ected an attack from the enemy's
ships, but none came. The Japanese contented themselves with an
extraordinarily slack blockade--so much so that at times one could
scarcely distinguish the outlines of the ships on the horizon. As all
commerce had stopped and only a few gunboats comprised the entire naval
strength of Manila, Japan could well afford to regard this mockery of a
blockade as perfectly sufficient. Day by day the Americans stood at
their guns, day by day they expected the appearance of a hostile ship;
but the horizon remained undisturbed and an uncanny silence lay over the
town and harbor. Of what use were the best of guns, and what was the
good of possessing heroic courage and a burning desire for battle, if
the enemy did not put in an appearance? And he never did.

When Parrington appeared at the Club on the evening after his scouting
expedition he was hailed as a hero, and the officers stayed together a
long time discussing the naval engagement. In the early hours of the
morning he accompanied his friend, Colonel Hawkins of the Twelfth
Infantry Regiment, through the quiet streets of the northern suburbs of
Manila to the latter's barracks. As they reached the gate they saw,
standing before it in the pale light of dawn, a mule cart, on which lay
an enormous barrel. The colonel called the sentry, and learned that the
cart had been standing before the gate since the preceding evening. The
colonel went into the guard-room while Parrington remained in the
street. He was suddenly struck by a label affixed to the cask, which
contained the words, "From Colonel Pemberton to his friend Colonel
Hawkins." Parrington followed the colonel into the guard-room and drew
his attention to the scrap of paper. Hawkins ordered some soldiers to
take the barrel down from the car and break open one end of it. The
colonel had strong nerves, and was apt to boast of them to the novices
in the colonial service, but what he saw now was too much even for such
an old veteran. He stepped back and seized the wall for support, while
his eyes grew moist.

In the cask lay the corpse of his friend Colonel Pemberton, formerly
commander of the military station of San Jose, with his skull smashed
in. The Filipinos had surprised the station of San Jose and slaughtered
the whole garrison after a short battle. Pemberton's corpse--his love
for whisky was well known--they had put into a cask and driven to the
infantry barracks at Manila. Parrington, de