by L. T. Meade
CHAPTER XX
"TO THE DITCH AT PANAMA"
"There goes the good old _Denver_, Mike. I guess she'll reach thefighting grounds before we do."
"Don't let that be for worryin' of ye, Dick, me lad," responded CorporalDorlan. "We'll be havin' a bellyful of it, I'm thinkin', if all signsis correct. Nevertheless, she was one of the foinest little crafts I'veever served on, and they was a grand lot of Navy officers on her, too;but I'm glad to git back to the Corps again. I'm a marine, Dick,through and through, and though I get along with them Navy men wellenough, I like to serve with me own kind best of all."
The old veteran and young drummer were standing on the wharf atCristobal, at the Atlantic end of the ten-mile stretch of land acrossthe Isthmus of Panama known as the Canal Zone, which by treaty with thePanamanian Government had come under perpetual control of the UnitedStates. Fading away in the dim distance was the ship which for manymonths had been Dick's official home. Diverted from her originalorders, she had put in at Cristobal long enough to land all her marines,with the exception of Henry Cabell, who was still under the surgeon'scare; and now she was bound for Bluefields, on the Mosquito Coast ofNicaragua. In order to fill existing vacancies in a regiment of marineshurrying to the scene of action on board the Naval Transport _Dixie_,which ship was just appearing above the distant horizon, the guard ofthe _Denver_ had been unceremoniously "dumped on the beach," as the menput it.
There was no question that the revolution in progress, most active onthe Pacific coast of Nicaragua, was a lively one. Marines were beingassembled from all available points, even reducing the guard at CampElliott to a mere skeleton detachment. These men from the Zone were thefirst to leave for Nicaragua, and the army men stationed there hadwatched them depart with feelings of envy.
"Blame it all! Those marines are always getting into something. I'llbet I take on with that outfit the next time I sign up," more than oneregular army "file" had been heard to say.
And that first lot of "soldiers of the sea" had already met withopposition. Even now they were somewhere between Corinto and thecapital city, Managua. If they found the rails torn up, they repairedthem; bridges burned, they built new ones temporarily. They werethreatened with annihilation if they interfered, yet they continued witha dauntless, young and able leader at their head, relieving the fears ofthe foreigners in the interior and keeping the single line of railroadback to their base in fairly good order. Only this very audacity couldassure the success of their undertaking, and also a possiblemisunderstanding on the part of Federals and Rebels as to which side"these interfering Yankees" were really there to help, though it was thebearers of the red rosettes who actively opposed their progress.American financial interests were jeopardized, and underlying all thefuss and furor were greater stakes than the general public realized.
Perhaps Drummer Richard Comstock and Trumpeter Cabell, in a talk beforethey separated that morning, were closer to the real reason for thisstrong force being despatched than were even the best informed officersof the expedition.
"I reckon a certain conversation you all overheard in Washington a yearago is bearing fruit," suggested Henry, looking up from his bunk in thesick bay where Dick had gone to visit him.
"It looks that way," Dick had replied.
"Well, if you run across a certain German and a three-fingered Limey,[#]Dick, you'll do well to keep an eye open. I sure wish I could go withyou all, but we'll get together again before long; so good-bye, old boy,and good luck," and Henry turned to the wall to cover the emotion thisseparation caused him. Thus they had parted.
[#] "Limey"--British maritime regulations require the captain to issueregular rations of lime-juice as a preventative for scurvy. Britishships and sailors are therefore known as "Lime-juicers," or in sailorslang, "Limeys."
Steadily the transport grew upon the vision of those awaiting herarrival. Finally, when she came alongside her berth, the place became aseething ant-hill of activity. Tons and tons of rations, tents,munitions, wireless outfits, buckets, clothing, field ranges, medicalsupplies, field artillery, and the thousand other things necessary forextensive operations were sent up out of the ship's holds and packed onfreight cars, and soon trains of men and supplies were slowly creepingfrom under the railroad sheds, out past Monkey Hill, on and on, withever-increasing speed, towards the Pacific terminus at Balboa.
Much to Dick's pleasure and Corporal Dorlan's satisfaction they foundthemselves detailed for duty with a company commanded by an oldacquaintance, Captain Kenneth Henderson, formerly in charge of theMarine Detachment of the U.S.S. _Nantucket_.
"Well, Sergeant Dorlan, I'm glad to have you back under my command,"said the Captain as he shook hands; "report to the First Sergeant atonce, and tell him I said you are in charge of the working detailloading the cars." Then he turned to Dick. "Where have I seen youbefore, music? Your face looks familiar, but I can't place you."
"I met the Captain on the _Nantucket_, sir, if the Captain remembers theday we were upset by a motor boat and Dorlan rescued Tommy Turner."
"Now I know! You are Drummer Comstock. Your friend's uncle asked me tokeep an eye on you in case I ran across you. How is it that you are adrummer? I understood you enlisted to get a commission."
"I hope to have my rank changed before long, sir, but at the time Ienlisted they were taking only musics into the Corps."
"Does this young man know anything? Can we make a corporal out of him?"asked Captain Henderson, turning to Dorlan, who still stood at attentionnear by.
"Indeed he's a broth of a lad, sir, and knows more'n most of thecorporals right now, but if the Captain will excuse me, I wanted toexplain before goin' to the First Sergeant that I'm only a corporalmeself, sir. Ye may disremember I was reduced in rank over a year ago."
"I remember it very well, Dorlan; but from to-day on you are again asergeant. So get busy with that work of loading. As for you, music,I'll make you my orderly for the present. Go aboard, find my mess boy,Jackson, and get my luggage on that train. It is already packed. Thenpresent my respects to the Colonel, and tell him my company is ready tomove any time he sends me word."
Thus it was Dick found himself on board the first troop train to crossthe Isthmus. He was well repaid now for the hours he had devoted to hisgraduation essay. At that time he had gone deeply into the subject andsince then, while cruising in the West Indies, many times his previousreading and study had been of great help. The history of the PanamaCanal was a favorite subject, and now he verified his book knowledge byactual experience. The sight of the vast area already flooded as aresult of the nearly completed dam at Gatun, the names of Frijoles, BasObispo, Camp Elliott, Cucaracha, Pedro Miguel and Miraflores broughtback to his mind afresh the disappointments of the French and thedifficulties overcome by his country. At one place on the road a dirttrain held them up for a short space of time, and from the car window hecaught glimpses of the mighty Bucyrus steam shovels scooping up tons ofearth and rock in their capacious maws with almost human intelligence.The new line they travelled passed to the east of Gold Hill, back ofwhich was Culebra Cut, where the slipping, unstable earth caused so muchdelay, disappointment and expense by its dangerous slides. Every wherewere scenes of activity! Hundreds of cars and engines, empty trains,trains filled with excavated earth, trains of freight, passenger trains,workmen's trains, thousands of men, negroes from the South and the WestIndies, Spaniards, Englishmen, Frenchmen, Chinese, Latin-Americans, fullblooded Central American Indians, Hindoos from the Far East, all busy,all hustling, even in this tropic zone. They passed through littlevillages and settlements, each a reminder of the fabled "Spotless Town,"with their excellent roads, splendid drainage, immaculate, screenedbuildings, stores, boarding-houses, hotels, public buildings andresidences, all under the supervision of the Government. How proud theyoung drummer was to be a part of this big republic which did things onsuch a wonderful scale; that he served this country which flung to th
ebreeze the Stars and Stripes: that he was even then on his way to help amisguided people, who, under the far-sighted provision of that Doctrineof President Monroe, now needed a helping hand to guide their ship ofstate over treacherous waters: that he was Richard Comstock, UnitedStates Marine.
All too soon the passage of that narrow neck of land was completed, andthe train pulled in under the sheds of the Balboa wharves. Again thehustle and bustle, for close behind followed freight trains and moretroops, and the work of unloading the cars and filling up waitinglighters was begun.
Men's hands, unaccustomed to the rough work, blistered and went raw,their backs ached, their muscles grew stiff and strained, theperspiration soaked their khaki clothing a dark brown color, butcheerfully they stuck to their task. And truly it was Herculean, forafter being placed aboard the lighters the stores were towed alongside agreat gray battleship lying far out in the harbor, where they again hadto be transferred aboard and stored away.
The companies worked in two-hour shifts, one battalion being detailed ateach of the transfer points. They arrived at Cristobal at noon, and alittle after midnight the work ashore had been completed. CaptainHenderson's company was one of those detailed for work on the Balboawharves, and shortly before ten o'clock he started in a motor car forthe city of Panama, taking his newly appointed orderly with him. Aboutthe time the relief shift was to go on they returned, laden down withsandwiches of all kinds and several big freezers of ice-cream with whichto regale officers and men. The cooks in the meantime had made gallonsof hot coffee, and when mess-call sounded, never was food and drink morewelcome than to those dirty, grimy, sweat-laden marines, who, seated onbox or barrel, gun carriage or packing case, in the glare of many cargolights, munched and drank to repletion. Then "carry on" was sounded, andwith cheerful shouts and renewed vigor they tackled their task.
By six o'clock the next morning the big ship slowly swung her bows outtowards the ocean of Balboa, the mighty Pacific, and laid her course forCorinto, Nicaragua's principal seaport on the west coast.
Then it was that Dick Comstock realized he was tired--good and tired,but there could be no rest for the weary. Every man must first know towhich boat he was assigned in case of "abandon ship," what he wassupposed to do in case of fire, where he was to berth; then there wereroll calls and cleaning ship and stowing away the stores on deck, and itwas dark once more before the willing workers finally found the time andthe place to catch a little sleep. But it was all worth while when theColonel Commanding sent around to each company his official word ofpraise: "No body of men could better their record, and he doubted if anycould equal it," so read the memorandum. And Dick, curled up in anunoccupied corner on deck, fell asleep, while ringing in his ears wasthat well-known stanza of the Marines' Hymn which a group of stillenergetic Leathernecks were softly singing somewhere up near the bridge:
"From the pest hole of Cavite To the ditch at Panama, They're always very needy Of marines, that's what we are, We're the watch dogs of a pile of coal Or we build a magazine, Though our duties are so numerous, Who would not be a Marine?"
