were the
first to leave for Nicaragua, and the army men stationed there had
watched them depart with feelings of envy.

"Blame it all!  Those marines are always getting into something.  I’ll
bet I take on with that outfit the next time I sign up," more than one
regular army "file" had been heard to say.

And that first lot of "soldiers of the sea" had already met with
opposition.  Even now they were somewhere between Corinto and the
capital city, Managua.  If they found the rails torn up, they repaired
them; bridges burned, they built new ones temporarily.  They were
threatened with annihilation if they interfered, yet they continued with
a dauntless, young and able leader at their head, relieving the fears of
the foreigners in the interior and keeping the single line of railroad
back to their base in fairly good order.  Only this very audacity could
assure the success of their undertaking, and also a possible
misunderstanding on the part of Federals and Rebels as to which side
"these interfering Yankees" were really there to help, though it was the
bearers of the red rosettes who actively opposed their progress.
American financial interests were jeopardized, and underlying all the
fuss and furor were greater stakes than the general public realized.

Perhaps Drummer Richard Comstock and Trumpeter Cabell, in a talk before
they separated that morning, were closer to the real reason for this
strong force being despatched than were even the best informed officers
of the expedition.

"I reckon a certain conversation you all overheard in Washington a year
ago is bearing fruit," suggested Henry, looking up from his bunk in the
sick bay where Dick had gone to visit him.

"It looks that way," Dick had replied.

"Well, if you run across a certain German and a three-fingered Limey,[#]
Dick, you’ll do well to keep an eye open.  I sure wish I could go with
you all, but we’ll get together again before long; so good-bye, old boy,
and good luck," and Henry turned to the wall to cover the emotion this
separation caused him.  Thus they had parted.


[#] "Limey"--British maritime regulations require the captain to issue
regular rations of lime-juice as a preventative for scurvy. British
ships and sailors are therefore known as "Lime-juicers," or in sailor
slang, "Limeys."


Steadily the transport grew upon the vision of those awaiting her
arrival.  Finally, when she came alongside her berth, the place became a
seething ant-hill of activity.  Tons and tons of rations, tents,
munitions, wireless outfits, buckets, clothing, field ranges, medical
supplies, field artillery, and the thousand other things necessary for
extensive operations were sent up out of the ship’s holds and packed on
freight cars, and soon trains of men and supplies were slowly creeping
from under the railroad sheds, out past Monkey Hill, on and on, with
ever-increasing speed, towards the Pacific terminus at Balboa.

Much to Dick’s pleasure and Corporal Dorlan’s satisfaction they found
themselves detailed for duty with a company commanded by an old
acquaintance, Captain Kenneth Henderson, formerly in charge of the
Marine Detachment of the U.S.S. _Nantucket_.

"Well, Sergeant Dorlan, I’m glad to have you back under my command,"
said the Captain as he shook hands; "report to the First Sergeant at
once, and tell him I said you are in charge of the working detail
loading the cars."  Then he turned to Dick. "Where have I seen you
before, music?  Your face looks familiar, but I can’t place you."

"I met the Captain on the _Nantucket_, sir, if the Captain remembers the
day we were upset by a motor boat and Dorlan rescued Tommy Turner."

"Now I know!  You are Drummer Comstock. Your friend’s uncle asked me to
keep an eye on you in case I ran across you.  How is it that you are a
drummer?  I understood you enlisted to get a commission."

"I hope to have my rank changed before long, sir, but at the time I
enlisted they were taking only musics into the Corps."

"Does this young man know anything?  Can we make a corporal out of him?"
asked Captain Henderson, turning to Dorlan, who still stood at attention
near by.

"Indeed he’s a broth of a lad, sir, and knows more’n most of the
corporals right now, but if the Captain will excuse me, I wanted to
explain before goin’ to the First Sergeant that I’m only a corporal
meself, sir.  Ye may disremember I was reduced in rank over a year ago."

"I remember it very well, Dorlan; but from to-day on you are again a
sergeant.  So get busy with that work of loading.  As for you, music,
I’ll make you my orderly for the present.  Go aboard, find my mess boy,
Jackson, and get my luggage on that train.  It is already packed.  Then
present my respects to the Colonel, and tell him my company is ready to
move any time he sends me word."

Thus it was Dick found himself on board the first troop train to cross
the Isthmus.  He was well repaid now for the hours he had devoted to his
graduation essay.  At that time he had gone deeply into the subject and
since then, while cruising in the West Indies, many times his previous
reading and study had been of great help.  The history of the Panama
Canal was a favorite subject, and now he verified his book knowledge by
actual experience. The sight of the vast area already flooded as a
result of the nearly completed dam at Gatun, the names of Frijoles, Bas
Obispo, Camp Elliott, Cucaracha, Pedro Miguel and Miraflores brought
back to his mind afresh the disappointments of the French and the
difficulties overcome by his country. At one place on the road a dirt
train held them up for a short space of time, and from the car window he
caught glimpses of the mighty Bucyrus steam shovels scooping up tons of
earth and rock in their capacious maws with almost human intelligence.
The new line they travelled passed to the east of Gold Hill, back of
which was Culebra Cut, where the slipping, unstable earth caused so much
delay, disappointment and expense by its dangerous slides.  Every where
were scenes of activity! Hundreds of cars and engines, empty trains,
trains filled with excavated earth, trains of freight, passenger trains,
workmen’s trains, thousands of men, negroes from the South and the West
Indies, Spaniards, Englishmen, Frenchmen, Chinese, Latin-Americans, full
blooded Central American Indians, Hindoos from the Far East, all busy,
all hustling, even in this tropic zone.  They passed through little
villages and settlements, each a reminder of the fabled "Spotless Town,"
with their excellent roads, splendid drainage, immaculate, screened
buildings, stores, boarding-houses, hotels, public buildings and
residences, all under the supervision of the Government.  How proud the
young drummer was to be a part of this big republic which did things on
such a wonderful scale; that he served this country which flung to the
breeze the Stars and Stripes: that he was even then on his way to help a
misguided people, who, under the far-sighted provision of that Doctrine
of President Monroe, now needed a helping hand to guide their ship of
state over treacherous waters: that he was Richard Comstock, United
States Marine.

All too soon the passage of that narrow neck of land was completed, and
the train pulled in under the sheds of the Balboa wharves.  Again the
hustle and bustle, for close behind followed freight trains and more
troops, and the work of unloading the cars and filling up waiting
lighters was begun.

Men’s hands, unaccustomed to the rough work, blistered and went raw,
their backs ached, their muscles grew stiff and strained, the
perspiration soaked their khaki clothing a dark brown color, but
cheerfully they stuck to their task.  And truly it was Herculean, for
after being placed aboard the lighters the stores were towed alongside a
great gray battleship lying far out in the harbor, where they again had
to be transferred aboard and stored away.

The companies worked in two-hour shifts, one battalion being detailed at
each of the transfer points.  They arrived at Cristobal at noon, and a
little after midnight the work ashore had been completed.  Captain
Henderson’s company was one of those detailed for work on the Balboa
wharves, and shortly before ten o’clock he started in a motor car for
the city of Panama, taking his newly appointed orderly with him.  About
the time the relief shift was to go on they returned, laden down with
sandwiches of all kinds and several big freezers of ice-cream with which
to regale officers and men.  The cooks in the meantime had made gallons
of hot coffee, and when mess-call sounded, never was food and drink more
welcome than to those dirty, grimy, sweat-laden marines, who, seated on
box or barrel, gun carriage or packing case, in the glare of many cargo
lights, munched and drank to repletion. Then "carry on" was sounded, and
with cheerful shouts and renewed vigor they tackled their task.

By six o’clock the next morning the big ship slowly swung her bows out
towards the ocean of Balboa, the mighty Pacific, and laid her course for
Corinto, Nicaragua’s principal seaport on the west coast.

Then it was that Dick Comstock realized he was tired--good and tired,
but there could be no rest for the weary.  Every man must first know to
which boat he was assigned in case of "abandon ship," what he was
supposed to do in case of fire, where he was to berth; then there were
roll calls and cleaning ship and stowing away the stores on deck, and it
was dark once more before the willing workers finally found the time and
the place to catch a little sleep.  But it was all worth while when the
Colonel Commanding sent around to each company his official word of
praise: "No body of men could better their record, and he doubted if any
could equal it," so read the memorandum. And Dick, curled up in an
unoccupied corner on deck, fell asleep, while ringing in his ears was
that well-known stanza of the Marines’ Hymn which a group of still
energetic Leathernecks were softly singing somewhere up near the bridge:

    "From the pest hole of Cavite
    To the ditch at Panama,
    They’re always very needy
    Of marines, that’s what we are,
    We’re the watch dogs of a pile of coal
    Or we build a magazine,
    Though our duties are so numerous,
    Who would not be a Marine?"



                              CHAPTER XXI

                        THE MARINES HAVE LANDED


"That’s a fine-looking engine," said Dick, three days later, as he
gazed, with a derisive laugh, at the locomotive backing onto the wharf
at Corinto to couple up with a train of laden flat cars ready to start
on the precarious journey to support the battalion of marines somewhere
along the line, but just where no one rightly knew.

And indeed it was an engine of a type quite new to most of the marines
perched on every available sticking-place amid the boxes, barrels and
bales with which the train was laden.  A care-free, jovial lot of
huskies they were, taking this back-breaking work as a mere matter of
course.  They were marines, so it was their just due to be chased from
one corner of the world to the other; and if it had not been so, they
would have said disgustedly that they "might as well be in the Army."
The world moved and the marines moved with it; they themselves were
sometimes inclined to think they moved it.

"The only place I ever saw an engine of that type was on those blue
three-cent stamps the United States put out for the centennial
celebration many years ago," remarked a junior officer, seated near Dick
on the floor of the car, with his feet swinging idly over the side.

"You are not much of a philatelist, Mr. Mercer," said Captain Henderson,
who happened by, "or you would have known of other postage stamps with
an engraving of the wood-burning type of engine on their face.  This
country we are now in uses a series of them over on the Mosquito Coast,
and Honduras has another series.  But I see we are about to start.  Pass
the word to fix bayonets: no rifles to be loaded without command.  Each
man must understand this affair is being handled with kid gloves, and
they must not precipitate things by any hasty action on their part.
Remember, too, that we are here to keep order, and unless interfered
with we will go about our business quietly.  To us, at the present time,
all Nicaraguans are our friends until they prove otherwise.  Treat both
parties alike until you get orders to the contrary.  Those men wearing
red rosettes and ribbons are ’agin the government’; they are rebels; so
be careful of your every act."

The engine with its enormous bell-topped stack by now had bumped into
position and with a jerk and wrench and creaking of wheels the journey
was begun.

All along the route could be seen small bands of men.  Some carried
rifles, but the majority were armed with long knives, called machetes.
Many sported uniforms, but most were attired in ordinary clothing, the
little red badges identifying them with the insurgent forces.

Hour after hour they clattered and bumped along the fearful road-bed.
Forward!  Bump, stop!  Bump, ahead!  Stop!  Little by little, mile after
mile, they progressed.  Here the rails were slippery, and with shovel in
hand the men jumped off the cars and covered them with dirt so that the
wheezy engine could once more proceed.  At a town named Quezalgaque,
just as darkness fell, the engine ran out of water.  A bucket line was
formed down the steep river embankment at this spot and under the glare
of flaming torches the men worked filling the boiler till the Navy
Machinist in charge of the engine stated the gauge was "full up."  Then
forward once more with the cheers of the detachment of Uncle Sam’s
sailors, stationed here to guard the bridge, ringing in their ears.

The night was so black that it was difficult to see one’s hand before
one’s face and when, after about five miles more of bumping and thumping
had been covered, the train again halted, word passed from the head of
the train for no one under any circumstances to leave the cars.  There
seemed to be a mysterious something in the air, as of a dense crowd of
humanity pressing in from all sides, yet there was no sound, other than
the puffing of the wood-burner at the head of the train.

"Wonder what makes this place so spooky like?" whispered Dick to Dorlan,
who sat beside him filling his old corn-cob pipe preparatory to lighting
up; "I have a feeling that if I put my hand out I’d touch some human
being; and yet I can’t see a thing in this blackness."

Dorlan did not reply, but the light from his match made a small glare in
the surrounding night. Small as it was the men in his immediate vicinity
were startled at what it disclosed.  A sea of faces, a forest of armed
men, crowded up to the very edge of the track on all sides.

"Whew!  Did you see them?" whispered a man near Dick.  "Every beggar in
sight has a gun, and here we are right in the middle of ’em, and we
didn’t know it."

There was a restless movement on the part of the marines.  Those who had
been drowsing awakened, to grip more firmly the rifle which, since
darkness, no longer held the knife-like bayonet.  One man quietly opened
the bolt of his rifle and nervously fingered a clip of cartridges in his
belt.

"Easy, men!" came the caution down the length of the train, and the
slight flutter of nerves calmed to steadiness.  But the tension was
there, and only the excellent discipline held them in check, for these
rebels were too close for comfort.  Then followed the slow ringing of
the locomotive’s bell, brakes were released and the train moved on,
crossed a high trestle bridge, and again halted.

"Pile out, everybody!  Throw our company stores off the cars at once and
stow them alongside the track.  Get some lanterns working, men.  On the
jump, now!" and Captain Henderson strode along the embankment shining
his flash-light and encouraging his men to do good work.

Lights flickered along the train.  Stores were tossed off in quick
order, camp sites selected, police parties immediately prepared
latrines, and the guard was posted.  Then, the immediate requirements
being attended to, the men rolled up in their blankets on the hard earth
to get such sleep as they could.

"Who were all those hombres[#] surrounding us before we crossed the big
bridge, Sergeant?" asked Dick, pulling his knapsack into a more
comfortable position beneath his head.


[#] Hombres--Men.


"They was the chief army of the rebels in these parts," replied Dorlan.
"When we stopped back there we were right in the middle of the biggest
town in Nicaragua, and the one where all the trouble starts.  The people
of Leon are always ready to revolute with the hope of makin’ it the
capital instead of Managua, and bein’ on the only railroad from the
capital city to the seaport, Corinto, they’re in a foine place to
control things.  The nearest Federal troops are at a place called La
Paz, about twenty-three kilometers from here."

"How long is a kilometer, Sergeant?" questioned one of the men.

"It’s about five-eighths of a mile, so La Paz would be about fourteen
miles south of here.  From there on the Federal troops hold the railroad
to the southern outskirts of Managua, and as this line goes on to
Granada, I figure it’s up to us to do considerable of work yet, for they
say that we’ll never get through the rebel lines beyond the capital
without a fight.  However, so far things seem to be goin’ pretty slick."

"Do you know how many troops there are in Leon, Sergeant?"

"About two or three thousand, so they say, and they didn’t want us to
pass through there to-night, but finally consented.  The Adjutant told
me the leaders were pretty ugly about it, but as you see they finally
gave in, and here we are."

"Now we are here what are we going to do?" inquired Dick.

"This battalion’s goin’ to camp right here and watch these fellers in
Leon; the rest of them behind us will go on through when they come up
and help the outfit that’s ahead.  All the telegraph and telephone lines
are down between here and La Paz Centro.  The rebs have cut ’em, and we
can’t get word of what’s goin’ on up ahead; but we’ll know by to-morrow
night.  Now, quit yer askin’ of questions.  It’s three o’clock in the
mornin’, and reveille’s set for five A.M.  Ye always want to get all the
sleep ye can on campaign, for ye can’t never tell what’s a-goin’ to be
happenin’ the next minute. Good-night, boys," and Sergeant Dorlan rolled
over, his snores soon announcing he had followed his own excellent
advice, but it was a long time before Dick’s eyes closed in slumber, and
it seemed as though the notes of reveille awakened him even before he
had succeeded in getting the time-quoted "forty winks."

    "I can’t get ’em up!  I can’t get ’em up!
    I can’t get ’em up in the morning!
    I can’t get ’em up!  I can’t get ’em up!
    I can’t get ’em up at all!
    The private’s worse than the corporal,
    The corporal’s worse than the sergeant,
    The sergeant’s worse than the Captain,
    And the Captain’s worst of all."



       *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *


[Illustration: Dick’s Map of Camp Pendleton]

                      DICK’S MAP OF CAMP PENDLETON

The map was made by Dick, and is a fairly good one, though many
necessary things have been omitted.  The Railroad from Granada to
Corinno through Leon goes south to north.  Captain Henderson’s company
was in the woods at S.W. corner of map. The outpost near bridge was to
prevent damage to structure.

The camp was named after Colonel Joseph H. Pendleton, U.S.M.C., who
commanded all the marines on this expedition, but the camp itself was
commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Charles G. Long, U.S.M.C. One battalion
of marines, a battalion of sailors from the U.S.S. _Colorado_,
Quartermaster Depot, Navy Medical Unit, and Wireless Outfit, were
encamped in the enclosed area and occupied about two-thirds of the
space. This camp was made on September 11-12, 1912.

The map shows no contours, but a gentle slope, and from E to W gave
excellent drainage, and Leon, a mile distant, was in full view.  The
single dotted lines are trails.  The double dotted lines are unfenced
roads and the rectangles are generally houses, except in camp, where
they represent tents.


       *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *


"Come on, ye lazy bones, roll out of yer hammicks," called Dorlan
cheerily, "and if ye foller that path down by the shack acrost the road
ye’ll reach the river and a good place to wash, only don’t go too far
down-stream, as there’s a bunch o’ buzzards cleanin’ up some dead men,
and the sight ain’t extry fine on an empty stummick."

It was not long before Dick had finished his ablutions, and as he had
avoided the buzzard’s feast he felt quite capable of doing justice to
the breakfast the mess cooks prepared.

The day was spent in fixing up the camp, preparing it for defense,
reconnaissance work, and sorting stores.  That the rebel general felt
kindly towards the Americans might have been implied from the fact that
he sent two beeves to the Colonel Commanding, with his compliments, but
these were returned with expressions of thanks, as the Colonel did not
feel he could accept the gift.  Many parties of rebel soldiers passed
the camp during the day and curiously watched the soldiers from the
great Northern Republic at their varied occupations. Other days
followed, some filled with flurries of excitement, some slow and
monotonous.  The rest of the regiment passed on towards the capital and
a battalion of sailors came to augment the force, and for the time they
were ashore, absorbed the Marine Corps spirit, "hook, line and dipsey."

One day a rebel "armored" train came puffing along from Leon, where they
kept it carefully locked up in the station shed, and proceeded towards
La Paz, with red flags streaming and a poor edition of Joan d’Arc
astride the cow-catcher brandishing a big machete and cheering on the
deluded soldiers.

"Viva Luis Mena!  Viva Leon!"[#] they shouted to the marines, and waving
their guns wildly, passed on.


[#] "Hurrah for Louis Mena!  Hurrah for Leon!"--Mena was the rebel
candidate for presidential honors and after the battle of Coyotepe he
was taken under guard by the marines to Corinto and deported.


"They are off for a fight," hazarded the onlookers, but it was only a
foraging party out for wood and fresh beef which they confiscated as
they found it.  One of the flat cars was arranged with sand bags, and
over the parapet thus formed a Hotchkiss machine-gun menacingly stuck
its baleful snout.  This rebel train was an eye-sore to the American
officers; for as long as General Rivas, who commanded at Leon, had this
train and locomotive locked up in the station, so long it was sure to be
a menace.  The marines were in Nicaragua primarily to keep open the
railroad, which was American-owned, and orders now came from the Admiral
commanding the forces afloat and ashore to demand the surrender of the
train.  This Rivas refused, feeling confident that the few Yankees
encamped across the river were neither strong enough nor brave enough to
attempt to force him, and should they do so then it was quite certain
they were no longer impartial.  One Sunday morning in September, to his
astonishment, three trains filled with marines and sailors pulled into
the sidings at Leon. The attitude of the officers and men on this train
was such that Rivas considered surrender the better part of valor,
though at one time it looked as though his enraged men would precipitate
a bloody struggle.  Anyway, the train was taken out from its shed; the
rebels were permitted to remove their gun, and amid the curses and
execrations of the multitude gathered at the station, it was towed back
to the American camp.

As for Richard Comstock, he found the life exciting and full of
adventure.  Following his application, he had had his rank changed to
that of a private, and accompanied Sergeant Dorlan, who had been
appointed special messenger to carry despatches, up and down the line.
The situation was getting more critical every day.  Then came orders to
send all the field artillery from Leon to Managua, and on the train that
took them went Dorlan and Dick, bearing special despatches to the
Admiral who had gone on to the capital city for a conference.  The
rebels near the Leon camp looked gloomily upon this move.  A few days
before a train bearing marines, on passing through Masaya, a city south
of Managua, had been fired upon, some men being killed and wounded on
both sides.

Now it was apparent that the Yankees were going to assist the Federal
troops.  What would be the outcome?  Would they attempt to attack the
rebels at Barrancas and Coyotepe?  If they did they could never take
those positions.  No troops had ever yet wrested those strongholds from
the soldiers defending them.  It had never been done in the history of
the republic and its many wars. Secretly General Rivas despatched bodies
of mounted men to augment the rebels in the vicinity of the threatened
points.

When the artillery train stopped for watering the engine at La Paz,
hundreds of Federal troops met it with a band at their head and cheering
vociferously:

"Viva los Americanos!  Viva los Federales!" they shouted till their
throats were hoarse.

"Let’s get off and buy some fruit, Sergeant," said Dick, who was riding
on the engine with his companion.

"You go along, Dick, but hurry back, as I heard the engineer say we’ll
be pullin’ out o’ here in a jiffy."

Climbing down from his seat, Dick elbowed his way through the crowd till
he came to a fruit stand at the far side of the station platform.  After
selecting some oranges and mangoes he was hurrying back when the broad
shoulders, red neck and blond, bristly hair of a foreigner standing at
the edge of the crowd drew his attention.  Beside him was a tall man
whose tanned face could not hide the fact that he too was a stranger
from another land.  Under the brim of the taller man’s hat was a white
spot of hair over and behind one ear, and the left hand, as he raised
it, showed half the middle finger missing.

"The German and the Englishman!"

Dick almost said the words aloud in his excitement over the discovery.
Both men were watching the crowd in front of them with great interest,
and conversing in rather loud tones in order to make themselves heard
above the din made by the enthusiastic soldiers cheering the train.
Unobserved, Dick stopped directly behind them.

"Just our blooming bad luck to have them go through during daylight,
after we have been waiting for this very move for several days," said
the Englishman in a drawling voice.

"I never expected they would make the move by day, or I should have made
better arrangements. If it were dark, as we expected it would be, we
could pull off the same kind of game we worked in Masaya when Butler’s
Battalion went through there.  I had to do that trick against General
Zeladon’s wishes.  If he had consented to let me work it as I wished
that train-load of marines never would have lived to get through as they
did.  I had to make it appear an unpremeditated affair, and as a result
not half the people joined in the fight.  A single defeat of these
Yankees to the credit of the rebels, and the whole country would have
joined us, Mena would have been president without a doubt, and our plans
would be well under way towards consummation."

"You made a mistake, though, Mein Herr.  You should never have made it
appear that the rebels began the shooting.  Our policy is to lead these
Americans to believe that the Federal troops are against their
interference."

"Bah!  You don’t know what you are talking about," said the German in
the same arrogant way of speaking that Dick remembered so well.

"Well, don’t let us get ratty over it; you know, old top, we have other
things to think about.  Now if we might delay this train in some way it
would still be possible to work the game here."

"No chance at all!  Not a chance!" exclaimed the big man impatiently,
"but it would have been a fine opportunity to turn the tables had it
only been dark.  Our men here would have been enough to make them
believe the whole outfit of Federals were shooting them up, and in the
excitement the marines would have returned the fire, and the fight would
have become general."

"Will the other trick work?" the Englishman now asked.  "Will those
papers implicating Chamorra come into the Americans’ hands in a
perfectly natural way?"

"Yes, and it is our last hope, outside of actual defeat of this Yankee
rabble by the rebels, and I believe that is a possibility.  These men
are nothing but play soldiers.  What do they know about war? And as for
taking Coyotepe away from Zeladon and his men, bah! they can never do
it!  They will have to declare war first, and get down their miserable
army.  That will delay them long enough for us to defeat the Federals,
and Mena and his men will be in supreme power.  Hello, the train is off.
Donder und Blitzen!  How I wish it were night!" and the speaker stamped
in wrath upon the gravel of the roadway.

So interested was Dick in the conversation of these two men which for a
second time had been overheard by him that he had failed to note the
train was moving away.  To his consternation he saw now that he could
not catch it because of the crowd between him and the last car, which
was passing as he looked over the sea of heads.  Running to the
telegraph office where, owing to many previous visits with Dorlan, he
was well known, he dictated a wire to be sent on to Nagarote, the next
stopping place along the line, explaining briefly that he had missed the
train.  Then he turned to the operator, and before the man knew what was
happening had divested that surprised individual of his coat.

"Quick, Frederico, loan me your coat and hat," he said.  "Take charge of
my canteen and haversack till I return.  Oh, yes, I’ll borrow your
necktie too," he added, stripping it off the neck of the open-mouthed
native, and after pulling off his leggins and putting on the things he
had commandeered, he sped out through the doorway in pursuit of the two
men whose rapid strides were even then carrying them towards the center
of the town.



                              CHAPTER XXII

                          DICK IS LEFT BEHIND


As Dick ran from the telegraph office and looked about him in search of
the two foreigners, he saw them disappearing around a street corner a
few hundred yards away, but when he arrived at the same spot they were
nowhere in sight.  He dashed up the long street scouring each crossing
for a sight of them, but in vain.  The town was practically deserted.
Most of the smaller houses were open and vacant.  The stores and larger
dwellings were closed and locked.  The inhabitants had vacated when the
Federal forces occupied the town some weeks before.  La Paz was in too
great a danger of changing hands again to make it comfortable as a place
of habitation.

Small patrols of Federal soldiers sauntered about, but the majority had
returned to the entrenchments which surrounded the town on all sides.
Even women and children were noticeable by their absence, for the
families of the Latin-American soldiers as a rule accompany their
fighting men into the field, living with them on the firing line.  Often
the women themselves join in the fray, armed with machetes, and are most
savage and blood-thirsty opponents.

Failing to discover the whereabouts of the German and the Englishman,
Dick was at first at a loss as to his next step.  Then he recalled
having met at the station a few days before Colonel Solorzano Diaz,
nephew to the president of Nicaragua,, and second officer in command at
La Paz.  Undoubtedly this officer could give him information of the two
he sought, as it was improbable they could be inside the Federal lines
and not be known to him.

"Is Colonel Diaz in La Paz?" asked Dick of a group of soldiers standing
on a corner.

"Yes, Señor, he is at his headquarters."

"Take me to him at once!  I have important news for him!" demanded Dick.

The young soldier who had answered his query now volunteered to act as
guide, and after a ten minutes’ walk they came to the Colonel’s tent,
erected near a battery of field guns.  The smart, military-looking
orderly on duty there halted them and after inquiring their business, he
ushered them into the Colonel’s presence.

"You say you are an American and have important news for me?" asked the
handsome young Colonel, immaculately attired in a splendidly fitting
uniform.

"I have, Colonel, and will be glad to tell you what I know if I may see
you alone."

"First, explain how you come to be within our lines.  Your arrival has
never been reported to me, señor."

"I met the Colonel three days ago when I delivered a letter from the
Commanding Officer at Camp Pendleton.  I am a marine, Señor."

"Why are you dressed as you are, if such is the case?" and the officer
looked Dick over with suspicion in his eyes.

Briefly Dick gave his explanation, but before Diaz would consent to hear
the rest of his disclosures the orderly was directed to telephone
Frederico at the station to verify the statements.

Colonel Diaz was a graduate of an excellent military school in the
United States, and his command was remarkable for training and
discipline, and though Dick fussed over the delay, he nevertheless
admired the native officer for his caution.

Dick now saw that he had erred in not telegraphing to have the train
held at Nagarote until he could explain by wire to the marine officer in
command all the facts in order to permit that officer to govern his
future movements to better advantage.  While thinking of this, Colonel
Diaz entered the tent, having gone out in order to talk to Frederico in
person.

"You are Private Comstock, guard for Sergeant Dorlan, special messenger
for the American forces?" he stated in a questioning manner.

"I am."

"I will hear what you have to say.  Step outside, orderly, and take the
guard who brought this man here with you."  Then turning to Dick, he
said in a most agreeable tone, "Be seated, Señor, and proceed."

Dick now told of his two meetings with the German and Englishman, and of
the conversation he had so fortunately overheard on each occasion.

"Do you mean to say, Señor, that these two gentlemen, Señors Schumann
and Heffingwell, are the men you heard engaged thus?" asked Diaz in
amazement.

"If those are the names of the German and the Englishman I have
described, yes," answered Dick positively.

The black eyes of the officer flashed ominously, and a deep flush
mantled the smooth olive complexion.

"They will pay dearly for this, Señor.  Those two men have had many
concessions from my uncle, the president, in the past.  They have been
in Nicaragua for some years, and now I understand why they were ever
busy in travelling about on various pleas.  Sometimes it was to
investigate the mines, at others to visit the coffee plantations of
Diriamba or the rubber industry of the midlands. But this is not action!
Orderly," and the clear voice rang with decision, "find out at once if
Señors Schumann and Heffingwell have passed the outposts; if not they
are to be brought here immediately."

During the time they waited for the report Colonel Diaz paced up and
down the tent in deep thought, puffing great clouds of smoke from his
cigarette.

"The Captain commanding the outposts, sir, states the two foreigners and
escort of fifteen cavalrymen crossed the southern outpost fully ten
minutes ago.  Their passes were in due form and signed by yourself,
sir."

"Yes, I gave them permission to leave at any time that suited their
convenience, and provided an escort for their protection--the same men
who accompanied them in here two days ago with a pass through our lines
from General Pollito."

"Probably rebels in federal uniform," suggested Dick, "and the ones they
depended upon to start the fracas at the station had the train arrived
after nightfall."

"Yes, uniforms these days consist of little more than a ribbon to be
changed as it suits the fancy or the convenience, but the question is,
what should be done in the matter?  It is evident they can do nothing to
harm the train.  The road, which nearly parallels the track from here to
Managua, is in no shape for fast going.  I inspected these men the day
they arrived here.  Their horses were worn out and poor at best.  Even
the lay-up they have enjoyed would not put them in condition.  I will
acknowledge there have been times a man on a good horse could leave here
and arrive at the capital ahead of the train, but never unless it was
held up by carelessness on the part of the native engineers. Nearing
Managua the train has to descend some tortuous grades in the hills and
the wagon road is more direct and gives the horseman the advantage
during the last few kilometers."

"What do you propose to do, Colonel?" asked Dick.  "Could you not send
your men out after them and bring them back?"

"I cannot spare the men.  We are too few here already, and at any moment
we are expecting an attack.  Also I have no absolute proof of their
perfidy which would justify me in taking such drastic measures.  They
are under the protection of my superiors, and though I believe your
story, unfortunately I am not the only one who would need to be
convinced.  The best that I can do is to telegraph my suspicions to all
points and have them watched carefully from now on."

A scraping on the canvas at the front of the tent attracted Colonel
Diaz’s attention.

"Come in," he called, and then as his orderly appeared he added, "What
is it you wish?"

"A telephone message from the station states that the telegraph wires
between here and Nagarote have been cut, sir," reported the soldier, and
at a nod from his superior he withdrew.

"They are at it again," said Diaz quietly; "no sooner do we send out and
repair it than the line is cut at another point."

For a few seconds the officer and the young marine sat lost in thought.
That some disaster threatened the train bearing the battery of field
guns and the marines had become a conviction in Dick’s mind.  He could
not forget the Englishman’s question, "Will the trick work?" and the
German’s reply in the affirmative.  Dick felt sure that this "trick" was
to occur before Managua was reached, and this being so, what could be
done to prevent it?  Could it be prevented?  It was certain that he
could not count on help from Colonel Diaz, and now, adding to the
difficulty, the wires were down.

Glancing through the tent opening Dick saw beneath a tree, held by a
uniformed orderly, two spirited horses, saddled and bridled.  The sight
at once suggested action to the mind of the worried boy.  Anything was
better than this inactivity. Furthermore, Dick knew that if he stayed on
here at La Paz he should never witness the stirring events which were
bound to follow the arrival of the artillery at Managua.  Here was a
means of going forward and joining his companions.  Possibly too he
might learn something of advantage by following the route taken by
Schumann and his band.  It was worth trying.

"Colonel Diaz, may I borrow horses from you and a guide?  I wish to
proceed to Managua at once."

"Do you ride--ride well, I mean?"

[Illustration: "DO YOU RIDE?"]

"Yes," replied Dick.

"It is sixty-three kilometers by rail, and about fifty-eight by road to
Managua, señor.  It is possible even to cut that distance with a man who
is thoroughly acquainted with the country.  A good horseman, well
mounted, should reach there before dark."

"May I have the horses and a guide, Colonel?" and this time Dick looked
enviously at the horses outside.  Following the glance Diaz now espied
the impatiently waiting animals.

"Ah!  And did you mean my horses?  Well, Señor, they are the only two
horses in this camp capable of making the journey," and he said it with
a pardonable touch of pride.  "Those are not native ponies.  They are
thoroughbreds.  I love them as a father would his sons, and----" he
hesitated.

"I will give them good care," said Dick, who, to tell the truth, had no
idea that the Colonel would entrust two such animals in his keeping when
he had asked for horses, but now he thought possibly this would be the
outcome of his request, and thought he understood why Diaz made his
involuntary pause.

"That is not the only consideration, Señor Comstock.  Those two horses
are almost as well known as their master.  You would be in constant
danger of attack along the way, and seeing you, an American Marine,
riding my horse, every rebel you encountered would do his best to stop
you.  They would not hesitate to shoot in case they could not capture
you otherwise.  Besides, those whom you seek are between you and your
destination and they would surely hold you up.  No, the chances are
against you ten to one."

"Were they a thousand to one, Colonel, I would wish to make the
attempt."

A smile of understanding lit the face of the officer and, rising, he
gripped Dick’s hand with warmth.

"I understand!  It is the call of duty--of patriotism--and for you my
heart holds naught but admiration, and my hand withholds nothing.  You
may take my horses, Señor, and may the good God who watches over brave
men watch over you on your ride to the assistance of your fellow
countrymen."

Colonel Diaz now called the orderly who brought the horses to the tent
door, and turning again to Dick, he said:

"Tomas is an old servant in my household, Señor. He will accompany you
and be under your orders. This paper will pass you through any of the
Federal lines.  Again, Señor, I wish you luck.  Adios!"

Less than five minutes later Dick, mounted on the powerful black horse
and followed by Tomas Casanave, a full-blooded Indian, was swinging
along beside the railroad on a path which his guide informed him would
save nearly a kilometer at the start.

At the first pond of water they came to, Dick ordered a halt.
Dismounting and ordering Tomas to do likewise, he gathered up a quantity
of mud and began smearing it over the velvety coat of the animal he
rode, over his clothes and shoes, even putting some on his face.

"And why does the Señor do this?" asked Tomas, looking on in amazement
at the proceeding.

"The Colonel told me his horses are known from here to Managua by every
rebel along the line, but they are well known because they are always so
well groomed, for one thing."

"I care for the Colonel’s horses, Señor," said Tomas, simply, but with
much pride in his voice.

"By spreading this mud over the horses," continued Dick, "it may help
deceive persons whom we meet.  Now, Tomas, turn those saddle cloths,
smear mud on the trappings and harness, and tie your coat in a roll back
of your saddle.  Also hide your carbine and its boot where you will be
able to find it on your return, and last, but by no means least, remove
that blue band from your sombrero."

Tomas followed Dick’s advice, and by the time he had finished no one
would suspect either of them of belonging to any military organization.
In fact the Tramps’ Union, if there be one, would have disowned them.

"In case we are held up you are to answer all questions.  I will tie
this handkerchief about my neck, and you may state I am ill and we are
hurrying to Managua to consult a doctor about my throat, which pains me
and prevents me from speaking.  Now, Tomas, we have lost time enough.
You take the lead and I will follow.  Save every minute, but also
remember these horses must carry us to the end of the journey."

Springing into the saddle they instantly broke into the long lope which
was to be their gait for the coming hours.

When told of the task before him by Colonel Diaz, Tomas had been
anything but pleased at the prospect.  He knew the danger of running the
gauntlet of rebel bands infesting the country between La Paz and the
capital city, and he was filled with apprehension.  Dick’s preparations
won his admiration, and the boy’s knowledge of Spanish was another
agreeable surprise.  He began to believe they might win through, rebels
or not.

That the foreigners, who had a half hour’s start, were following the
same road, was soon discovered by the Indian.  Accustomed to reading
signs of the trail he interpreted them for Dick’s benefit.  Once he
dismounted just before crossing a small stream which trailed across the
road and carefully examined the ground on the far side near the water’s
edge.

"They passed here less than ten minutes ago, Señor," he said as he
remounted and splashed across the brook.  "I can tell this by the water
which dripped from their horses, and the degree of moisture still
remaining."

On they went to the accompaniment of the thud of the well-shod hoofs,
the creak of leather, the jangle of bit and spur.  Tomas was still
watching the road, when without apparent reason he stopped.

"What is the trouble?" asked Dick, reining in the black charger on
arriving abreast of his companion, but before answering the native
looked about him cautiously.

"I have lost their trail, Señor.  They have left the road."

"Which way did they turn, Tomas?"

"I cannot tell without going back, but I believe to the right."

"Is there any cross trail or road?"

"No, and there is no reason that I know for them to leave the road."

"Why do you suppose they have done so?"

"Quien sabe?"[#] answered Tomas, giving his shoulders a shrug which
carried as much meaning as his words.  "Possibly they are in hiding and
watching us to ascertain if they are being followed. If so, it would not
be wise to retrace our steps in case it is your desire to learn what
became of them. But now that we are evidently beyond them, I think we
are fortunate, and would suggest we proceed at once on our way.  So far
we have been unusually lucky, having met with no rebels."


[#] Quien sabe--Who knows?


That there was wisdom in the Indian’s words could not be denied, but
Dick felt a distinct sense of disappointment as he looked about him in
the vain hope of seeing something of those they had been following so
closely.  About a half mile to the west an almost bare hill stuck its
summit high into the glaring blue sky.  Its slopes were cone shaped and
fringed with a short stubby growth.  In spite of disappointment, it was
impossible to see the beautiful symmetry of the hill without admiring
it, and as Dick watched, a cloud of smoke burst forth from its apex.
Knowing the volcanic nature of the country he was nevertheless surprised
at the sight, as Mount Momotombo, rising from the waters of Lake
Managua, was the only active volcano in this immediate neighborhood.

"Is that small hill an active volcano, Tomas?" he asked.

The native looked long and searchingly at the smoking hilltop.  At first
his face expressed fear and amazement, followed in turn by a look of
question, and then of understanding.

"No, no, Señor, it is not a volcano.  It is a signal. Someone is sending
smoke signals."

"Smoke signals?  What do they mean?"

"They may mean anything.  It is a method used by my people long ago and
often resorted to by the natives of Nicaragua.  If you notice the smoke
is interrupted; sometimes long columns, sometimes short clouds or
puffs."

"Are you able to read the message?"

"No! one has to know the code, Señor."

"If I had field glasses, it would be possible to see who is sending the
message," said Dick, straining his eyes to discover if he could detect
any movement on the hill.

"There are binoculars in the saddle-bags belonging to Colonel Diaz,"
exclaimed the native.

Dick placed his hand in the bag, which in the haste of departure from La
Paz had not been removed, and brought forth a powerful pair of prismatic
glasses.  Adjusting them to his eyes, the cone-like hill appeared to be
almost within reach of his hand.  On the hilltop, more or less screened
by the scrubby growth, were a number of men standing about a fire which
gave forth a thick volume of smoke.  Two of the men were moving a
blanket back and forth over the fire, which caused the smoke to rise in
irregular clouds.  Half-way down the hill he saw about twenty horses
with a few mounted men tending them.

Again he searched the hill.  He was convinced these men made up the band
whose trail they had followed from La Paz, and if he could discover the
two foreigners his suspicions would be verified.  As he watched he saw a
man pointing to the southward. The others now turned their heads to
look, and then from the shade of a boulder, he clearly saw both Schumann
and Heffingwell arise and reaching for their binoculars, focus on the
distant point.

"It is our party, Tomas," said Dick; "they are all looking to the south
and evidently pleased at what they see there."

"That indicates their signal is answered," replied Tomas.

"It must be so, Tomas, for they are scattering their fire, and some are
trailing down the hill.  All have left now, except the two foreigners.
They are apparently reading a paper between them, though I cannot quite
make out what it is.  Yes, it was a paper, for the German rolled it up
and threw it on the ground near the rock on which they had been
sitting."

"The message or the code, Señor," stated Tomas; "if we had it----"

"We shall have it, for I am going to get it.  It is too good an
opportunity to let pass, and even though it were nothing, I should not
feel I had done my best if I left here without it."

"We are in plain view from the hill, Señor.  If we remain here longer we
may be detected."

"Never fear, they won’t get us, but we must take to cover until they
pass, and then secure the paper."

"As the Señor wishes; but having let them precede us again we may have
difficulty in passing them in turn and reaching Managua in safety."

"We must take the chance," replied Dick, with no thought of wavering,
and after replacing the glasses he led the way deep into a rough tangle
of high trees and dense undergrowth at the roadside. Here they awaited
impatiently the reappearance of the horsemen.

Soon the clatter of hoofs and the shouts of men greeted their ears, and
they came galloping up the road.

"Seem to be in a big hurry, all of a sudden," mused Dick as he peeped
through the green branches at their approach.

With the completion of his thought the blood in his veins seemed to
congeal, for the black horse which he rode, hearing the oncoming troop,
pricked his ears, and then before Dick had time to grab the quivering
nostrils to prevent it a loud ear-splitting neigh filled the silent wood
with its tell-tale message.



                             CHAPTER XXIII

                        DICK MAKES A FLYING LEAP


Too late the boy’s firm fingers closed upon the nose of the black horse,
and fearing a repetition of the alarm Dick pinched for dear life,
meanwhile peering apprehensively through the surrounding mass of green
foliage.  To his mystification the road was clear of any living soul.

Turning anxiously to question the Indian, he caught him in the midst of
choking back an amused chuckle.  Not understanding the situation, and
believing the guide was suffering from a stroke of apoplexy, Dick began
to pound him vigorously on the back.

"Bastante, bastante![#]  I am not choking," exclaimed Tomas as soon as
he was able to stop his fit of laughter.  "Pardon me, my friend; I
expected your horse to send out his challenge, but I knew those in the
road would never hear it.  They were too noisy themselves.  In
consequence, I could not refrain from a little enjoyment at your
expense."


[#] Bastante--Spanish for "enough."


"You mean to say they did not hear at all this black
fog-horn-fourteen-inch-double-barreled-siren-and-brass-band all rolled
into one?  Why!  It was enough to awaken the dead.  Boy! but it sure
made me sweat," and Dick wiped the beads of perspiration from his
forehead.

"They heard nothing, Señor, and at the rate they were going they are
well on their way by now."

"Then, Tomas, let us make haste to get that paper," and without further
words they turned their horses’ heads in the direction of the cone-like
hill.  On arriving at the point where those before them had left their
horses Dick, dismounting and leaving Tomas in charge, climbed the
remaining distance alone.

At the top of the hill he saw the dying remnants of the scattered fire,
and then with a glad cry he sprang forward to pick up a crumpled ball of
paper lying dangerously close to a glowing ember.

Seating himself he smoothed out the sheets. Upon one was a rude sketch
in ink; the other was filled with writing in Spanish.  Feverishly he
translated it aloud.


"Señor: Everything is prepared, and when I see your smoke signals I will
know the exact hour to spring my surprise.  The rock is in position to
roll on the track at the curve marked X, where the arrow points.
Crushed beneath it, as if accidentally by his own carelessness, will be
the body of a Federalista, a close friend of the President.  In his
pockets will be found the papers proving conclusively that the Federals
planned to wreck the American train.  Even the money paid for the work
will be in the dead man’s pocket, untouched.  If the train arrives at
the spot in the night, our scheme cannot fail.  If by day, and it should
be discovered in time to prevent a bad accident, the proof will be there
anyway, and the northern meddlers must then believe Diaz and his
adherents are implicated. Viva el Republic!  Viva Mena!

"CANDIDO.

"P.S.  My men have driven away those peons who fill the tender with fuel
at the wood pile south of Mateare, and that will cause more delay."


Having finished the letter, Dick studied the map, but it was so
inaccurate and he was so little acquainted with the country that he
gleaned no real information from it.  He believed that the curves
depicted represented the tortuous stretch of rail a few kilometers north
of Managua.  There the road turned and twisted through a group of hills,
and in many places the sides of the cuts were lined with rocks of great
size and weight.  Often these had been loosed in the past, either by
natural causes or otherwise, and, falling into the right of way, caused
many serious accidents.  Perhaps Tomas would be able to recognize the
spot, and Dick ran down the hill to question the waiting soldier.

"Here, Tomas, read this aloud to me," he demanded, thrusting the letter
into the guide’s hands. The reading proved that Dick’s opportunities for
learning the Spanish tongue had been used to good advantage.


       *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *


[Illustration: Map Showing Position of Rock and Track]

NOTE:--1. This map is very inaccurate, but nevertheless is clear enough
to designate the position of the rock and track.

2.  The meaning of the Spanish words is as follows: Lago de
Managua=*Lake of Managua*.  Ferrocarril=*railroad*.  Aqui--_here_.
Montes=*mountains*.  Camino=*road*.


       *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *


"I know the exact place, Señor," said Tomas, and his features reflected
Dick’s own excitement.  "It is one hour’s hard riding from here, and
Señor, look!  There is the train pulling away from the filling station
now.  You may know it to be so because of the trail of black smoke.  We
can never reach the spot before the train.  We are too late, and soon it
will be dark and we cannot then ride as fast."

"We must make the trial," said Dick, mounting his restive steed.  "Come,
lead the way.  Do not spare the horses now," and with the Indian in
advance they were soon clattering down the hill at breakneck speed.  On
reaching the road the Indian, bending low in the saddle, for the first
time touched his horse with the spur, and the splendid animal responded
to the unaccustomed punishment as if shot from a catapult.

Side by side the two sped along the roadway towards their distant goal.
Again the rails and track ran parallel and Tomas, taking advantage of
his knowledge of short cuts, turned from the highway and led the chase
along the narrow trail beside the tracks, never once stopping the
fearful speed of his mount.

Suddenly from behind them came the long wailing whistle of a locomotive.
Glancing over his shoulder Dick saw a few hundred yards behind a fast
approaching train.  This could not be the troop train, he was sure.
Once more he heard the whistle warning him to get clear of the track.

"Tomas," he called, but the Indian gave no sign of having heard his cry.

Another look behind showed the train rushing on with no slackening of
speed.  Still Tomas continued in his mad flight.  Dick tried to swerve
his horse from the trail beside the track, fearing that when the train
overtook them the animal might become frightened and dash against the
side of the train; but now the black horse was infected with the
fighting spirit, and so long as the bay horse in the lead was ahead just
so long would he keep up the heart-breaking run.  Dick could feel the
powerful muscles beneath him working with the smoothness of well-oiled
machinery, and in spite of the enormous strides with which they covered
the ground, he hardly rose from his saddle, so perfect was the action.

Then to Dick came a new thought.  Unless the train ahead was delayed he
never could hope to reach the danger point in time to warn the troops.
He knew his attempt was futile, so why continue! This train now
thundering along so close behind might catch up with and stop the
artillery train. But how could he let those on board know of the danger?
To attempt to flag the train was useless now.  Had he thought of it
before it might have been possible, but it was not very likely, under
the most favorable conditions, that they would stop on the signal of two
lone and unrecognized horsemen alongside the track.  Should he attempt
to interfere with its progress, the chances were that the train
guard--men from his own corps, possibly his own company, would shoot him
as a suspiciously acting native: "shoot first and inquire after," was a
fundamental principle in these treacherous revolutionists.

His mind, naturally active in summing up situations in their true light
in times of stress, and quick to formulate his plans, saw only one way
left open to him.  He must board the moving train.  He must make the
leap from his saddle in some way, grasp hand-guard, brake, door, window
or sash, and hang there until those on the train could pull him to
safety.

Even as he made his resolve the engine, foot by foot, was gliding ahead
of him.  From the cab window the engineer, a sailor from one of the
ships of the Navy, watched with deepest interest what he believed was a
vain race between two "loco Spigs"[#] and the train, and turning to his
grimy fireman he ordered him to keep up the steam pressure at all costs
and "Durn the expense."


[#] Loco--Spanish for "foolish."


That the horses could keep up their terrific speed for any length of
time was out of the question. The Indian’s horse appeared to have taken
matters in his own hands and was running away, though Tomas was now
doing his best to hold in the excited brute.

Now the tender and the first car had passed Dick.  Another quick glance
from the corner of his eye and he saw there were but three more cars in
the train, and when his eye returned to the narrow trail he saw it
gradually drawing away from the rails.  Unless it returned beside the
track within the next few rods his last opportunity would be gone.

On the train every window was filled with excited faces watching this
uneven race between God-made and man-made power, but they tried to
encourage the riders with shouts and yells and much waving of hats and
hands.  Dick heard and saw the "rooters," but beneath his cap there was
no change of expression; his face was white and stern with a bulldog
tenacity of purpose.

Now the second car had drawn past him, and the middle of the third car
drew opposite the straining horse.  Would the trail never get nearer?
Must he in a last desperate endeavor pull with all his might on the left
rein and cross the rough ground in order to bring the laboring animal
against the side of the cars?  If he did it meant almost certain
destruction.

Now the fourth car appeared, nosing forward on his flank, yet he dared
not take his eye from the trail.  Must he leave it and make the dash
across the rough uneven space?  He would wait just a few strides more.
Then once again he found the narrow path converging towards the tracks.
Already Tomas was racing beside the car, ten feet in advance.  Would the
black horse be equal to the effort?  With a wild yell the boy dug the
spurs into the flanks of the steed, and with a gasp of surprise the
horse bounded forward as never before.  For a second the painted side of
the clattering coach was like a dull smear on Dick’s blurred
vision--then he leaned far out in his saddle to his left, his clutching
fingers slid along the beveled edges of the car’s wooden frame, they
gripped the iron hand-rail at the rear end of the platform, the next
moment he was pulled from his saddle, his feet struck the steps and with
a last, final effort he fell breathless on the floor, held in safety by
the strong hands of two astonished train guards.

"Well, I’ll be jiggered, if it ain’t Dick Comstock," exclaimed Private
Jones, late of the _Denver’s_ guard.  "I ain’t seen you since we
separated at Colon.  Say, Dick, what in the dickens are you doing here,
and where did you come from?  I sure am some glad to see you."

"Wait a minute; let him get his breath before you take it all away again
by making him answer your questions," said the other marine, assisting
Dick to his feet, and looking at this sudden arrival with unfeigned
admiration.  "My word, Bo, but you beat any movie picture hero I ever
seen.  By the way, your friend back there doesn’t seem to know what’s
become of you."

"I’m thinking he must believe the Angel Gabriel come along and took you
up in his chariot," said Jones, whose knowledge of Biblical characters
and their history was fragmentary.

Far down the track Tomas could be seen halted in the middle of the rails
scratching his head while he gazed after the train in evident
perplexity.

"I guess he’ll figure it out.  He’s a wise old Indian," said Dick; then
the reason for his being on the train struck him with its full
significance, and, "Who’s in charge of the train?" he asked.

"Why, Dick, our old friend, Sergeant Bruckner. He’s up forward on the
engine.  Why?  What’s up?"

But Dick did not stop to answer.  Roughly pushing his way through the
crowd of natives gathered at the end of the car to see what manner of
man it was who rode hair-breadth races with railroad trains, he ran
through the remaining coaches to the front end of the train, climbed
over the tender, now nearly empty of wood, and finding the sergeant, he
told him what he had done and what there was still to do.

"You say the artillery train left the vood station about tventy minutes
ago?" asked Bruckner, reverting to his v-habit in his excitement.

"Yes, and they will necessarily have to go slowly.  It is getting dark,
and I believe we can catch them before too late."

"But ve also have to stop and refill with vood, and as ve von’t find any
men there to do the vork for us, it’s going to be a very slow business."

"Slow?  Why, if necessary, we’ll make every passenger on this train lend
a hand, willingly or otherwise," said Dick.

"Well, here we are," called the engineer who, though keeping his eye on
the rails ahead, was an eager listener.  "Come, all hands, get everyone
on the job, and I’ll lend a hand myself."

Never was wood hustled into a tender of the Ferrocarril de Nicaragua so
fast as it was that October evening, and when the fireman finally
announced that he had sufficient, the ear-splitting whistle had barely
died away before the old wood burner was surging on into the gathering
darkness, her headlight streaming on the lines of shining rails ahead,
making them appear like two bars of yellow gold stretching on into
infinity.

"If there are any ties out, fishplates gone or spikes driven between the
rails this night we’re goners," said the fireman to Dick as the two
worked, throwing log after log into the capacious maw of the engine,
where the draft seemed quickly to turn them into a mass of dark red
cinders which streamed out of the great stack and left a glowing trail
as of a comet’s tail following them through the night.

"I’ve been with old man Strong, the engineer, every trip he’s made, and
I never seen him light out like this.  I almost believe we’re making
forty-five miles, and mebbe more than that, especially on the down
grades.  Wow!  Man dear, but he took that curve on two wheels, and it’s
a wonder we stayed on the track when he struck the reverse.  What’s his
idea of pullin’ the whistle every two seconds, anyhow?"

"He’s started sounding the ’S.O.S.’ calls," said Dick, "hoping the train
ahead will hear us and wait to see what’s up."

"How many miles have we got left to catch ’em?"

"I don’t know," answered Dick, as for a moment he ceased his labors, and
holding to the rail at the side of the cab peered ahead along the
parallel lines of light; "it can’t be much more, for we are in the hills
now, and on the down grade.  If we are to do any good at all it must be
soon."

The next moment there was a long weird shriek of the whistle, then the
grinding of brake-shoes on the wheels as the signal for the train guards
to man the wheel brakes followed in staccato blasts. Groaning,
straining, shaking, screeching, bumping and thumping, the train
slackened its speed, crawled for a few yards, and then with one last
resounding rattle it stopped, and there, but a few short yards ahead,
waiting to discover the reason for the wild signals for help they had
picked up, stood the officers and men of the artillery train, safe and
unharmed.

Owing to a "hot-box" they had been forced to stop and repair at a
station called Brasiles.  While there they discovered that the lines of
wire either side of the station had been cut and later, hearing the wild
whistling of the engine in their rear as they proceeded cautiously on
their way, and believing rightly that the signal was meant for them, it
was decided best to await the arrival of the news before going further.

It was Richard Comstock who, a little later from the seat above the
cow-catcher of the leading train, gave a shout of satisfaction.
Rounding the last abrupt curve in the hills before descending to the
straight road-bed of the plain, he espied a great mass of rock thrown
directly across the rails.  Had the train been other than creeping along
through the cuts and defiles a serious accident would have followed
undoubtedly.

Slowly the train drew up to the dangerous obstacle, and then, true to
the contents of the letter which Dick had delivered into the hands of
the Marine Officer in charge, they found crushed beneath the mass of
rock the body of a man in whose pockets was the letter and the money,
which, if the truth had not been known, might have changed the pages of
Nicaragua’s history.



                              CHAPTER XXIV

                       THE SITUATION WELL IN HAND


Zoom!  Whiz-z-z, and then a distant bursting cloud of cottony white
smoke high in the blue sky over the hill called Coyotepe.  Soon the
waiting ear heard the sharp explosion of that seemingly soft fluffy
cotton-ball, which in reality carried death in its wake, for with the
bursting came hundreds of tiny bits of steel and bullets seeking out the
enemy behind their entrenchments.  And through the day and the night
following the sound of the field guns prepared the way for the attacking
marines, sailors and Federal troops the next morning.

At the first break of day two battalions of United States Marines began
their advance.  In reserve, a battalion of sailors, as yet untried in
land warfare, fretted and fussed at their position behind the actual
firing line, and some even rolled in the yellow mud till their white
suits were the color of marine khaki and then, rifle in hand, sneaked
away from their command and joined their brothers in arms. As for the
Nicaraguans, supposed to attack but not relishing the job, they delayed
and delayed, only too happy to let Colonel Pendleton and his command
assume the task of attempting to drive Zeladon and his insurrectos from
Coyotepe and Barrancas.  Deep down in their hearts they felt that what
no Nicaraguan army had yet accomplished could never be carried to a
successful issue by these few pale-faced Americans from the North.

No!  It seemed that those who held these two hills which commanded the
road and railroad, north and south, could never be driven from them.
Yet, little by little, step by step, up the rocky, slippery slopes,
struggled the thin brown lines of marines. On through briar and bush;
over jagged cliff or bullet-strewn open space; on and ever on.  Through
prepared traps of barbed wire; cutting, slashing, firing, sweating,
swearing, always upward, till finally in one mad, glad, glorious,
soul-stirring, blood-thrilling rush, they mounted the earthworks on the
hilltop’s crest, in spite of rocks, in spite of cannon, in spite of
rifle, in spite of machine-gun fire, and there at bayonet’s point
engaged in hand-to-hand conflict with enraged men and wild Amazonian
women who wielded bloody machetes with fanatical frenzy.

With those who shared in the glory of that conquest was Richard
Comstock, his breath coming in short, labored gasps; the rifle he held,
taken from a fallen comrade far down the slope, still burning hot, and
the knife-like blade of the bayonet shining brightly in the early
morning sunlight.

And the marines accomplished this supposedly impossible task in less
than forty minutes from the beginning of their advance.  Is it any
wonder that the natives of the countries where the fighters visit and
uphold the glory of the stars and stripes, honor and respect them,
individually and collectively?

After the pursuit of the fleeing rebels the Federal troops, encouraged
by the unbelievable success of their allies, attacked, took and sacked
the town of Masaya in true native style, which always involves useless
destruction and uncalled-for brutality.

The "handwriting on the wall" was now unmistakable and when later in the
day some of the victorious troops and the battery of field guns were
entrained and started for Leon, the rebels in that city gave up all hope
of ever putting their candidate into office.

Carrying despatches on the first train north went Sergeant Dorlan and
his guard, Dick Comstock, and in those despatches was a very
complimentary letter to Dick’s immediate commanding officer which told
of his timely warning and the manner of its accomplishment.

Barrancas and Coyotepe were taken on October fourth, and on the sixth
long lines of marines and sailors were seen leaving Camp Pendleton.
That the rebels had agreed to surrender and lay down their arms without
a fight was very much doubted, and Lieutenant Colonel Long, who had
charge of the coming occupation, was going to enter the town in force
and take no chances of a possible ambush.

Immediately after reveille the first troops had quietly reënforced the
company already on duty at the railroad station.  This was done without
incident, and then on three sides of the city the forces began their
advance.  The rebel troops, knowing that their leaders, Generals Rivas
and Osorio, had fled, had spent the night in drinking and debauchery. As
the main column debauched into the principal street and the excited,
inflamed wearers of the red cockades saw the stars and stripes of the
United States flaunting in the breeze, they resorted to their usual
street fighting tactics.

Street by street the marines advanced.  Every inch of the way was
disputed and the bullets whizzed and cracked, sang and stung; taking
their tally of wounded and dead.

"Dick, me lad, I’d give me old pipe, I would, to be able to be on ahead
with the advance instead of here with the colors, much as I love ’em,"
announced Dorlan as he stood in the shelter of an overhanging roof and
watched the windows of a pretentious building on his right.

Reaching a street corner or alley a little later it was found that the
natives had resorted to their brutal, inhuman tactics in dealing even
with civilized troops.  A sailor, stripped of his clothing and
mutilated, was lying in the roadway.  Perhaps he had lost his section
and wandering here trying to locate it, was set upon by the cruel
natives.

"Ah! a sight like that makes the very blood in me bile," said Mike,
shaking his fist in the direction of the dodging opponents far up the
street; "if I knew the feller what did that to the poor flatfoot,[#] I’d
be a brute meself and tear him to pieces with me bare hands."


[#] "Flatfoot"--Marine Corps slang for a sailor.


"Look out, Dorlan," yelled Dick, and falling flat on the rough cobble
stones in the middle of the street he emptied a clip of cartridges into
a doorway which that moment was flung open, and from which a half dozen
rifle barrels were pointing from behind a rough barricade.  But he did
not stop the volley of shots which followed, and the heavy leaden slugs
splashed, pattered, and flattened all about the little color guard.
They rained against the walls of the buildings on either hand, gouging
out great chunks of mortar and plaster to a depth of several inches, and
one bullet, partly spent, struck Dick in the shoulder, penetrated to the
bone and lodged there.

"I guess I’m hit, old pal," he said weakly to Mike, after they had
silenced the fighters behind the barricade and had gone on for a couple
of blocks.  "I thought it was only a scratch, but the blood’s running
down my back, and----" but just then it seemed as though a great
thunder-storm was descending upon the city; the sky grew black and the
darkness came so swiftly that he could not see where to step, and with a
sob he fell into the arms of his faithful friend.


"After all, it is not much more than a scratch; it is lack of sleep and
nourishment during the last few days," said the surgeon, handing Dick a
piece of lead he had recently removed from the boy’s wound, "but I have
recommended that you be sent back to Corinto, where you can receive
proper attention on board ship."

"But is the fighting all over?" asked Dick weakly.

"Surest thing you know, my boy, for ’the marines have landed and have
the situation well in hand,’ as the papers always say," answered the
surgeon smiling.

"Thanks for the Navy’s bringing us here," added Dick with a wan smile,
and then he dropped off into a much needed peaceful sleep.


Two days later as he lay on his white bunk in the sick bay of the U.S.S.
_Buffalo_, steaming southward to Panama, and the wonderful hospital at
Ancon, a letter was handed him.  On opening it he found a document
appointing him a corporal in the United States Marine Corps.  Also
enclosed was a very complimentary letter from the Commanding Officer of
Marines ashore, thanking him for his excellent work during the exciting
days of the campaign, and at the end he read with satisfaction that,
owing to his information, a certain German and his accomplice had been
arrested by the Government authorities and were on their way to the
coast, where they were to be deported, and forbidden ever to return.





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