e was a small American garrison at Ibajay--about seventy-five or
a hundred--and the Filipinos planned to surprise and massacre them
just at day-break when the reveille was sounded. But the bugler was
an astute youth, with an observing mind, and as he made his morning
promenade, it seemed to him that there were far too many ladies
squatting about on the plaza. So he got as close to quarters as he
could, and instead of blowing reveille, blew the call to arms with
all his soul, and then ran for his life. The American troops swarmed
out in their underdrawers and cartridge belts, and that surprise
party turned right about face. The squatting women on the plaza,
who were bolo-men in disguise, left for the hills with the yelling
undergarmented in pursuit. A Filipino girl who saw it all described
the affair to me, and said, "Abao," as she recalled the shouts of
enjoyment with which the Americans returned after the fray. They
seemed to regard the episode as planned to relieve the monotony of
life in quarters and to give them a hearty breakfast appetite.

I had been little more than a month in Capiz when the rumor went
abroad that a parao with forty insurrectos from Samar had landed at
Panay, just east of us, and the occupants had scattered themselves
out between Panay and Pontevedra. Pontevedra was supposed to be an
insurrecto town, thirsting for American gore.

As we at Capiz were protected by a company of the Sixth Infantry and
one of the Tenth Cavalry, and the Islands were theoretically at peace,
we were not very much alarmed by this. But it gave us something to
talk about, and we enjoyed it just as we do telling ghost stories on
winter nights, when the fire is low, and there is plenty of company
in case the ghosts materialize. Shortly after, however, came the
shocking details of the affair at Balangiga, and we--I speak of
the feminine portion of our colony--did not feel so secure by any
means. The Supervisor's wife insisted upon having a guard at her house,
and when any two American women got together they discussed what they
would do in case of a sudden alarm.

I am certain that there is no braver soldiery in all the world than
ours. But I am equally certain that when war is a man's profession,
on which all his chances of honor, pay, and promotion hinge directly
or indirectly, the wish in his mind is father to the thought, and
unconsciously he scents danger because he wants danger. Of an officer
it may be said, as of Thi