Captain Jinks,
Hero
By Ernest Crosby
(New
York: Funk and Wagnalls, 1902).
Chapter VI
Off for the
Cubapines
By
the next morning's mail Sam's commission arrived, and with it orders to report
at once at the city of St. Kisco, whence a transport was about to sail on a date
which gave Sam hardly time to catch it. He must hurry at once to town and get
his new uniforms for which he had been fitted the week before, and then proceed
by the fastest trains on the long journey to the distant port without even
paying his parents a farewell visit. He found Cleary busily engaged in making
his final arrangements, and persuaded him to cut them short and travel with him.
Sam had hardly time to take breath from the moment of his departure from
Slowburgh to the evening on which he and Cleary at last sat down in their
sleeping-car. His friend heaved a deep sigh.
"Well,
here we are actually off and I haven't got anything to do for a change. This is
what I call comfort."
"Yes,"
said Sam, "but I wish we were in the Cubapines. This inaction is terrible
while so much is at stake. It's a consolation to know that I am going to help to
save the country, but it is tantalizing to wait so long. Then in your own way
you're going to help the country too," he added, thinking that he might
seem to Cleary to be monopolizing the honors.
"I'll
help it by helping you," laughed Cleary. "I've got another contract
for you. You see the magazines are worth working. They handle the news after the
newspapers are through with it, and they don't interfere with each other. So I
got permission to tackle them from The Lyre, and I saw the editor of Scribblers'
Magazine yesterday and it's a go, if things come out as I expect."
"What
do you mean?" asked Sam.
"Why,
you are to write articles for them, a regular series, and the price is to be
fixed on a sliding scale according to your celebrity at the time of each
publication. It won't be less than a hundred dollars a page, and may run up to a
thousand. It wouldn't be fair to fix the price ahead. If the articles run say
six months, the last article might be worth ten times as much as the
first."
"Yes,
it might be better written," said Sam.
"Oh,
I don't mean that. But your name might be more of an ad. by that time."
"I've
never written anything to print in my life," said Sam, "and I'm not
sure I can."
"That
doesn't make any difference. I'll write them for you. You might be too modest
anyhow. I can't think of a good name for the series. It ought to be 'The
Autobiography of a Hero,' or 'A Modern Washington in the Cubapines,' or
something like that. What do you think?"
"I'm
sure I don't know," said Sam. "I must leave that to you. They sound to
me rather too flattering, but if you are sure that is the way those things are
always done, I won't make any objection. You might ask Mr. Jonas. Where is
he?"
"He's
going on next week. He's the greatest fellow I ever saw. Everything he touches
turns to gold. He's got his grip on everything in sight on those blessed islands
already. He's scarcely started, and he could sell out his interests there for a
cold million to-day. It's going to be a big company to grab everything. He's
called it the 'Benevolent Assimilation Company, Limited'; rather a good name, I
think, tho perhaps 'Unlimited' would be nearer the truth."
"Yes,"
said Sam. "It shows our true purposes. I hope the Cubapinos will rejoice
when they hear the name."
"A big company to grab everything ... The 'Benevolent Assimilation Company,
Limited.'"
"Perhaps
they won't. There's no counting on those people. I'm sick of them before I've
seen them. I'm just going to tell what a lot of skins they are when I begin
writing for The Lyre. By the way, did you have your photographs taken at
Slowburgh?"
"No,"
said Sam, "I forgot all about it, but I can write home about the old ones,
and I've got one in cadet uniform taken at East Point."
"Well,
we mustn't forget to have you taken at St. Kisco, and we can mail the photos to The
Lyre, but you must be careful not to overlook a thing like that again. The
people will want to know what the hero who saved the country looked like."
"Even
if I don't do anything very wonderful," said Sam, "and I hope I shall,
I shall be taking part in a great work, and doing my share of civilizing and
Christianizing a barbarous country. They have no conception of our civilized and
refined manners, of the sway of law and order, of all our civilized customs, the
result of centuries of improvement and effort."
Cleary
picked up a newspaper to read.
"What's
that other newspaper lying there?" asked Sam.
"That's
The Evening Star; do you want it?" and he handed it to him.
"Good
Lord! what's that frightful picture?" said Cleary, as Sam opened the paper.
"Oh, I see; it's that lynching yesterday. Why, it's from a snap-shot;
that's what I call enterprise! There's the darkey tied to the stake, and the
flames are just up to his waist. My! how he squirms. It's fearful, isn't it? And
look at the crowd! There are small boys bringing wood, and women and girls
looking on, and, upon my word, a baby in arms, too! I know that square very
well. I've often been there. That's the First Presbyterian Church there behind
the stake. Rather a handsome building," and Cleary turned back to his own
paper, while Sam settled down in his corner to read how the leading citizens
gathered bones and charred flesh as mementoes and took them home to their
children. No one could have guessed what he was reading from his expression, for
his face spoke of nothing but a guileless conscience and a contented heart.
One
day at St. Kisco gave just time enough for the photographs, and most of the day
was devoted to them. Sam was taken in twenty poses--in the act of leading his
troops in a breach, giving the order to fire, charging bayonets himself with a
musket supposed to have been taken from a dead foe, standing with his arms
folded and his cap pulled over his eyes in the trenches, and waving his cap on a
bastion in the moment of triumph. Cleary lay down so that his friend might be
pictured with his foot upon his prostrate form. The photographer was one who
made a specialty of such work, and was connected with a cinematograph company.
"If
you have good luck, sir, and become famous," he said, "as your friend
thinks you will, we'll fight your battles over again over there in the vacant
lot; and then we'll work these in, and you'll soon be in every variety show in
the country."
"But
I may be mounted on horseback," said Sam.
"That's
so," said Cleary. "Can't you get a horse somewhere and take him on
that?"
"We
never do that, sir. Here's a saddle. Just sit on it across this chair, and when
the time comes we'll work it in all right. We'll have a real horse over in the
lot." And thus Sam was taken straddling a chair.
They
left orders to send copies of the photographs to Homeville, Slowburgh, and to
Miss Hunter who was still at East Point, and the remainder to The Lyre.
That very evening they boarded the transport and at daybreak sailed away over
the great ocean. The ship was filled by various drafts for different regiments
and men-of-war. Sam's regiment was already at the seat of war, but there were
several captains and lieutenants assigned to it on board, as well as thirty or
forty men. Sam felt entirely comfortable again for the first time since his
resignation at East Point. He was in his element, the military world, once more.
Everything was ruled by drum, fife, and bugle. He found the same feeling of
intense patriotism again, which civilians can not quite attain to, however they
may make the attempt. The relations between some of the officers seemed to Sam
somewhat strange. The highest naval officer on board, a captain, was not on
speaking terms with the highest army officer, a brigadier-general of volunteers.
This breach apparently set the fashion, for all the way down, through both arms
of the service, there were jealousies and quarrels. There was one great subject
of dispute, the respective merits of the two admirals who had overcome the
Castalian fleet at Havilla. Some ascribed the victory to the one and some to the
other, but to take one side was to put an end to all friendships on the other.
"See
here, Sam," said Cleary, not long after they had been out of sight of land,
"who are you for, Admiral Hercules or Admiral Slewey? We can't keep on the
fence, that's evident, and if we get down on different sides we can't be
friends, and that might upset all our plans, not to speak of the Benevolent
Assimilation Trust."
"The
fact is," said Sam, "that I don't know anything about it. They're both
admirals, and they both must be right."
"Nobody
knows anything about it, but we must make up our minds all the same. My idea is
that Hercules is going to come out ahead; and as long as one seems as good as
the other in other respects, I move that we go for Hercules."
"Very
well," said Sam, "if you say so. He was in command, anyway, and more
likely to be right."
So
Sam and Cleary allied themselves with the Hercules party, which was in the
majority. They became quite intimate with the naval officers who belonged to
this faction, and saw more of them than of the army men. Sam was much interested
in learning about the profession which kept alive at sea the same traditions
which the army preserved on land. For the first few days of the voyage the
rolling of the ship made him feel a little sick, and he concealed his failings
as well as he could and kept to himself; but he proved to be on the whole a good
sailor. He was particularly pleased to learn that on a man-of-war the captain
takes his meals alone, and that only on invitation can an inferior officer sit
down at table with him. This appealed to him as an admirable way of maintaining
discipline and respect. The fact that all the naval men he met had their arms
and bodies more or less tattooed also aroused his admiration. He inquired of the
common soldiers if they ever indulged in the same artistic luxury, and found out
to his delight that a few of them did.
"It's
strange," he remarked to Cleary, "that tattooing is universal in the
navy and comparatively rare in the army. I rather think the habit must have been
common to both services, and somehow we have nearly lost it. It's a fine thing.
It marks a man with noble symbols and mottoes, and commits him to an honorable
life, indelibly I may say."
"It's
a little like branding a mule," said Cleary.
"Yes,"
said Sam; "the brand shows who owns the mule, and the tattooing shows a man
belongs to his country."
"And
if he's shipwrecked and hasn't any picture-books or newspapers with him, he can
find all he wants on his own skin," said Cleary.
"Joke
as you please, I think it's a patriotic custom."
"Why
don't you get tattooed then?" asked Cleary.
"Do
you think there's anybody on board can do it?" cried Sam enthusiastically.
"Of
course. Any of those blue-jackets can tell you whom to go to."
Sam
was off before Cleary had finished his sentence. Sure enough, he found a
boatswain who was renowned as an artist, and without further parley he delivered
himself into his hands. Cleary was consulted on the choice of designs, and the
result was pronounced by all the connoisseurs on board--and there were many--to
be a masterpiece. On his chest was a huge spread-eagle with a bunch of arrows,
bayonets, and lightning-flashes in his claws. Cannon belched forth on each side,
and the whole was flanked by a sailor on one side and a soldier on the other.
His arms were tattooed with various small designs of crossed swords, flags,
mottoes, the title of his regiment, and other such devices. The boatswain now
thought that his task was complete, but Sam insisted on having his back
decorated as well, altho this was rather unusual. The general stock of subjects
had been exhausted, and Cleary suggested that a representation of Sam himself,
striking off the fetters of a Cubapino, would be most appropriate. After
discussing a number of other suggestions offered by various friends, this one
was finally adopted and successfully carried out. The operation was not
altogether painless and produced a good deal of irritation of the skin, but it
served to pass Sam's time and allay his impatience to be in the field, and
Cleary became so much interested that he consented to allow the artist to tattoo
a few modest designs of cannon and crossed bayonets on his own arms. Sam's
comparatively high rank among officers who were, many of them, his juniors in
rank but his seniors in years, might have made his position at first a difficult
one had it not been for his entire single-mindedness and loyalty to his country.
If the powers that be had made him a captain, it was right that he should be a
captain. He obeyed implicitly in taking his seat near the head of the table, as
he would have obeyed if he had been ordered to the foot, and he expected others
to accept what came from above as he did.
One
afternoon a report sprang up that land was in sight, and soon every eye was
strained in one direction. Sam's eyesight was particularly good, and he was one
of the first to detect the white gleam of a lighthouse. Soon the coast-line was
distinct, and it was learned that they would arrive on the next day. By daybreak
Sam was on deck, studying as well as he could this new land of heroism and
adventure. Cleary joined him later, and the two friends watched the strange
tropical shore with its palm-groves and occasional villages, and a range of
mountains beyond. A bay opened before them, and the ship turned in, passing near
an old fortification.
"This
is just where our fleet went in," said Cleary, examining a folding map
which he held in his hand. "They passed along there single file," and
he pointed out the passage.
"Wasn't
it glorious! Just think of sailing straight on, no matter how many torpedoes
there were!" exclaimed Sam.
"They
knew blamed well there weren't any torpedoes," answered Cleary.
"How
could they have known? They hadn't ever been here before? There might perfectly
well have been a lot of them directly under them."
"Yes,"
said Cleary, "they might have grown up from the bottom of the sea. All
sorts of queer things grow here. There might have been a sort of coral
torpedoes."
"Cleary,
you're getting more and more cynical every day. I wish you'd be more reasonable.
What's the matter with you?"
"It
must be the newspaper business. And then you see I don't wear a uniform either.
That makes a lot of difference."
In
another hour they passed the scene of the great naval battle. They could just
distinguish the hulks of the wrecks well in shore.
"And
there's Havilla!" cried Cleary.
And
Havilla it was. They entered the great Oriental port with its crowded shipping.
Small native boats were darting about between merchantmen and men-of-war. The
low native houses, the fine buildings of the Castalian city, the palms, the
Eastern costumes--all made a scene not to be forgotten. An officer of the 200th
Volunteer Infantry came on board before the steamer had come to her moorings,
with orders for Captain Jinks to report at once at their headquarters in one of
the public buildings of the city. A lieutenant was left in charge of the 200th's
detail, and Sam hastened ashore in a native boat and Cleary went with him. They
had no difficulty in finding their way, and Sam was soon reporting to his chief,
Colonel Booth, an elderly captain of the regular army, who had been placed at
the head of this volunteer regiment. The colonel received him rather gruffly,
and turned him over to one of his captains, telling him they would be quartered
together. The colonel was inclined to pay no attention to Cleary, but when the
latter mentioned the Benevolent Assimilation Company, Limited, he suddenly
changed his tone and expressed great delight at meeting him. Sam and Cleary went
off together with the captain, whose name was Foster, to visit the lodgings
assigned by the colonel. They were in a building near by, which had been used as
barracks by the Castalian army. A number of rooms had been fitted up for the use
of officers, and Sam and Foster were to occupy one of these, an arrangement
which promised to be most comfortable. Five companies of their regiment were
quartered in the same building.
Cleary
asked Foster's advice as to lodgings for himself, and Foster took him off with
him to find a place, while Sam was left to unpack his luggage which had just
arrived from the ship. They agreed to meet again in the same room at nine
o'clock in the evening.
It
was somewhat after the hour fixed that the three men came together. Foster
brought out a bottle of whisky from a cupboard and put it on the table by the
water-jug, and then offered cigars. Sam had never smoked before, but he felt
that a soldier ought to smoke, and he accepted the weed, and soon they were all
seated, smoking and drinking, and engaged in a lively conversation. Foster had
been in the Cubapines since the arrival of the first troops, and it was a treat
for both of his interlocutors to hear all the news at first hand from a
participant in the events.
"How
were things when you got here?" asked Cleary.
"Well,
it was like this," answered Foster. "Nothing had happened then except
the destruction of the fleet. Our fleet commanded the water of course, and the
niggers had closed up round the city on land. The Castalians didn't have
anything but the city, and when we came we wanted to take the city."
"Was
Gomaldo in command of the Cubapino army then?" asked Sam.
"Yes,
he has been from the beginning. He's a bad lot."
"How
is that?" asked Cleary.
"Why,
he has interfered with us all along as much as he could, just as if we didn't
own the place."
"That's
just what I thought," said Cleary. "The copperheads at home say we
treated him as an ally, but of course that's rubbish."
"Of
course," said Foster, "we never treated him as an ally. We only
brought him here and made use of him, supplying him with some arms and letting
him take charge of some of our prisoners. We couldn't tell him that we intended
to keep the islands, because we were using him and couldn't get on without him.
He's an ignorant fellow and hasn't the first idea of the behavior of an officer
and a gentleman."
"Well,
how did you take Havilla?" asked Sam.
"Oh,
it was this way. The Castalians couldn't hold out because these monkeys had the
place so tight that they couldn't get any provisions in. So they sent secret
word to us that they would let us in on a certain day if we would keep the
natives out. We agreed to this, of course. Then the Castalian general said that
we must have some kind of a battle or he would be afraid to go home, and we
cooked up a nice little battle. When the men got into it, however, it turned out
to be quite a skirmish, and a number were killed on both sides. Then they
surrendered and we went in and put a guard at the gates, and wouldn't let the
niggers in. You wouldn't believe it, but they actually kicked at it. They're an
unreasonable, sulky lot of beggars."
"Then
what happened after that?" asked Sam.
"Oh,
after that we sent the Castalians home and the Cubapinos moved back their lines
a little, and we agreed to a sort of neutral zone and a line beyond which we
weren't to go."
"What
was it that started the fighting between us and them?" said Sam.
"It's
a little mixed up. I was at the theater that night, and in the middle of the
play we heard firing, and all of us rushed off and found everything in motion,
and it grew into a regular fight. We made them move back, and before long the
firing ceased. I tried to find out the next day how it began. The fact is, the
day before, General Notice had ordered the 68th to move forward about half a
mile, and they did so. The Cubapinos objected and insisted on crossing the new
picket-line. That evening an officer of theirs walked across it and was shot by
the sentinel. That started it."
"Was
the regiment moved across the line fixed on their side of the neutral
zone?" said Cleary.
"Oh,
yes. But that was all right. Don't we own the whole place? And the regiment was
only obeying orders."
"I
wonder why the general gave the orders?" asked Cleary, musing as he looked
into the smoke which he was puffing forth.
"They
say it was because he had what he called 'overmastering political reasons.' That
is, there was the army bill up in Congress and it had to go through, and he was
given the tip that some fighting would help it, and he took the hint. It was
good statesmanship and generalship, too. All subordinate things must bend to the
great general interests of the country. It was a good move, for it settled the
business. Gomaldo sent in the next day and tried to patch up a truce, but Notice
wouldn't see his messengers. He told them they must surrender unconditionally.
It was fine, soldierly conduct. He's a brick."
"What
has he gone home for?" asked Sam.
"Why,
he'd conquered them. Why shouldn't he go home? They're giving him a grand
reception at home, and I'm glad to see it."
"But
he says that he has pacified the islands and brought the war to a close!"
"So
he did, in the military sense. He couldn't tell that the scamps wouldn't submit
at once. It wasn't his fault that they showed such unreasonable bitterness and
obstinacy."
"How
much territory do we hold now?" said Sam.
"We've
got the city and a strip along the bay where the fleet is; about five miles
back, I should say. But it's hardly safe to wander off far at night."
"What's
going to happen next?" asked Cleary. "I want to send home some news to
The Lyre as soon as I can, and I want my friend Jinks here to have a
chance to distinguish himself--and you too," he added hastily.
"We'll
probably get to work by next week, the way things look now. General Laughter is
rather slow, but he means business. Gomaldo is getting a big army together, and
we may have to take the offensive to get ahead of him. Now I suppose we ought to
turn in. How would you like to take a look at Havilla to-morrow and see the
place where the naval battle was? We can get off duty in the afternoon. All
right, let's meet at regimental headquarters at three."
Cleary
bade them good-night, and Sam, who was beginning to feel uncomfortable effects
from his cigar, was quite ready to go to bed.
Sam's
morning was occupied in familiarizing himself with the regimental routine in
barracks. The building enclosed a large court which was used for drills and
guard-mounting parade, and he did not have occasion to leave it until he went to
join his friends at headquarters. Promptly at three o'clock the three men
sallied forth. Sam was struck with the magnificence of the principal buildings,
including the palace and the cathedral.
"It's
a fine city, isn't it?" he said.
"Yes,
and the women are not bad-looking," said Cleary.
"The
people don't quite look like savages," said Sam.
"You
can't judge of them by these," said Foster. "Wait till you meet some
negritos in the country."
"How
large a part of the population are they?" said Sam.
"About
one-fortieth, I think, but where principle is involved you can't go by
numbers."
"Of
course not," was Sam's reply. "What building is that," he added,
"with our flag over it and the nicely dressed young women in the
windows?"
"That?"
said Foster, laughing; "oh, that's the Young Ladies' Home. We have to
license the place. It's the only way to keep the army in condition. Why, we've
got about fifty per cent infected now."
"Really?"
cried Sam. "How our poor fellows are called upon to suffer for these
ungrateful Cubapinos! Still they can feel that they are suffering for their
country, too. That's a consolation."
"There's
more consolation than that," said Foster, "for we're spreading the
thing like wildfire among the natives. We'll come out ahead."
"I
wish, tho, that they wouldn't fly Old Gory over the house," said Sam.
"There
was some talk of taking it down, but you see it's the policy of the
Administration never to haul down the flag when it has once been raised. It
presents rather a problem, you see."
"It
may wear out in time," said Sam, "altho it looks painfully new. What
will they do then?"
"I
confess I don't know," said Foster. "They'll cross the bridge when
they reach it."
"A
good many of the shop signs are in English already," remarked Sam.
"That's a good beginning."
"Yes,"
said Cleary. "But they seem to be almost all saloons, that's queer."
"So
they are," said Sam.
"There
are some pretty good ones, too," said Foster. "Just stop in here for a
moment and take a drink."
They
entered a drinking-place and found a bar planned on the familiar lines of home.
"Look
at this list of our drinks," said Foster proudly. "Count 'em; there
are eighty-two."
Sam
examined the list, which was printed and framed and hanging on the wall, and
they each took a glass of beer, standing. There were about a dozen men in the
place, most of them soldiers.
"Do
they do a big business in these places?" asked Sam.
"You'll
think so when you see the drunken soldiers in the streets in the evening,"
answered Foster. "We're planting our institutions here, I tell you."
"Not
only saloons," said Sam. "There's the post-office, for instance."
"They
had a post-office before," said Cleary.
"But
ours is surely better," rejoined Sam.
"It's
better than it was," said Foster, "now that they've put the new
postmaster in jail. They say he's bagged $75,000."
"It's
a good example of the way we treat embezzlers," cried Sam. "It ought
to be a lesson to these Cubapinos He'll be sent home to be tried. They ought to
do that with every one caught robbing the mails in any way."
"I'm
afraid if they did the force would be pretty well crippled," said Foster
"Then
there's the custom house," said Sam. "They must be delighted to get
rid of those Castalian swindlers."
"A
merchant here told me," said Foster, "that they have to pay just as
often now, but that they have to pay bigger sums."
"Of
course," cried Cleary, "you wouldn't expect our people to bother with
the little bribes the Castalians were after. We live on a larger scale. It will
do these natives good to open their eyes to a real nation. I'm sorry any of them
steal, but if they do, let 'em take a lot and be done with it."
"We
must remember that these people are only civilians," said Sam. "What
can we expect of them?"
"Our
commissary and quartermaster departments aren't much better, tho," said
Foster. "Somebody's getting rich, to judge from the prices we pay and the
stuff we get. The meat stinks, and the boots are made with glue instead of
stitches and nails."
"Then
they must have been appointed from civil life," cried Sam.
"Come,
Sam," said Cleary, "I 'm a civilian now, and I'm not going to have you
crow over us. How about Captain Peters, who was the pet of Whoppington and
cleaned out the Deer Harbor fund?"
Sam
walked on in silence.
"See
here," said Foster, "I'm tired of going on foot. Let's take a cab.
Here, you fellow!"
A
two-wheeled wagon with an awning, drawn by a small, shaggy horse, drew up before
them.
"There's
a gentleman in it," said Sam. "We must wait for another."
"Nonsense!"
cried Foster in a loud voice. "You evidently are a new arrival. It's only
one of those monkeys. Here you, sir, get out of that!"
The
native expostulated a little, shrugged his shoulders, and did as he was told,
and the three men got in.
"I'm
afraid he didn't like it," said Sam.
"Didn't
like it? What of it?" said Foster. "Whatever we do in uniform is
official business, and we've got to impress these fellows with our power and
make them respect us."
They
drove now through some narrow streets, past various native cafés half
open to the air, where the habitués were beginning to collect,
through a picturesque gate in the old city wall, and out on the Boulevard, which
was now filled with people driving and walking. It was a gay scene, and reminded
Cleary of some of the cities of the Mediterranean which he had visited.
"They're
not quite as much like Apaches as I expected," said Sam, and neither of his
friends ventured to respond.
"We
haven't got time to go out to where the ships are sunk," said Foster,
"but if we drive up that hill and get out and walk up a little farther we
can see them in the distance. I've got my glasses with me.''
In a
few minutes they were at this point of vantage in a sort of unfrequented public
park, and the three men took turns in looking at the distant wrecks through the
captain's field-glass.
"It
was a great victory, wasn't it?" said Sam.
"Well,
perhaps it was," answered Foster; "but the fact is, that those old
boats could hardly float and their guns couldn't reach our ships. We just took
our time and blew them up and set them on fire, and the crews were roasted or
drowned, that was all there was of it. I don't think much of naval men anyway,
to tell the truth. They don't compare with the army. They're always running
their ships aground if there's any ground to run into."
"Anyhow,
if it had been a strong fleet we'd have wiped it out just the same, wouldn't
we?" said Sam.
"Undoubtedly,"
said Foster. "It's a pity, tho, that the fight didn't test our naval
armaments better. It didn't prove anything. If we'd only used our torpedo-boats,
and they'd got out thei r torpedo-boat destroyers, and then we'd had some
torpedo-boat-destroyer destroyers, and--"
"Yes,"
interrupted Cleary, "it is a pity."
"But
it wasn't Admiral Hercules's fault," said Sam. "His glory ought to be
just as great."
"Hercules!
Hercules!" shouted Foster. "What had Hercules to do with it? He's a
first-class fraud. It was Slewey who won the battle. You don't mean to tell me
that you are Hercules men?"
Sam
and Cleary tried in vain to explain their position, but Foster would not listen
to them. The breach evidently was irreparable. He magnanimously turned over the
cab to them, and went back to the city in another vehicle.
"Well,
this is strange," said Sam. "I liked everything about Captain Foster,
but I don't understand this."
"Oh,
you will tho, old man," said Cleary. "I've found out this morning that
it's the same thing all through the army and navy here. They're hardly any of
them on speaking terms. If it isn't one thing it's another. It's the Whoppington
fashion, that's all. The general of the army won't speak to the adjutant-general
there, and they're always smuggling bills into Congress to retire each other,
and that spirit runs all the way down through both services. I'm a civilian now,
and I can see with a little perspective. I don't know why military people are
always squabbling like the women in an old ladies' home. No other professions
do; it's queer. It's getting to be better to lose a battle than to win it, for
then you don't have to fight for a year or two to find out who won it."
Sam
entered a feeble protest against Cleary's criticisms, and the two relapsed into
silence.
"Who
did win that naval victory anyhow?" said Sam at last.
"That's
just what I'd like to know," responded Cleary. "One of the admirals
admits he wasn't there, and, if we are to believe the naval people, the other
one spent most of his time dodging around the smokestack. But I think they're a
little too hard on him; I can't imagine why. I hear they're going to establish a
permanent court at Whoppington to determine who wins victories in future. It's
not a bad idea. My own view is that that battle won itself, and I shouldn't be
surprised if that was the way with most battles. It would be fun to run a war
without admirals and generals and see how it would come out. I don't believe
there'd be much difference. At any rate it looks so, if what the navy says is
true, and one of the admirals was away and the other playing tag on the forward
deck of the Philadelphia. Rum name for a battle-ship, the Brotherly
Love, isn't it?"
To
this Sam made no answer.
On
arriving at the barracks he succeeded in having a separate room assigned to him,
and thenceforth he and Foster were strangers.
