Adventure Magazine, March 1916 — page 217: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

A Man and His Deeds The Moros were breaking. Some were already turning to run back. A moment more, and the shock of their appalling losses turned them in consternation toward the woods beyond the ford. Not over twenty reached the little cut, to be finished with gun-butt and bayonet. When this furious work was finished, Gordon wiped the sweat from his eyes and took a swift inventory. Two of his men were dead, and six sorely wounded. The remaining ninety-two were in high spirits, dancing jigs, chanting old tribal songs, or taking pot shots at any form that showed across the river. When he caught an eye here and there, it made him think of a pet bull-dog who used to return to him for a patting after each victorious fight. “Small blame to thim!” quoted their commander, walking’ up and down in his happy excitement. ‘“They’ll never come back after that.” “Si, st, teniente,”’ grinned the trumpeter, who was busy dealing out the cartridges. “They no come. They plenty sick.” But just then the singing of his “men ceased. Sound carries easily in the high altitudes of Mindanao, and their ears were straining to catch the voices on the other side. “They no vamoose, teniente,” said one sergeant. ‘“The priest talk. Listen!’’ High and shrill, the voice of an exhorter came to them across the valley. Occasion- ally a roar greeted some ringing question, then silence fell upon the invisible listeners. The voice rose ever higher, shrilling with hate and trembling with indignation. “He call them in Allah’s name,” preted the sergeant. “Seems to me it would take Allah to send them on again after that,’’ muttered Gordon. “Ha! Now talk Dato Pedro!” exclaimed the sergeant. “And I shot at him four times myself!” murmured Gordon. “Lord, listen to that!” Never in his experience had he heard a human voice ring out so powerfully. Its deep bass tones thrummed and re-echoed across the cafion. The man was vibrant, athrill, alive. He threw his words into his listeners with the twanging crack of a bull whip. Gordon recognized that tone as one to which men give silence as a tribute, while underneath the spirit swells to the point of bursting. 7 inter- 215 “By gad!” he muttered uneasily. ‘“He’s liable to start something pronto. Juinto, hurry up with that ammunition.” ‘The bass voice rose to its climax, then broke into a wild song. It was a chant such as Gordon had never heard, a chant brought down from the days when the Sahara Mos- lems charged in reckless abandon behind the indomitable Ali Azrid. The maddening thrum of its undertone rang with the pounding of drums, the shrilling of pipes, the clanging of shields and the thunder of hoofs. ‘T believe they’re coming!”’ exclaimed the boy. They were—with a crashing yell that rose and drowned the roars of the Springfields. . Fired by their leader’s spirit, and firmly believing that a Christian killed is a gift in the eyes of Allah, the reckless fanatics swept from the woods and charged across the gorge like a herd of bison. The very magnificence of their daring first thrilled, then chilled the heart of the boy. They came and came, over tens and twenties, over thirties and forties of bloody, huddled dead. The constabulary worked their gunbolts ~ with the frenzy of an orchestra approaching a finale. Their bullets cut into the brown avalanche as a scythe mows into the grass; but the horde came rolling on. , It. was almost unbelievable. And sud- denly the youth’s heart sank within him. Several of his men had risen to their feet, just on the point of retreating. The boy could not blame them overmuch, for the pulajanes filled their gaps so rapidly that the very dead seemed to rise up to rush again. To their superstitious minds, these oncoming warriors appeared to be filled with the blood of invincible devils. Per- haps, after all, Allah was with the pula- janes, and they, the constabulary, were rendered powerless because he had cursed them for accepting service against their Moro brothers. Could the commandante ask them to fight it out when Allah had turned against them? There was little time in which to debate. Gordon leaped down into the narrow cut, calling on the nearest men to follow him. He need not have spoken. It is example which reaches the ear in the heat of battle. This young American dato, who had nursed them in their illnesses and fed them from his own pocket when red tape blocked the (EO)[AAiceLoxeye) € S (E@)