Du flags, crossed the Pasig in a sampan. The two of these guns had fallen into the hands of the Spaniards, and it took a pistol charge by the Astor Battery, backed up by the Twenty-third Infantry, to recover them. All that afternoon two companies of the Californians, C and H, I believe,-with a company or so from the Washington regiment, sent up as re-enforcements, had been firing on Pateros. But a handful of infantry could make no impression on a stronghold so intrenched. Afterward, this same place put up a stubborn resistance against two regiments of infantry, artillery, the engineers, a troop of the Fourth Cavalry, and the gunboat. Pateros lay basking in the morning sun, within twelve hundred yards of the muzzles of our guns perched up on the bluffs above. It is said that at one time a whole Spanish regiment that went up to try conclusions with that city were annihilated. For a truth, it would be hard to better its defensive situation. To the front flows creek, and the bridge that connects the city with the main land had been destroyed. On either side and to the rear, it was heavily masked with bamboo jungle, out of which it would seem well-nigh impossible to dislodge a determined body of sharpshooters without suffering severe losses. The frontage was protected with heavy intrenchments. However, I am here to record facts, not to criticise. In explanation it is easy to see that this must have been but a recon noitering expedition to ascertain the strength of the enemy by drawing him out. Toward dark, our forces were obliged to withdraw from a very tight corner, with three men wounded. The ensuing morning our second platoon arrived bright and early, escorting the three Astor Battery mountain guns that had been turned over to the Sixth Artillery. Breakfast was eaten and everything prepared in readiness for the day's work. It was our share in the proguns and pack the amthe bluffs from which Pateros gramme to haul the munition up was to be shelled by a detachment of the It was impossible to estimate the number of troops within. But it was generally conceded that there were sufficient for the enemy to make a stand. They included a fair percentage of the red-trousered little fellows. These put up a much better fight than the average Filipino, who is forced by threat of death into the army. Probably this distinctive dress marks those who have already served in the Spanish army. They aim lower and stand fire with greater firmness. At 12 o'clock precisely, the artillery began their practice, and we ranged ourselves out in skirmish-line a little to the rear. We were all hugging ourselves with the idea that we held the front seats of the show. A vague idea of toppling steeples, blazing cottages, and crashing timbers. flitted across my mind. In a moment we were to see what a bombardment was like! "Shrapnel!" said the officer in charge. "Twelve hundred yards!" The top was knocked off the wooden case that contained precisely three rounds and the shell thrust into the cannon's breech. We all stared at the church with bated breath, expecting presently to spy a huge rent torn in its roof. The shot fell short, spattering the dust up against the wall. For about an hour and a half the artillery worked with no visible effect. Sixth Artillery. At the assault on Manila, The ammunition apparently was defective, VOL. XXXIV-16 for the shells would burst anywhere beyond ten feet from the muzzle of the guns. Indeed, a company of the Washingtonians down below in the valley seemed to run a much greater risk than those for whom the missiles were intended. Nothing stirred in Pateros! Then an insolent native with a keen sense of humor jangled the bells in the church steeple. The prettiest event of the day from an artistic view took place when the engineers made their charge right up to the fortifications. On they went within fifty yards, in a straight line, right up to the brink of the ditch, and fired a volley. Immediately the natives from the security of their intrenchments fired down directly into them. The engineers retreated as quickly as they had come up. But only But only one man was scathed; he got a Mauser bullet through his shoulder. How in the name of all that is wonderful they escaped without being shot to pieces, and where the bullets aimed at them went, is more than my imagination can compass! Then the natives took their innings and began to make it sultry for the artillery, So freely did the bullets clip around their unprotected position that another had to be taken. Thereabouts the different companies knocked off for dinner which consisted of fresh roast pork. This was no Government issue, but had been informally collected. The natives also appeared to be hungry and retired to dinner. It was quite an amicable understanding. As soon as we had refreshed ourselves and had a smoke, time was called, and the cannonading renewed. The natives loosened up also, and at one time compelled the artillery to seek shelter and leave their gun. At length, somewhere about 4 o'clock in the afternoon, when we had grown heartily sick and weary of the whole performance, and were wishing this tomfoolery would stop and leave it to us to take in the good old-fashioned way of a charge along the line, orders came from General Otis, to fall back to the lines at San Pedro Macarti and suspend all further offensive operations. While waiting outside the zone of fire for a company of Washington boys to come up, Colonel Smith rode by Com pany I of the First California and asked for a dozen volunteers to pack off the ammunition that had been left on the field by the Sixth Artillery under fire. The men were readily procured and successfully wormed around the fringe of the hills and staggered off under their heavy loads without suffering a scratch. If the natives had been wide awake, a fair percentage of those men would not have returned. But they neglected their opportunity. After having lugged that ammunition up hill and down hill and over vale all day, they were forced to march the five miles down to San Pedro. Still the boys as they trudged along the dusty road laughed and chaffed about the retreat' as they called it, comparing it to that of the French from Moscow. It is related that the Insurgents that night celebrated what they deemed to be a signal victory over the foreign invader That night the men had to sleep with their guns within grasp; for it was not to be supposed after the rebuff which they supposed they had given us, the Insurgents would keep quiet. Sure enough, early in the morning Company I was ordered or to the skirmish-line to hold them in check with Company L of the Washingtons to the left, and Company B of the Cali fornians to the right. The artillery tool up a position in line to the left of the Washington men, behind the protecting walls of an old graveyard. The Insur gents intended to do a very great deal, bu effected very little. Probably we failed to accomplish much more. Powder enough to stock a magazine was burned on boti sides. The Insurgents, for some reason o their own, appeared desirous of drawing our troops up the hill. But as all tha was expected of our boys was to hold th lines, they stopped where they were an opened fire at a range of about seve hundred and fifty yards. They kept up desultory fire upon us; but the bullets aimed too high, whistled harmlessly ove our heads and fell on the road behind us Two days afterward Private Cassidy of Company K, was killed, and Sergean Turtin wounded over the eye with a spen bullet. Every morning skirmishes oc curred with the natives, almost always a daybreak, when they would be chased over the hills only to reappear again at the same time next morning. Sometimes they were not always so bloodless as the ones I have already recorded. On February 23d the Insurgents played their trump card in the city and lost. They fired the Tondo district of the densely populated Chinese quarter, with the intention to foster the fire till the whole of Manila was a prey to the flames. They fought our men with desperation, shooting at them from the house-tops, wounding some of them fatally, and hacking the fire-hose with their machetes. But the Minnesota police kept them well in hand. At a low estimate, one hundred and fifty were killed, not taking into consideration those who perished in the flames. Not since then have they dared, except with a few desultory shots, to attempt anything in the nature of a general uprising. Next day the fire burned. itself out. All that remained of six blocks was some naked stone walls and a heap of charred débris. On the 1st of March the Third Battalion (Companies A, B, E and H) of the First California Regiment was replaced on the firing-line by the Twenty-third regulars, to embark for Negros, a large island to the south that called for American protection. From that time on our lives became a regular misery from the sharpshooters. So many of our men were wounded by them that it was considered necessary for them to intrench themselves. At Pandacan the houses of the friendlies were secretly set on fire by agents of the Insurgents and the greater portion of the town destroyed. On March 13th, offensive operations against the Insurgents were once more the order of the day. General Wheaton's flying column composed of the Twentieth, Twenty-second, Washington and Oregon regiments, the Fourth Cavalry, and the Sixth Artillery, led the forward movement. It was the duty of the Californians and the Idahos to hold the line at San Pedro Macarti in reserve. Inasmuch, however, as I can add nothing of interest that has not already been recorded, to the details of that advance and the recapture of Guadalupe, Pasig, and Pateros, of which I was not an actual eye-witness, I will bring this article to its conclusion. I shall be satisfied if after having perused these pages my readers are convinced that our boys, of whom already more than two hundred have laid down their lives on the field of battle, and more than a thousand have been wounded, not including those who have become victims of disease, are not degenerate scions of the fathers who waged amongst themselves the bravest and bloodiest war that perhaps history has ever recorded. M BY GERALDINE MEYRICK "In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love." ANY springs had come and gone since Anthony Power had grown to manhood, and as yet the least light ripple of passion had not stirred his blood nor fired his imagination. By nature firm almost to obstinacy, he had in early youth marked out for himself a course of life which excluded marriage; and to that course he had rigidly adhered. This predetermination to celibacy was not the result of asceticism, nor of prejudice against the ways and wiles of women. Looking forward, surveying his probable future as it was likely to be if he fulfilled what he regarded as imperative obligations and duties, he saw that the way before him was narrow; there was no room for a wife at his side, unless, indeed, she were a woman of small nature, which he could not choose. When he thus accepted as his lot the fulfillment of obligations which were in a manner thrust upon him, he did not do it recklessly nor without due consideration of the weight of the burden he was taking upon his shoulders; he knew that he was a strong man, mentally and physically, and believed that he would be able to sustain the load. Nevertheless, one thing had not been properly included in his calculations, and that was love. He knew it only by hearsay; and so, while he did not ignore it altogether, he said: "It is a good thing; but I will do without it." As if love were only a luxury, like cream for one's coffee, and as easily dispensed with! Born and brought up on a small farm on the coast of California, Anthony had secured a good common-school education; then, having in one way or another proved himself clever, had been sent to an Eastern college. Just as he was about to graduate with high honors he was called home by the death of his father. He left his college with reluctance and with the intention to return and finish his course with as little delay as possible. But when he reached home he found that waiting for him which should h him fast for the rest of his life. T world, with all it held of activity, co petition, and companionship, was not him; on that secluded farm he was spend the rest of his life. And wh Because two women needed himmother and his sister. While Anthony had been happily fr from the narrow restraints of that ho life, narrow partly from financial nec sity and partly because his father, a sord unsoaring nature, willed it so,mother and sister had toiled on cea lessly, with no break in the dull monoto of their lives. But, yes, there had be one event of importance. The lover w inevitably comes to each woman sooner later had come to Aileen Power, and h been driven away in wrath by the fath After that things were worse for the t worden. The daughter, heart-brok with no remaining ambition since her joy had been so ruthlessly taken from h drifted into hopeless melancholy, a scarcely spoke again, even to her moth but listlessly performed her daily tas and loved best to creep away to the h and brood alone over her sorrow and wrongs. The father, angered by the sig of the misery he had caused, became r rose, even violent. The lonely moth afraid of her husband, ignored by daughter, became a trembling coward, a only held her wits together by her love her son. And because she loved him so, let no hint reach him of the state of affa on the farm. Her letters, few and far tween, were mere recitals of the state the crops, the weather, and such matte There was no life in them, and it v small wonder if they woke no chord affection in Anthony's heart. He wo have been content to see his home no m if his father's death had not called h there. But when Mrs. Power saw the tyr whom she had feared-yea, and hat too-lying dumb and motionless in coffin, the sudden release from bondage was too much for her; she, who had scarcely dared to open her lips for two long years, began to chatter wildly. Bright Bright things attracted her, and she decked herself with gaudy ribbons and cheap jewelry, reclaimed from tomblike trunks where they had long been secreted. And so Anthony, coming home, found. these three awaiting him; his father a corpse, his sister lost in melancholy, his mother hopelesslv, though not violently, insane. He buried his father without much sorrow; but when some of his college-mates, hearing of his misfortunes, urged him to place his mother and sister in an asylum, he refused. "If I had been with them sooner they would not be as they now are," he wrote. "I shall never leave them again." So he stayed on, and was not altogether unhappy; for there was plenty of work on the farm. All day he would be out in the glad, free air, helping good things to grow, laboring against the evil things, and tending dumb animals; unconsciously rejoicing because he was, as it were, a part of the beneficent forces of nature. Then there was the luxuriant warmth of the sunshine; or sometimes the fresh, clean kiss of the rain; and always the salt air from the sea, that lay so short a distance away. accustomed to even the worst of horrors. It was on an April morning that Anthony, having made one of his rare trips to the village post-office, was surprised by receiving a letter addressed to his mother. He opened it, as a matter of course, and this is what he read : New York, April 5th, 189-. Dear Aunt:-I have lately discovered your existence, and I am so tired of being alone in the world that I am coming to see you; yes, in just a few days. Perhaps you have never heard of me, but my mother was your cousin; and I have just found a bundle of letters which you wrote to her, most of them years and years ago, when you were both schoolgirls, but one more recent, which gives me this address. I do hope you are still living there. My dear mother died a long time ago, and my father too; and though I have always had dear good friends to live with I long to see some of my own kith and kin. And, do you know, I have heard something about one of my cousins; at least, I believe I have. At any rate, a friend of mine knew an Anthony Power in college a few years ago, who came from "out West"; and a very clever young man he was, according to all reports. I'm quite proud of my brilliant young relative. Now, of course I know that you may not like me, nice as I am, so I'm not going to descend upon your household. A friend will go with me, and we will stay at some little boarding-house near by, so that I can easily drop in to see you, as often as you-and Cousin Anthony-want me. You may expect to see me very soon, for I am just wild to start right away,-only Mrs. Ashley does take so long to get her trunks packed. Most lovingly, your niece, ALICE MAYNARD. The nights were not so bad either; for then he sat in an easy chair, with a book in his hand, sufficiently tired physically to enjoy reading a sentence now and then, thinking and dozing at intervals. The highly interested, eager reader never catches the highest pleasure a good book can give; as only they who sip slowly perfectly get the flavor of a fine wine. The mother and sister retired early, as a rule, and Anthony was left in peace. Occasionally, however, there were nights of horror, when the older woman's mania, aggravated by some trivial occurrence, Would lead her to indulge in merriment more heartbreaking than utmost mournfulness. The daughter had little patience with her mother at such times, and Anthony had the difficult task of restraining the mirth of the one and the anger of the other. But these outbreaks were not frequent; and after all, we do get as fancies. People laugh at the idea of love at first sight; but it is possible; and so, too, is love even without sight. Or, if not, what was it that made Anthony breathe so rapidly, and his strong hands tremble, as he read and re-read the letter? A faint odor of violets came from the crisp sheets, but Anthony was not a man to be bound by so light a spell. "Alice" is not an uncommon name, nor "Maynard;" yet the combination hinted to him of some most perfect personality. He walked from the post-office to the farm like one in a dream. It was not until he neared the house, and saw his mother sitting listlessly in the doorway, that he roused from his reverie. Then he set his lips, as one who braces himself to meet facts that are not as fair |