Banzai! by Parabellum

by Ferdinand Heinrich Grautoff

  _Chapter XVIII_

  THE BATTLE OF THE BLUE MOUNTAINS

  It had been found expedient to send a few militia regiments to the frontin May, and these regiments, together with what still remained of ourregular army, made a brave stand against the Japanese outposts in themountains. Insufficiently trained and poorly fed as they were, theynevertheless accomplished some excellent work under the guidance ofefficient officers; but the continual engagements with the enemy soonthinned their ranks. These regiments got to know what it means to face abrave, trained enemy of over half a million soldiers with a small forceof fifty thousand; they learned what it means to be always in theminority on the field of battle, and thus constant experience on thebattle-field soon transformed these men into splendid soldiers.Especially the rough-riders from the prairies and the mountains, fromwhich the cavalry regiments were largely recruited, and the exceedinglyuseful Indian and half-breed scouts, to whom all the tricks of earlierdays seemed to return instinctively, kept the Japanese outposts busy.Their machine-guns, which were conveyed from place to place on the backsof horses, proved a very handy weapon. But their numbers were few, andalthough this sort of skirmishing might tire the enemy, it could noteffectually break up his strong positions.

  Ever on the track of the enemy, surprising their sentries and bivouacs,rushing upon the unsuspecting Japs like a whirlwind and then pursuingthem across scorching plains and through the dark, rocky defiles of theRockies, always avoiding large detachments and attacking theircommissariat and ammunition columns from the rear, popping up here,there and everywhere on their indefatigable horses and disappearing withthe speed of lightning, this is how those weather-beaten rough-riders intheir torn uniforms kept up the war and stood faithful guard! Bravefellows they were, ever ready to push on vigorously, even when the bloodfrom their torn feet dyed the rocks a deep red! No matter how weary theywere, the sound of the bugle never failed to endow their limbs withrenewed energy, and they could be depended on to the last man to dowhatever was required of them.

  It was on these endless marches, these reckless rides through rockywastes and silent forests--to the accompaniment of the tramp of horses,the creaking of saddles and the rush and roar of rolling stones onlonely mountain-trails--that those strange, weird rhythms and melodiesarose, which lived on long afterwards in the minds and hearts of thepeople.

  By the end of July affairs had reached the stage where it was possiblefor the Northern army, commanded by General MacArthur and consisting ofone hundred and ten thousand men, to start for the Blue Mountains in theeastern part of Oregon, and the Pacific army of almost equal strength toset out for Granger on the Union Pacific Railway. The troops from Cubaand Florida, together with the three brigades stationed at New Mexico,were to have advanced against the extreme right wing of the Japanesearmy, but the grievous disaster at Corpus Christi had completelyfrustrated this plan.

  The German and Irish volunteer regiments were formed into specialbrigades in the Northern and Pacific armies, whereas the other militiaand volunteer regiments were attached to the various divisionspromiscuously. General MacArthur's corps was composed of threedivisions, commanded by Fowler, Longworth and Wood, respectively, eachconsisting of thirty thousand men. To these must be added one German andone Irish brigade of three regiments each, about sixteen thousand menaltogether, so that the Northern army numbered about one hundred and tenthousand men and one hundred and forty guns.

  Wood's division left the encampment near Omaha the last week of July.They went by rail to Monida, where the Oregon Short Line crosses theboundary of Montana and Idaho. The same picture of utter confusion waspresented at all the stops and all the stations on the way. Soldiers ofall arms, exasperated staff-officers, excited station officials, gunswaiting for their horses and horses waiting for their guns, cavalry-menwhose horses had been sent on the wrong train, freight-cars full ofammunition intended for no one knew whom, wagons loaded with campequipment where food was wanted and with canned goods where forage wasneeded, long military trains blocking the line between stations, andengines being switched about aimlessly: perfect chaos reigned, and theshortness of the station platforms only added to the confusion and thewaste of precious time. If it had not been for the Americans' stronglydeveloped sense of humor, which served as an antidote for all the angerand worry, this execrably handled army apparatus must have broken downaltogether. But as it was, everybody made the best of the situation andthanked the Lord that each revolution of the wheels brought the troopsnearer to the enemy. The worst of it was that the trains had to stop atthe stations time and time again in order to allow the empty trainsreturning from the front to pass.

  The 28th Regiment of Wisconsin Volunteers, under command of ColonelKatterfeld, had at last, after what seemed to both officers and soldiersan endless journey, reached the foothills of the Rocky Mountains on thetwenty-second of July via the Northern Pacific Railway. A warm meal hadbeen prepared for the regiment at a little station; then the roll wascalled once more and the three long trains transporting the regimentstarted off again.

  Colonel Katterfeld had soon won the affection of his men. He was a thinlittle man with grizzly hair and beard; a soldier of fortune, who had aneventful life behind him, having seen war on three continents. But henever spoke of his experiences. His commands were short and decisive,and each man felt instinctively that he was facing an able officer. Hehad given up his practice as a physician in Milwaukee, and when, at theoutbreak of the war, he had offered his services to the Governor ofWisconsin, the latter was at once convinced that here was a man uponwhom he could rely, and it had not taken Colonel Katterfeld long toestablish the correctness of the Governor's judgment. He succeeded inbeing the first to raise the full complement of men for his regiment inWisconsin, and was therefore the first to leave for the front. The rushfor officers' commissions was tremendous and the staff of officers wastherefore excellent. One day an officer, named Walter Lange, presentedhimself at the recruiting office of the regiment. When the colonel heardthe name, he glanced up from his writing, and looking inquiringly at thenewcomer, asked in an off-hand fashion: "Will you take command of theSeventh Company as captain?"

  "Sir?"

  "Yes, I know, you were at Elandslaagte and afterwards at Cronstadt, wereyou not?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "We need some officers like you who can keep their men together whenunder fire. Do you accept or not?"

  "Certainly, but----"

  "We'll have no buts."

  And so the two became war-comrades for the second time, Captain Langetaking command of the Seventh Company.

  In thousands of ways the colonel gave proof of his practical experience;above all else he possessed the knack of putting the right people in theright place, and his just praise and blame aroused the ambition ofofficers and men to such an extent, that the 28th Militia Regiment soonbecame conspicuous for its excellence. But no one, not even his comradefrom Elandslaagte, succeeded in getting nearer to the colonel's heart.Colonel Katterfeld was a reticent man, whom no one dared bother withquestions.

  In order to make the best possible use of what little room there was inthe cars, the colonel had ordered two-hour watches to be kept. Half themen slept on the seats and on blankets on the floor, while the otherhalf had to stand until the order, Relieve watch! rang out at the end oftwo hours.

  Captain Lange was standing at the window looking out at the moonlitlandscape through which the train was rushing. Wide valleys, ruggedmountain peaks and steep, rocky bastions flew past. A whistle--a lowrumble in the distance--the sound of approaching wheels--a flash oflight on the track--and then the hot breath of the speeding enginesweeps across the captain's face, as a long row of black cars belongingto an empty train returning from the mountains tears past on its way tothe encampments.

  And then on and on, over bridges and viaducts, where the rolling wheelsawaken echo after echo, on into the narrow ravine, above theforest-crowned edges of which the quiet light of the stars twinkles andgleams in the purple sky of night.


  The captain was thinking of the colonel. He could not remember havingmet him on any of the South African battle-fields, and he had neverheard the name of Katterfeld. And yet he was positive he had seen thosepenetrating blue eyes beneath their bushy brows before. No one who hadonce seen it could ever forget that glance. But he racked his brain invain. He looked at the time and found that the present watch still had awhole hour to run. The soldiers were leaning sleepily against the sidesof the car, and loud snores came from the seats and the floor. Suddenlya rifle fell to the ground with a clatter and several men woke up andswore at the noise. On went the train, and the monotonous melody of therolling wheels gradually lulled the weary thoughts to sleep.

  Captain Lange thought of Elandslaagte again and of Colonel Schiel andDinizulu, the Kafir chief, and of the story the colonel had told, asthey bivouacked round the fire, of the latter's royal anointment withcastor-oil. They had made the fire with the covers of "Mellin's Food"boxes--Mellin's Food--a fine chap, Mellin--Mellin?-- Wasn't that thename of the captain with whom he had once sailed to Baltimore? And DaisyWilford had been on board with her two cats--cats-- My, how he used tochase cats when he was a boy--it was a regular hunt-- No, it hadn't beenhis fault, but Walter Wells'-- But he had been caught and shut up in theattic, where his father gave him a chance to recollect that it is cruelto torment animals--but it really had been Walter's fault, only hewasn't going to tell on him--and then, after he had been alone, he hadknocked his head against the wall in his rage at the injustice of theworld--always--knocked--his--head--against--the--wall--always--knocked----

  Bang! went the captain's head against the window-frame and he woke upwith a start and put his hand up to his aching forehead. Where under thesun was he? Ah, of course--there were the soldiers snoring all aroundhim and tossing about in their sleep. He felt dead tired. Had he beenasleep? He looked at the time again--still fifty-five minutes to thenext watch.

  The roaring and clattering of the wheels came to his ears on the freshnight air as he again looked out of the window. The train had justrounded a curve, and the other two trains could be seen coming onbehind. Now they were passing through a gorge between bright rockybanks, which gleamed like snow in the moonlight. Whirling, foamingwaters rushed down the mountain-side to join the dark river far below.Then on into a dark snowshed where the hurrying beat of the revolvingwheels resounded shrilly and produced a meaningless rhythm in histhoughts. Kat--ter--feld, Kat--ter--feld, Kat--ter--feld, came the echofrom the black beams of the shed. Katter--feld, Kat--ter--feld,Kat--ter--feld, came the reply from the other side. Then the rattlingnoise spreads over a wider area. There is a final echo and the beams ofthe shed disappear in the distance, and on they go in the silent nightuntil the sergeant on duty pulls out his watch and awakens the sleeperswith the unwelcome call, Relieve the guard!

  Two days later the regiment arrived at Monida, where they had to leavethe train. The line running from there to Baker City was only to be usedfor the transportation of baggage, while the troops had to march therest of the way--about two hundred and fifty miles. While thefield-kitchen wagons were being used for the first time near Monida,the men received new boots, for the two pairs of shoes which each hadreceived in camp had turned out such marvels of American manufacture,that they were absolutely worn out in less than no time. It was thoughtwiser, in consideration of the long marches before the soldiers, to doaway with shoes altogether and to provide strong boots in their stead.The hard leather of which the latter were made gave the soldiers no endof trouble, and the strange foot-gear caused a good deal of grumblingand discomfort.

  It was here that the experience of the old troopers was of value. Theold devices of former campaigns were revived. An old, gray-beardedsergeant, who had been in the Manchurian campaign against the Japanese,advised his comrades to burn a piece of paper in their boots, as the hotair would enable them to slip the boots on much more easily. CaptainLange employed a more drastic method. He made his company march througha brook until the leather had become wet and soft, and as a result hismen suffered least from sore feet on the march.

  During the ten days' march to Baker City, officers and men becamethoroughly acquainted with one another, and the many obstacles they hadhad to overcome in common cemented the regiments into real livingorganisms. And when, on the tenth of August, the different columnsreached Baker City, the Northern Army had firmly established itsmarching ability. The transport-service, too, had got over its firstdifficulties. From the front, where small detachments were continuallyskirmishing with the enemy, came the news that the Japanese hadretreated from Baker City after pulling up the rails. On the evening ofthe eleventh of August the 28th Militia Regiment was bivouacking a fewmiles east of Baker City. The outposts towards the enemy on the otherside of the town were composed of a battalion of Regulars.

  Every stone still burned with the glowing heat of the day, which spreadover the warm ground in trembling waves. The dust raised by the marchingcolumns filled the air like brown smoke.

  The last glimmer of the August day died down on the western horizon in acrimson glow, and a pale gleam of light surrounded the dark silhouettesof the mountains, throwing bluish gray shadows on their sides. Then allthe colors died out and only the stars twinkled in the dark blueheavens. Far away in the mountains the white flashes of signal-lanternscould occasionally be seen, telling of the nearness of the enemy.Colonel Katterfeld had ordered the officers of his regiment to come tohis quarters in a farm-house lying near the road, and a captain ofRegulars was asked to report on the number of skirmishes which had takenplace in the last few days and on the enemy's position. It was learnedthat Marshal Nogi had retreated from Baker City and had withdrawn histroops to the Blue Mountains, taking up his central position at thepoint of the pass crossed by the railroad. It had not been possible toascertain how far the wings of the Japanese army extended to the Northor South. It was certain that the enemy maintained strong lines ofcommunication in both directions, but it was difficult to determine justhow far their lines penetrated into the wooded slopes and valleys.

  * * * * *

  When the guard was relieved at 5 o'clock in the morning, one of thenon-commissioned officers was struck by a curiously-shaped bright cloudthe size of a hand, which hung like a ball over the mountains in thewest in the early morning light.

  "It must be an air-ship!" said some one.

  "It evidently is; it's moving!" said the sergeant, and he at once gaveorders to awaken Captain Lange.

  The captain, who had gone to sleep with the telephone beside him, jumpedup and could not at first make out where the voice came from: "AJapanese air-ship has been sighted over the mountains." He was up in asecond and looking through his glasses! Sure enough! It was an air-ship!

  Its light-colored body hovered above the mountains in the pale-blue skylike a small silver-gray tube.

  "Spread the report at once!" called the captain to the telephoneoperator; and bustle ensued on all sides.

  "What shall we do?" asked a lieutenant. "There's no use in shooting atit; by the time it gets within range we should shoot our own men."

  The air-ship came slowly nearer, and at last it was directly over theAmerican line of outposts.

  "They can see our whole position!" said Captain Lange, "they can see allour arrangements from up there."

  Boom! came the sound of a shot from the right.

  "That probably won't do much good."

  A few hundred yards below the air-ship a little flame burst out. Thesmoke from a shrapnel hung in the air for a moment like a ball ofcotton, and then that, too, disappeared. Boom! it went again.

  "We shall never reach it with shrapnel," said the lieutenant, "there'sno use trying to beat it except on its own ground."

  "We have some newly constructed shrapnel," answered the captain, "thebullets of which are connected with spiral wires that tear the envelopeof the balloon."

  Now two shots went off at the same time.

  "Those seem to be the balloon-g
uns," said the lieutenant.

  Far below the air-ship hovered the clouds of two shrapnel shots.

  "They're getting our air-ship ready over there," cried the captain;"that's the only sensible thing to do." He pointed to a spot far offwhere a large, yellow motor-balloon could be seen hanging in the airlike a large bubble.

  It went up in a slanting direction, and then, after describing severaluncertain curves, steered straight for the enemy's balloon, which alsobegan to rise at once.

  Hundreds of thousands of eyes were following the course of those twolittle yellow dots up in the clear, early morning air, as the mountainedges began to be tipped with pink. The Japanese air-ship had reached aposition a little to one side of that occupied by the 28th Regiment,when a tiny black speck was seen to leave it and to gain in size as itfell with increasing velocity. When it reached the ground a vivid redflame shot up. Tremendous clouds of smoke followed, mixed with darkobjects, and the distant mountains resounded with loud peals of thunderwhich died away amid the angry rumblings in the gorges.

  "That was a big bomb," said the captain, "and it seems to have doneconsiderable mischief."

  Now a little puff of white smoke issued from the American air-ship andten seconds later an explosive body of some sort burst against a wall ofrock.

  "If they keep on like that they'll only hit our own men," said thelieutenant.

  "The Jap is ascending," cried some one, and again all the field-glasseswere directed towards the two ships.

  Now both were seen to rise.

  "The Japs are throwing down everything they've got in the way ofexplosives," cried the captain. A whole row of black spots came rushingdown and again came the thunder caused by the bursting of several bombsone after the other.

  The Jap went up rapidly and then crossed the path of the Americanballoon about two hundred yards above it.

  Suddenly the yellow envelope of the American air-ship burst into flames,lost its shape and shrunk together, and the ship fell rapidly among thevalleys to the left, looking like the skeleton of an umbrella that hasbeen out in a gale of wind.

  "All over," said the lieutenant with a sigh. "What a shame! We mightjust as well have done that ourselves."

  High up in the blue ether hovered the Japanese air-ship; then itdescribed a curve to the left, went straight ahead and then seemedsuddenly to be swallowed up in the morning light. But soon it appearedagain as a gray speck against the clear blue sky, and turning to theright once more, got bigger and bigger, came nearer, and finally steeredback straight for the Blue Mountains. And then the thunder of cannon washeard from the right.

  * * * * *

  The assault on Hilgard, the center of the Japanese position in the broadvalley of the Blue Mountains, had failed; two regiments had bled todeath on the wire barricades outside the little town, and then all wasover. It would be necessary to break up the enemy's position by flankmovements from both sides before another attack on their center could beattempted. For two long days the artillery contest waged; thenLongworth's division on our right wing gained a little ground, and whenthe sun sank to rest behind the Blue Mountains on August 14th, we hadreason to be satisfied with our day's work, for we had succeeded, at agreat sacrifice, it is true, in wresting from the enemy severalimportant positions on the sides of the mountains.

  Towards evening six fresh batteries were sent forward to the capturedpositions, whence they were to push on towards the left wing of theJapanese center the next morning. Telephone messages to headquartersfrom the front reported the mountain-pass leading to Walla Walla freefrom the enemy, so that a transport of ammunition could be sent that wayin the evening to replenish the sadly diminished store for the decisivebattle to be fought the next day.

  While the newspapers all over the East were spreading the news of thisfirst victory of the American arms, Lieutenant Esher was commanded byGeneral Longworth to carry the orders for the next day to the officer incharge of the Tenth Brigade, which had taken up its position before themountain-pass on the right wing. For safety's sake General Longworth haddecided to send his orders by word of mouth, only giving instructionsthat the receipt of each message should be reported to headquarters byeach detachment either by field-telegraph or telephone.

  Lieutenant Esher, on his motor-cycle, passed an endless chain ofammunition wagons on his way. For a long time he could make only slowprogress on account of the numerous ambulances and other vehicles whichthe temporary field-hospitals were beginning to send back from thefront; but after a time the road gradually became clear.

  The motor rattled on loudly through the silent night, which wasdisturbed only now and then by the echo of a shot. Here and there alongthe road a sentry challenged the solitary traveler, who gave thepassword and puffed on.

  He had been informed that the quickest way to reach General Lawrencewould be by way of the narrow mountain-path that turned off to the leftof the road, which had now become absolutely impassable again on accountof innumerable transports. It was a dangerous ride, for any moment thebicycle might smash into some unseen obstacle and topple over into theabyss on the right, into which stones and loose earth were continuallyfalling as the cycle pushed them to one side.

  Lieutenant Esher therefore got off his wheel and pushed it along. At theedge of a wood he stopped for a moment to study his map by the light ofan electric pocket-lamp, when he heard a sharp call just above him. Hecould not quite make it out, but gave the password, and two shots rangout simultaneously close to him.--When Lieutenant Esher came to, hefound a Japanese army doctor bending over him.

  He had an uncertain feeling of having been carried over a rocky desert,and when he at last succeeded in collecting his thoughts, he came to theconclusion that he must have strayed from the path and run straight intothe enemy's arms.

  He tried to raise his head to see where he was, but a violent pain inhis shoulder forced him to lie still. The noises all around made itclear to him, however, that he was among Japanese outposts. The doctorexchanged a few words with an officer who had just come up, but theyspoke Japanese and Esher could not understand a word they said.

  "Am I wounded?" he asked of the ambulance soldier beside him. The latterpointed to the doctor, who said, "You will soon be all right again."

  "Where am I wounded?"

  "In the right thigh," answered the doctor, sitting down on a stone nearEsher. The doctor didn't seem to have much work to do.

  The stinging pain in his right shoulder robbed Esher of his senses for amoment, but he soon came to again and remembered his orders toLawrence's brigade. Thank God he had no written message on his person.As it was, the enemy had succeeded in capturing only a brokenmotor-cycle and a wounded, unimportant officer. The division staff wouldsoon discover by telephoning that General Lawrence had not received hisorders and then repeat the message.

  Esher managed to turn his head, and watched the Japanese officer copyingan order by the light of a bicycle lamp. The order had just beendelivered by a mounted messenger, who sat immovable as a statue on hisexhausted and panting steed.

  Suddenly the Japanese cavalryman seemed to grow enormous bats' wings,which spread out until they obscured the whole sky. The ghostly figureresembled a wild creature of fable, born of the weird fancy of a Dore,or an avenging angel of the Apocalypse. Then the rider shrank togetheragain and seemed to be bouncing up and down on the back of his horselike a little grinning monkey.

  The wounded man rubbed his eyes. What was that? Was he awake or had hebeen dreaming?

  He asked the ambulance soldier for a drink, and the latter at oncehanded him some water in a tin cup. Now a real Japanese cavalryman wasonce more sitting up there on his horse, while the officer was stillwriting. Then the officer's arm began to grow longer and longer, untilat last he was writing on the sky with a fiery pencil:

  "In case there is no Japanese attack on August 15th, the Tenth Brigadeunder General Lawrence is to retain its present positions until theattack of our center----"

  Good Lord, w
hat was that? Yes, those were the very words of the messagehe was to have delivered to the Tenth Brigade, and not only were thewords identical, but the hand-writing was the same, for the flamingletters had burnt themselves into his memory stroke for stroke and wordfor word and line for line.

  He tried to get up, but could not. The lieutenant kept on writing, whilethe horseman stood beside him. The horse was brushing off the flies withhis tail.

  Then the awful, maddening thought came to him: This must be thebeginning of wound-fever. If it kept up and he began to get delirious,he might betray his orders for Lawrence's brigade to the enemy.

  And he saw hundreds of Japanese standing around him, all stretchingtheir necks to catch his words, and more and more came from over themountain ridges like a swarm of ants, and they all wanted to hear thesecrets that he was trying to keep in his aching head, while the officerwaved his note-book over him like a fluttering flag. Then the doctorseized him, and arm in arm they hopped to and fro--to and fro--to andfro.

  Yes, he was certainly delirious. Lieutenant Esher thought of his home.He saw his little house on 148th Street. He came home from business, hewalked through the garden, hung up his coat on the rack, opened thedoor, his young wife welcomed him, she nodded to him--Eveline--groanedthe lieutenant, and then his thoughts turned to God.

  Then the writing officer again, the rider on his horse, and the darknight-sky, in which the stars were dancing like silver gnats. Collectinghis whole willpower, he succeeded in getting into a sitting posture, andthe Japanese soldier attending him awoke out of a doze only to find hisrevolver in the American's hands. But it was too late, for a shotresounded at the same moment. Lieutenant Esher had brought his wearybrain to rest; his head toppled over and landed hard on the rockyground.

  Thus died a real hero, and those were hard times when men of stout heartand iron courage were sorely needed.

  * * * * *

  Opposite Hilgard, the center of the enemy's position in the BlueMountains, trenches had been thrown up, and the 28th Militia Regimenthad occupied them in the night of August 13th-14th. The Japanese wereapparently not aware of their presence, as the regiment had taken nopart in the fighting on the fourteenth. On the evening of the same day,the 32d Regiment was pushed forward to the same position, while thesearchlights were playing over the plain and on the mountain sides, anddazzling the eyes of the sentries who were keeping a sharp lookout forthe enemy from various ambushes. And whenever the beam of light landedon dark shadows, which jumped quickly aside, flames shot out on theopposite side and flashes of fire from bursting shrapnel drew tremblingstreaks across the sky and lighted up the immediate neighborhood.

  The wires which connected the headquarters with all the sentries andoutposts vibrated perpetually with the thoughts and commands of a singleindividual, who managed this whole apparatus from a little schoolroom inBaker City far behind the front, allowing himself scarcely a moment formuch-needed night-rest.

  The 28th Regiment had thrown up trenches the height of a man in the hardground opposite the little town of Hilgard on the night of August13th-14th. Now a company of pioneers was busy widening them and buildingstands for the troops where they would be safe from splinters, for itwas highly probable that the assault on Hilgard would be undertakenfrom here on the following evening. The covering for these stands wasmade of thick boards and planks taken from a saw-mill near by, and overthese the dug up earth was spread. The enemy's attention seemed to bedirected elsewhere, for the reflections from the searchlights werecontinually crossing one another over to the right. In this directionmusic could be distinctly heard coming from Longworth's Division--alively march waking the echoes of the night with its clear full tones.

  Music? Those who were swearing at the stupidity of allowing the band toplay in the very face of the enemy, did not know that the troops overthere on their way to quarters had marched over forty miles that day,and that only the inspiring power of music could help the stumbling mento gather their remaining strength and press forward.

  The cheerful melody of the old Scotch song,

  "Gin a body, meet a body, Comin' thro' the rye,"

  rang out in common time across the silent battle-field, fifes squeakingand drums rolling, while the silent searchlights continued flashing inthe dark sky.

  "Gin a body, meet a body, Comin' thro' the rye."

  Meanwhile the picks and spades were kept going in the trenches of the28th Regiment. The earth and stones flew with a rattle over the top ofthe breastworks, making them stronger and stronger, pioneers andinfantry working side by side in the dark, hollow space. The battalionon guard kept strict watch in the direction of the enemy, continuallyexpecting to see creeping figures suddenly pop up out of the darkness.

  "Didn't you hear something, captain?" asked one of the men on watch.

  "No, where?"

  A curious purring sound like the whizzing of a small dynamo becameaudible.

  Some one gave a low whistle, and the pioneers stopped work, and leanedon their spades. All the men listened intently, but no one could makeout whence the strange sound came.

  Suddenly some one spoke quite loudly and another voice replied. Up inthe air--that's where it was! A black shadow swept across the sky. "Anair-ship!" cried one of the men in the trench, and sure enough thewhirring of the screw of a motor balloon could be distinctly heard.Bang--bang--bang, went a few shots into the air.

  "Stop the fire!" called a commanding voice from above.

  "Stop! It is our own balloon!"

  "No, it's a Japanese one!"

  Bang--bang, it went again. From the rear came the deep bass of a big gunand close by sounded the sharp bang--bang--bang of a little balloon-gunin the second trench. There was a burst of flame up in the air, followedby a hail of metal splinters. "Cut that out. You're shooting at us!"roared Captain Lange across to the battery.

  "Stop firing!" came a quick order from there. A few cannon shots wereheard coming from the rear.

  Suddenly a bright light appeared up in the air and a white magnesiumcluster descended slowly, lighting up all the trenches in a sudden blazewhich made the pioneers look like ghosts peering over the black brink ofthe pits. Then the light went out, and the eyes trying in vain topierce the darkness saw nothing but glittering fiery red circles. TheJapanese batteries on the other side opened fire. The air-ship hadentirely disappeared, and no one knew whether the uncanny night-bird hadbeen friend or foe.

  * * * * *

  The assault on Hilgard was to be begun by the 28th and 32d Volunteers:General MacArthur had originally planned to have the attempt made atdawn on August 15th; but as one brigade of Wood's Division had not yetarrived, he postponed the attack for twenty-four hours, to the sixteenthof August, while the fifteenth was to be taken up with heavy firing onthe enemy's position, which seemed to have been somewhat weakened. Assoon, therefore, as day broke, the Americans opened fire, and all thetime that almost sixty American guns were bombarding Hilgard and sendingshell after shell over the town, and the white flakes of cotton from thebursting shrapnels hovered over the houses and almost obscured the viewof the mountains and the shells tore up the ground, sowing iron seed inthe furrows, the 28th and 32d Volunteers lay in the trenches withoutfiring a single shot.

  The commander of the 16th Brigade, to which the two regiments belonged,was in the first trench during the morning, and, in company with ColonelKatterfeld, inspected the results of the bombardment through histelescope, which had been set up in the trench. A shrapnel had justdestroyed the top of the copper church tower, which the Japanese wereusing as a lookout.

  Although the American shells had already created a great deal of havocin Hilgard, the walls of the houses offered considerable resistance tothe hail of bullets from the shrapnels. The brigadier-general thereforesent orders to the battery stationed behind and to the right of thetrenches to shell the houses on both sides of the street leading intoHilgard.

  "Shell the houses on both sides
of the street leading into Hilgard!Shell the houses on both sides of the street leading intoHilgard--Shell--Hilgard," was the command which was passed along frommouth to mouth through the trenches, until it reached the battery amidthe roar of battle.

  "--Shells--we have no shells--shrapnels--the battery has no shells, onlyshrapnels--" came back the answer after a while.

  "No shells, I might have known it, only those everlasting shrapnels. Howon earth can I shoot a town to pieces with shrapnel!" growled thebrigadier-general, going into the protected stand where the telephonehad been set up.

  "Send two hundred shells immediately by automobile from Union to the 8thBattery Volunteers stationed before Hilgard," ordered the generalthrough the telephone-- "What, there aren't any shells at Union? Thelast have been forwarded to Longworth's Division?-- But I must have atleast a hundred; have them brought back at once from the right wing-- Noautomobile, either?" It was a wonder that the telephone didn't burstwith righteous indignation at the vigorous curses the brigadier-generalroared into it.

  But unfortunately the statement made at Union, where the field railwaybuilt from Monida for the transport service terminated, was correct.Just as in most European armies, the number of shells provided was outof all proportion to the shrapnel, and the supply of shells wasconsequently low at all times. Besides, most of the ammunition-motorshad been put out of commission early in the game. The advantage ofhigher speed possessed by the automobiles was more than offset by theirgreater conspicuousness the moment they came within range of the enemy'sguns. The clouds of dust which they threw up at once showed the enemy inwhich direction they were going, and as they were obliged to keep to themain road, the Japanese had only to make a target of the highway and doa little figuring to make short work of these modern vehicles. The greatnumber of wrecked motor cars strewn along the road proved ratherconclusively that the horse has not yet outlived its usefulness inmodern warfare.

  The officers, including the generals, had willingly dispensed with sucha dangerous mode of locomotion after the first fatal experiences, forthe staring fiery eyes of the motor betrayed its whereabouts by night,and the clouds of dust betrayed it by day. The moment an auto camepuffing along, the enemy's shots began to fall to the right and left ofit, and it was only natural, therefore, that the horse came into its ownagain, both because the rider was not bound to the main road and becausehe did not offer such a conspicuous target for the enemy's shots.

  Towards noon the Japanese batteries entrenched before Hilgard beganbombarding the 28th Regiment with shrapnel. Colonel Katterfeld thereforeordered half his men to seek protection under the stands.

  The howling and crashing of the bursting shrapnel of course had itseffect on those troops who were here under fire for the first time. Butthe shrapnel bullets rained on the wooden roofs without being able topenetrate them, and after half an hour this fact imbued the men in theirretreats with a certain feeling of security. The enemy soon stopped thisineffective fire from his field-guns, however, and on the basis ofcareful observations made from a captive balloon behind Hilgard, theJapanese began using explosive shells in place of the shrapnel.

  The very first shots produced terrible devastation. The long planks weretossed about like matches in the smoke of the bursting Shimose shells,and the slaughter when one of them landed right in the midst of theclosely packed men in one of these subterranean mole-holes wasabsolutely indescribable. Back into the trenches, therefore! But theenemy had observed this change of position from his balloon, and theshots began to rain unceasingly into the trenches. And so perfect wasthe Japanese marksmanship that the position of the long line of trenchescould easily be recognized by the parallel line of little white cloudsof smoke up above them. There was nothing more to be concealed, andaccordingly Colonel Katterfeld ordered his regiment to open fire onHilgard and on the hostile artillery entrenched before the town.

  Captain Lange lay with his nose pressed against the breastworks,carefully observing the effect of the fire through his field glasses.Although this was not his first campaign, he had nevertheless had sometrouble in ridding himself of that miserable feeling with which everynovice has to contend, the feeling that every single hostile gun andcannon is pointed straight at him. But the moment the first men of hiscompany fell and he was obliged to arrange for the removal of thewounded to the rear, his self-possession returned at once. It was hisbounden duty, moreover, to set an example of cool-headed courage to hismen, so he calmly and with some fuss lighted a cigarette, yet in spiteof the apparent indifference with which he puffed at it, it moved up anddown rather suspiciously between his lips.

  A volunteer by the name of Singley, the war-correspondent of the _NewYork Herald_, worked with much greater equanimity, but then he had beenthrough five battles before he gained permission to join the 7th Companyfor the purpose of making pencil sketches and taking photographs of theincidents of the battle.

  He now arranged a regular rest for his kodak in the breastwork of thetrench and stooped down behind the apparatus, which was directed towardsthe six Japanese guns to the left in front of the houses at Hilgard, theposition of which could only be recognized by the clouds of smoke whichascended after each shot was fired. Just then he heard the order beingpassed along to the 8th battery to give these guns a broadside ofshrapnel, and as it would probably take a few minutes before this ordercould be carried out, Singley pulled out his note-book and glanced overthe entries made during the last hour:

  No. 843. Japanese shell bursts through a plank covering. " 844. Trench manned afresh. " 845. Captain Lange smoking while under fire. " 846. Japanese shrapnels indicate the line of our trenches in the air.

  Then he put his note-book down beside him and crept under his kodakagain, carefully fixing the object-glass on the battery opposite. Nowthen! A streak of solid lightning flashed in front of the second gun,and a black funnel of smoke shot up. Click!

  No. 847. Firing at the Japanese battery before Hilgard.

  Singley exchanged the film for a new one, and then looked about foranother subject for his camera. He took off his cap and peeped carefullyover the edge of the trench. Could he be mistaken? He saw a littleblack speck making straight for the spot where he was. "A shell" rushedthrough his thoughts like a flash, and he threw himself flat on thebottom of the trench.

  With a whirring noise the heavy shell struck the back wall of thetrench. "An explosive shell!" shouted Captain Lange, "everybody down!"

  The air shook with a tremendous detonation; sand and stones flew allaround, and the suffocating powder-gas took everybody's breath away; butgradually the soldiers began to recognize one another through the dustand smoke, thankful at finding themselves uninjured.

  "Captain!" called a weak voice from the bottom of the trench, "CaptainLange, I'm wounded." The captain bent down to assist thewar-correspondent, who was almost buried under a pile of earth.

  "Oh, my legs," groaned Singley. Two soldiers took hold of him and placedhim with his back against the wall of earth. The lower part of both histhighs had been smashed by pieces from the shell. "Will you please do mea last service?" he asked of Captain Lange.

  "Of course, Singley, what is it?"

  "Please take my kodak!"

  Singley himself arranged the exposure and handed the camera to thecaptain, saying: "There, it is set at one twentieth of a second. Nowplease take my picture-- Thank you, that's all right! And now you canhave me removed to the hospital!"

  Before the men came to fetch him, Singley managed to add to his list:

  No. 848. Our war-correspondent, Singley, mortally wounded by a Japanese shell. Hail Columbia!

  Then he closed his book and put it in his breast pocket. Five minuteslater two ambulance men carried him off to have his wounds attended to,and in the evening he was conveyed to the hospital.

  A week later Captain Lange's snapshot of the war-correspondent wasparaded in the _New York Herald_ as the dramatic close of Singley'sjournalistic career. In his way he, too, had been a hero. He died in thehospit
al at Salubria.

  He could claim the credit of having made the war plain to those at home.Or was that not the war after all? Were the black shadows on thephotographic plate anything more than what is left of a flower after thebotanist has pressed the faded semblance of its former self between theleaves of his collection? Certainly not much more.

  No, that is not war. Just a bursting--silently bursting shell, thescattering of a company--that is not war.

  Thousands of bursting shells, the howls of the whizzing bullets, theconstant nerve-racking crashing and roaring overhead, the deafeningcracking of splitting iron everywhere--that is war. And accompanying itall the hopeless sensation that this will never, never stop, that itwill go on like this forever, until one's thoughts are dulled by someterrible, cruel, incomprehensible, demoralizing force. Those boundingpuffs of smoke everywhere on the ground, rifle shots which have beenaimed too short and every one of which-- That abominable sharp singingas of a swarm of mosquitoes, buzz, buzz, like the buzzing of angryhornets continually knocking their heads against a window-pane. Bang!That hit a stone. Bang! two inches nearer, then--"Aim carefully, fireslowly!" calls the lieutenant in a hoarse, dry voice. You aim carefullyand fire slowly and reload. Buzz-- And then you fume with a fierceuncontrollable rage because you must aim carefully and fire slowly. Andthe whole space in front of the trenches is covered with infantrybullets glittering in the sunlight. Will it ever stop? Never! A day likethat has a hundred hours--two hundred. And if you had been there all byyourself, you would never have dreamed of shooting over the edge of thetrenches--you would most probably have been crouching down in the pit.But as you happen not to be alone, this can't be done. Will the enemy'sammunition never give out? It's awful the way he keeps on shooting.

  And that terrible thirst! Your throat is parched and your teeth feelblunt from grinding the grains of sand which fly into your face wheneveran impudent little puff of smoke jumps up directly in front of you.Sssst. The mosquitoes keep on singing, and the bees buzz perpetually.Those dogs over there, those wretches, those-- Buzz, buzz, buzz--itnever stops, never. Over there to the right somebody cracks a joke andseveral soldiers laugh. "Aim carefully, fire slowly!" sounds the warningvoice of the lieutenant. And it's all done on an empty stomach--aperfectly empty stomach.

  Just as the field-kitchen wagon had arrived this morning, a shell hadexploded in the road and it was all over with the kitchen-wagon. Howlong ago that seemed! And the bees keep on humming. Bang! that hit thesergeant right in the middle of the forehead. Is this never going tostop? Never? You chew sand, you breathe sand, burning dry sand, whichpasses through your intestines like fire. And then that horrible, faint,sickening feeling in the stomach when you feel the ambulance mencreeping up behind to take away another one of your comrades! Howterrible he looks, how he screams! You are quite incensed to think thatanybody can yell like that! What a fool! "Aim carefully, fire slowly,"warns the lieutenant. Bouncing puffs of smoke again! And sand in yourmouth and fire in your intestines. You think continually of water,beautiful, clear, ice-cold water, never-ending streams of water-- Aroaring, howling and crashing overhead, the clatter of splinters, asharp pain in your brain and a horrible feeling in your stomach and allthe time it goes buzz, buzz, buzz--ssst--ssst--buzz, buzz, buzz----

  That is war, not the pictures that people see at home, all those luckypeople who have lots of water, who can go where they like and are notforced to stay where the bees keep up a continual buzz, buzz, buzz----

  Colonel Katterfeld was kneeling on the ground examining the map ofHilgard and marking several positions with a pencil. He could overhearthe conversation of the soldiers under the board-covering next to hisown.

  "Do you think all this is on account of the Philippines?" asked one.

  "The Philippines? Not much. It would have come sooner or later anyhow.The Japs want the whole Pacific to themselves. We wouldn't be here if itwere only for the Philippines."

  "We wouldn't? It's on account of imperialism, then, is it?"

  "Don't talk foolish. We know very well what the Japs want, imperialismor no imperialism."

  "Well, why are the papers always talking so much about imperialism?"

  "They write from their own standpoint. Imperialism simply means that wewish to rule wherever the Stars and Stripes are waving."

  The colonel peeped into the adjacent cover. It was Sergeant Benting whowas speaking.

  "Right you are, Benting," said the colonel, "imperialism is the desirefor power. Imperialism means looking at the world from a great altitude.And the nation which is without it will never inherit the earth."

  Then the colonel gave the order to fire at a house on the right side ofthe street, in which a bursting shrapnel had just effected a breach andout of which a detachment of infantry was seen to run.

  Once again, just before twilight, the battle burst out on both sideswith tremendous fury. The whole valley was hidden in clouds of smoke anddust, and flashes of fire and puffs of smoke flew up from the ground onall sides. Then evening came and, bit by bit, it grew more quiet as onebattery after the other ceased firing. The shrill whistle of an enginecame from the mountain-pass. And now, from far away, the Japanesebugle-call sounded through the silent starry night and was echoed softlyby the mountain-sides, warming the hearts of all who heard it:

  [line of music]