by Charles King
CHAPTER XVII.
In so far as human foresight could provide against the cabling to theStates of tremendous tales that had little or no foundation, thecommanding general had been most vigilant. The censorship establishedover the despatches of the correspondents had nipped many a sensation inthe bud and insured to thousands of interested readers at home far moretruthful reports of the situation at Manila than would have been thecase had the press been given full swing.
Yet with Hong-Kong only sixty hours away, there was nothing to preventtheir writing to and wiring from that cosmopolitan port, and here, atleast, was a story that would set the States ablaze before it could becontradicted, and away it went, fast as the Esmeralda could speed itacross the China Sea and the wires, with it, well-nigh girdle the globe.
A gallant young volunteer, Walter Foster of Ohio, serving in theregulars under the assumed name of Benton, foully murdered by LieutenantGerard Stuyvesant of New York! A love affair at the bottom of it all!Rivals for the hand of a fair army girl, daughter of a distinguishedofficer of the regular service! Lieutenant Stuyvesant under guard!Terrible wrath of the soldier's comrades! Lynching threatened! Speedyjustice demanded! The maiden prostrated! Identification of the victim byMiss Zenobia Perkins, Vice-President and Accredited Representative forthe Philippine Islands of the Society of Patriotic Daughters of America!Army circles in Manila stirred to the bottom! etc., etc.
Joyous reading this for friends and kindred in the far-distant States!Admirable exhibit of journalistic enterprise! The Hong Kong paperscoming over in course of another week were full of it, and ofappropriate comment on the remarkable depravity of the American race,and Chicago journals, notably the _Palladium_, bristled with editorialexplosions over the oft-repeated acts of outrage and brutality on partof the American officer to the friendless private in the American ranks.
And thousands of honest, well-meaning men and women, who had seen, yearafter year, lie after lie, one stupendous story after another,punctured, riddled, and proved a vicious and malignant slander,swallowed this latest one whole, and marvelled that the American officercould be the monster the paper proved him to be.
But one woman at last and at least was happy, perched now on a pinnacleof fame, and in the Patriotic Daughters of America as represented bytheir Vice-President and Accredited Representative in the Philippines,virtue and rectitude reigned triumphant. Zenobia Perkins was in herglory. Of all the citizens or soldiers of the United States in and aboutManila, male or female, staff or supply, signal or hospital corps, RedCross or crossed cannon, rifles, or sabres, this indomitable woman wasnow the most sought after--the most in demand. Her identification of thedead man had been positive and complete.
"I suspected instantly," she declared in presence of the assembledthrong, "when I heard Lieutenant Stuyvesant had shot a soldier, just whoit might be. I remembered the young man who disappeared from the trainbefore we got to Oakland. I suspected him the moment the corporal toldme about the mysterious young man trying to see Miss Ray. I had mycarriage chase right after him to the Nozaleda and caught him,half-running, half-staggering, and I took him driving until he gotca-amed down and told him he needn't worry any more. He was amongfriends at last, and the P. D. A.'s would take care of him and guard hissecret and see him done right by. Oh, yes, I did! We weren't going tosee an innocent boy shot as a deserter when he didn't know what he wasdoing. He wouldn't admit at first that he was Walter Foster at all, butat last, when he saw I was sure it was him, he just broke right down andas much as owned right up. He said he'd been slugged or sand-baggedthree weeks before and robbed of money and of papers of value that heneeded to help him in his trouble. He asked me what steps could be takento help a poor fellow accused of desertion. He didn't dare say anythingto any of the officers' cause the men he trusted at all--one or twowell-educated young fellows like himself--found out that he'd be shot iffound guilty. The only thing he could do was make a good record forhimself in the infantry, and having done that he could later on hope formercy. He asked a heap of questions, and I just told him to keep a stiffupper lip and we'd see him through, and he plucked up courage and saidhe believed he'd be able to have hope again;--at all events he'd go onduty right off. When I asked him how he dared go to Colonel Brent's,where at any time Lieutenant Ray might recognize him, he said he never_did_ except when he knew Lieutenant Ray was out of the way. Then Itried to get him to tell what he expected to gain by seeing Miss Ray,and he was confused and said he was so upset all over he really didn'tknow that he had been there so often. He thought if he could see her andtell her the whole story she could have influence enough to get him outof his scrape. He was going to tell me the whole story, but patrols andsentries were getting too thick, and he had to get somewhere to changehis dress for roll-call, and I gave him my address and he was to comeand see me in two days, and now he's killed, and it ain't for me to saywhy--or who did it."
Benton's murder was certainly the sensation of the week in Manila, forthere were features connected with the case that made it still moreperplexing, even mysterious.
Major Farquhar, who must have seen young Foster frequently at FortAverill, had been sent to survey the harbor of Iloilo and could not bereached in time, but Dr. Frank, called in course of the day to identifythe remains, long and carefully studied the calm, waxen features of thedead soldier, and said with earnest conviction:
"This is undoubtedly the young man who appeared at Colonel Brent's andwhom I sought to question, but who seemed to take alarm at once and,with some confused apology, backed away. He was dressed very neatly inthe best white drilling sack-coat and trousers as made in Manila, with afine straw hat and white shoes and gloves, but he had a fuzzy beard allover his face then, and his manner was nervous and excitable. His eyesalone showed that he was unstrung, bodily and mentally. I set him downfor a crank or some one just picking up from serious illness. The cityis full of new-comers, and as yet no one knows how many strangers haverecently come to town. I saw him only that once in a dim light, but ampositive in this identification."
Two or three non-commissioned officers of Benton's regiment wereexamined. Their stories were concise and to the point. The young soldierhad come with the recruits from San Francisco along late in August. Hewas quiet, well-mannered, attended strictly to his own business, and waseager to learn everything about his duties. They "sized him up" as ayoung man of education and good family who hadn't influence enough toget a commission and so had enlisted to win it. He had money, but no badhabits. He helped in the office with the regimental papers, and couldhave been excused from all duty and made clerk, but wouldn't be. He saidhe'd help whenever they wanted him, but he didn't wish to be excusedfrom guard or drills or patrol or picket--said he wanted to learn allthere was in it. Even the rough fellows in the ranks couldn't helpliking him. He had a pleasant word for everybody that didn't bother himwith questions. He made one or two acquaintances, but kept mostly tohimself; never got any letters from America, but there were two fromHong Kong, perhaps more. If he wrote letters himself, he posted themin town. They never went with the company mail from the _cuartel_.Everybody seemed to know that Benton wasn't his own name, but that wasnothing. The main thing queer about him was that he got a pass wheneverhe could and went by himself, most generally out to Paco, where thecavalry were, yet he said he didn't know anybody there. It was out Pacoway on the Calzada Herran, close to the corner of the Singalon road, thepatrol picked him up with his head laid open, and he'd been flightypretty much ever since and troubled about being robbed. Seemed all rightagain, however, when reporting for duty, and perfectly sane and straightthen.
Two very bright young soldiers, Clark and Hunter, were called in fortheir statements. They, too, had enlisted in a spirit of patriotism anddesire for adventure; never knew Benton till the voyage was nearly over,then they seemed to drift together, as it were, and kept up theirfriendship after reaching Manila. Benton was not his real name, and hewas not a graduate of any American college. He had been educated abroadand spoke French and Ger
man. No, they did not know what university heattended. He was frank and pleasant so long as nobody tried to probeinto his past; never heard him mention Lieutenant Stuyvesant. All threeof them, Benton, Clarke, and Hunter, had observed that young officerduring the month as he drove by barracks, sometimes with the general,sometimes alone, but they did not know his name, and nothing indicatedthat Benton had any feeling against him or that he had seen him. Theyadmitted having conveyed the idea to comrades that they knew more aboutBenton than they would tell, but it was a "bluff." Everybody was full ofspeculation and curiosity, and--well, just for the fun of the thing,they "let on," as they said, that they were in his confidence, but theyweren't, leastwise to any extent. They knew he had money, knew he wentoff by himself, and warned him to keep a look out or he'd be held up androbbed some night.
The only thing of any importance they had to tell was that one day, justbefore his misfortune, Benton was on guard and posted as sentry over thebig Krupps in the Spanish battery at the west end of the Calle San Luis.Clarke and Hunter had a kodak between them and a consuming desire tophotograph those guns. The sentries previously posted there refused tolet them come upon the parapet,--said it was "'gainst orders." Bentonsaid that unless positive orders were given to him to that effect, hewould not interfere. So they got a pass on the same day and Bentoneasily got that post,--men didn't usually want it, it was such abother,--but, unluckily, with the post Benton got the very orders theydreaded. So when they would have made the attempt he had to say, "No."They came away crestfallen, and stumbled on two sailor-looking men who,from the shelter of a heavy stone revetment wall, were peering with oddexcitement of manner at Benton, who was again marching up and down hisnarrow post, a very soldierly figure.
"That young feller drove you back, did he?" inquired one of them, aburly, thick-set, hulking man of middle height. "Puttin' on considerableairs, ain't he? What's he belong to?"
"--th Infantry," answered Clarke shortly, not liking the stranger'slooks, words, or manner, and then pushed on; but the stranger followed,out of sight of the sentry now, and wanted to continue the conversation.
"Sure he ain't in the cavalry?" asked the same man.
"Cocksure!" was the blunt reply. "What's it to you, anyhow?"
"Oh, nothin'; thought I'd seen him before. Know his name?"
"Name's Benton, far as I know. Come on, Hunter," said Clarke, obviouslyunwilling to stay longer in such society, and little more was thought ofit for the time being; but now the provost-marshal's assistant wishedfurther particulars. Was there anything unusual about the questioner'steeth? And a hundred men looked up in surprise and suddenly rearousedinterest.
"Yes, sir," said Clarke, "one tooth was missing, upper jaw, next the bigeye-tooth;" and as the witness stood down the general and thequestioning officer beamed on each other and smiled.
An adjournment was necessitated during the early afternoon. LieutenantRay's statement was desired, also that of Private Connelly of theartillery, and an effort had been made through the officers of thecavalry at Paco to find some of the recruits who were of the detachmentnow quite frequently referred to in that command as "the singed cats."But it transpired that most of them had been assigned to troops of theirregiment not yet sent to Manila, only half the regiment being onduty--foot duty at that--in the Philippines. The only man among them whohad travelled with Foster from Denver as far as Sacramento was the youngrecruit, Mellen. He was on outpost, but would be relieved and sent toErmita as quickly as possible.
Connelly, said the surgeon at the Cuartel de Meysic, was too ill to besent thither, unless on a matter of vital importance, and Sandy Ray,hastening from Maidie's bedside in response to a summons, was met by thetidings that a recess had been ordered, and that he would be sent foragain when needed.
Everywhere in Malate, Ermita, Paco, and, for that matter, the barracksand quarters of Manila, the astonishing story was the topic of alltongues that day. Among the regulars by this time the tale of Foster'sdevotion to Maidie Ray was well known, while that of Stuyvesant's laterbut assiduous courtship was rapidly spreading.
Men spoke in murmurs and with sombre faces, and strove to talk lightlyon other themes, but the tragedy, with all the honored names itinvolved, weighed heavily upon them. Stuyvesant came to them, to besure, a total stranger, but Vinton had long known him, and that wasenough. His name, his lineage, his high position socially, all united tothrow discredit on the grave suspicion that attached to him. Yet, herethey were, brought face to face, rivals for the hand of as lovely a girlas the army ever knew. It was even possible that Foster was theaggressor. Reilly's reluctant words gave proof that discussion of somekind had occurred, and Stuyvesant broke away and was apparently wrathfulat being compelled to go back; then more words, longer detention; then aswift-running form, Stuyvesant's, away from the scene; then the fatalpistol; and against this chain of circumstances only the unsupportedstatement of the accused that he left that revolver on the table in thesalon, left it where it was never afterwards seen. No wonder men shooktheir heads.
It was three in the afternoon when the examination was resumed.Meantime, from all over Manila came the correspondents, burning withzeal and impatience, for the Esmeralda was scheduled to leave at five,and a stony-hearted censor at the Ayuntamiento had turned down wholepages of thrilling "copy" that would cost three dollars a word to sendto the States, but sell for thirty times as much when it got there.
"Despite the positive identification of the remains," wrote one inspiredjournalist, "by such an unimpeachable and intelligent woman as ZenobiaPerkins, who attended the murdered lad after he was so severely burnedupon the train,--despite the equally positive recognition by thateminent and distinguished surgeon, Dr. Frank, this military satrap andcensor dares to say that not until the identity of the deceased isestablished to the satisfaction of the military authorities will thereport be cabled. How long will the people of America submit to suchtyrannical dictation?"
When the provost-marshal himself, with his assistants and Vinton andStuyvesant, returned at three and found Zenobia the vortex of a storm ofquestioners, the centre of a circle of rapid-writing scribes, theselatter could have sworn--did swear, some of them--that, far fromexpediting matters in order that a full report might be sent by theEsmeralda, the officials showed a provoking and exasperating dispositionto prolong and delay them.
And even at this time and at this distance, with all his regard,personal and professional, for the official referred to, the presentchronicler is unable entirely to refute the allegation.
Out in the street a score of carriages and as many _quilez_ and_carromattas_ stood waiting by the curb, and gallant Captain Taylor, ofthe Esmeralda, could have added gold by the hundred to his well-earnedstore would he but have promised to hold his ship until the court--notthe tide--served. But an aide of the commanding general had driven tothe ship towards two o'clock and said something to that able seaman,--nopower of the press could tell what,--and all importunity as to delayinghis departure there was but one reply,--
"Five sharp, and not a second later!"
It was after three--yes, long after--that witnesses of consequence cameup for examination. Dr. Brick had got the floor and was pleading_post-mortem_ at once. In this climate and under such conditionsdecomposition would be so rapid, said he, that "by tomorrow his ownmother couldn't recognize him." But the provost-marshal drawled that hedidn't see that further mutilation would promote the possibility ofrecognition, and Brick was set aside.
It was quarter to four when young Mellen was bidden to tell whether heknew, and what he knew of, the deceased, and all men hushed their verybreath as the lad was conducted to the blanket-shrouded form under theoverhanging gallery in the open _patio_. The hospital steward slowlyturned down the coverlet, and Mellen, well-nigh as pallid as the corpse,was bidden to look. Look he did, long and earnestly. The little weightsthat some one had placed on the eyelids were lifted; the soft hair hadbeen neatly brushed; the lips were gently closed; the delicate,clear-cut features wore an expression of
infinite peace and rest; andMellen slowly turned and, facing the official group at the neighboringtable, nodded.
"You think you recognize the deceased?" came the question. "If so, whatwas his name?"
"I think so, yes, sir. It's Foster--at least that's what I heard itwas."
"Had you ever known him?--to speak to?"
"He was in the same detachment on the train. Don't know as I ever spoketo him, sir," was the answer.
"But you think you know him by sight? Where did you first notice him?"
"Think it was Ogden, sir. I didn't pay much attention before that. A mancalled Murray knew him and got some money from him. That's how I came tonotice him. The rest of us hadn't any to speak of."
"Ever see him again to speak to or notice particularly after you leftOgden? Did he sit near you?" was the somewhat caustic query.
"No, sir, only just that once."
"But you are sure this is the man you saw at Ogden?"
Mellen turned uneasily, unhappily, and looked again into the still andplacid face. That meeting was on a glaring day in June. This was aclouded afternoon in late October and nearly five months had slippedaway. Yet he had heard the solemn story of murder and had never, up tonow, imagined there could be a doubt. In mute patience the sleeping faceseemed appealing to him to speak for it, to own it, to stand between itand the possibility of its being buried friendless, unrecognized.
"It's--it's him or his twin brother, sir," said Mellen.
"One question more. Had you heard before you came here who was killed?"
"Yes, sir. They said it was Foster."
And now, with pencils swiftly plying, several young civilians wereedging to the door.
James Farnham was called, and a sturdy young man, with keen,weather-beaten face, stepped into the little open space before thetable. Three fingers were gone from the hand he instinctively held up,as though expecting to be sworn. His testimony was decidedly adisappointment. Farnham said that he was brakeman of that train andwould know some of that squad of recruits anywhere, but this one,--well,he remembered talking to one man at Ogden, a tall, fine-looking youngfeller something very like this one. This might have been him or itmight not. He couldn't even be sure that this was one of the party. Hereally didn't know. But there was a chap called Murray that he'dremember easy enough anywhere.
And then it was after four and the race for the Esmeralda began. It wasutterly unnecessary, said certain bystanders, to question any moremembers of the guard, but the provost-marshal did, and not until 4.30did he deign to send for the most important witness of all, the brotherof the young girl to whom the deceased had been so devotedly attached.They had not long to wait, for Sandy Ray happened to be almost at thedoor.
The throng seemed to take another long breath, and then to hold it as,the few preliminaries answered, Mr. Ray was bidden to look at the faceof the deceased. Pale, composed, yet with infinite sadness of mien, theyoung officer, campaign hat in hand, stepped over to the trestle, andthe steward again slowly withdrew the light covering, again exposingthat placid face.
The afternoon sunshine was waning. The bright glare of the mid-day hourshad given place within the enclosure to the softer, almost shadowy lightof early eve. Ray had but just come in from the street without where theslanting sunbeams bursting through the clouds beat hot upon the dazzlingwalls, and his eyes had not yet become accustomed to the change.Reverently, pityingly, he bent and looked upon the features of the dead.An expression, first of incredulity, then of surprise, shot over hisface.
He closed his eyes a second as though to give them strength for sternertest, and then, bending lower, once more looked; carefully studied theforehead, eyebrows, lashes, mouth, nose, and hair, then, straighteningup, he slowly faced the waiting room and said,--
"I never set eyes on this man in my life before to-day."
