Campaigning in the Philippines, Part II [pp. 220-232]

Overland Monthly
It seemed as if the daylight would never
come with its attendant relief, and the
luxury of something to eat and drink, and
above all a good sleep.
Slowly dawned in the east a purple
flush; then followed on its heels a crimson
bar. They transfused themselves, mingling
with streaks of yellow and violet flecked
with green, and with no more dillydallying
the sun had risen in its splendor, with all
the suddenness of an Eastern sunrise.
We stared at each other with a kind of
grim humor. Indeed, we were a toughlooking gang, spattered all over with clay,
and our uniforms hanging limply on.our
humped backs. As for our rifles, they
were as rusty as if they had just been
delved out of the earth's center, and our
web-belts were skewed around in every
position save with the plate over the regulation button. All of us had that strained,
fixed look in the eyes that is begotten by
making a night of it. But wine and eards
had not been the attraction.
At half-past five we were moved over to
the left, where the regulars were intrenched. There stood a lone convent,
against which the Spanish were still directing a desultory fire. On the roof was
one of our sharpshooters, squirming
around to get a favorable shot at the enemy whenever a white helmet bobbed up
above the dirt wall with a like kind intention. IHe seemed to take a lively interest
in his work, scolding himself sotto voce
whenever his bullet struck wide of his
quarry. As he was coolness itself, carefully calculating his next shot according
to the success of the prior one, he was accredited with a goodly number of scalps.
The Spanish sharpshooters, although they
burnt any amount of powder, were poor
marksmen.
While we waited to be relieved, the dead
bodies of three of our soldiers from the
regulars were carried in from the outposts. Every head was uncovered as the
bearers laid down the door on which reposed the mortal remains shrouded by a
blanket.
At eleven o'clock the Colorado Regiment
took our places. The road was dotted with
soldiers straggling back with the rifles and
equipments of the wounded. Only once
did we halt as we dragged our way back,
and that was when we lined up, hats in
hand, along the roadside to let pass the
five Pennsylvanians who in upholding the
honor of their country had parted witli
their lives.
There were nine fatalities on our side
from the night's work. The Pennsylvanians and the regulars, who did the actual
fighting, had lost five and three, respectively. Sergeant Just of A Company was
the first man of our regiment to lay down
his life on foreign soil. Our wounded
numbered over thirty.
The Spanish loss must have been heavy.
Men are not led out to attack a position,
and after fighting through the greater part
of the night, do not retire without good
reason for so doing. With all the different conjectures flying around, it was impossible to arrive at any conclusion. A
private soldier has not the facilities for
gathering and verifying news that the
newspaper correspondent has.
The rest of the day was allotted to the
sacred duty of the burying of its dead by
each regiment. The sad, slow music and
the solemn service of a military funeral
seemed to impress the wildest spirits.
That night the usual camp ditties were
left unsung, and all rough fun was absent.
It is only when so immediately confronted
that the soldier carries the thought of possible death with him. Not that he is callous, but he is something of a fatalist.
Should it be his lot to meet death, he will
have to do so. Dodging up a by-path to
avoid him will avail nothing. The only
thing that a soldier can find no extenuating eireumstanees for is "cold feet." No
other class of men respect and remember
dead comrades as he does.
F]or a couple of days we were given a
well-earned rest, and then came again our
turn for outpost duty. This time, however, it was only just a little way out, with
a convent as our headquarters. I think it
is called the Maricarban Convent. Of
course, it had been stripped of all its trappings, and its white-washed walls were
scrawled over with the names of soldiers.
Our first greeting on our return was
that Captain Richter was dying. He
breathed his last that day at noon, and was
buried the following day. Our company
mustered to a man to bid farewell to one
whom they had learned to regard not only
in the light of a capable officer, but as a
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