the sky into one huge red flame, streaked with yellow lights and deep green patches. The clouds, which looked like spots of black velvet floating above the semicircle of the sun, had jagged edges of gleaming white and unearthly ruby red. Fiery red, yellow, and green reflections played tremblingly over the water, while in the east the deep blue shadows of night slowly overspread the sky.

The whole formed a picture of rare coloring: the four little American ships, pushing forward with all the strength of their puffing engines and throwing up a white line of foam before them with their sharp bows; on the bridges the weather-beaten forms of their commanders, and beside the dull-brown gun muzzles the gun crews, waiting impatiently for the moment when the decreasing distance would at last allow them to use their weapons; far away in the blue shadows of the departing day, like a spirit of the sea, the white steamer, from whose sides poured unceasingly the yellow flashes from the mouths of the cannon. Several shots had caused a good deal of damage among the rigging of the gunboats. The Callao had only half a funnel left, from which gray-brown smoke and red sparks poured forth.

Suddenly there was a loud explosion, and the Callao listed to port. A six-inch shell had hit her squarely in the stern, passing through the middle of the ship, and exploded in the upper part of the engine-room. The little gunboat was eliminated from the contest before it could fire a single shot, and now it lay broadside to the enemy, and utterly at the latter's mercy. In a few minutes the Callao sank, her flags waving. Almost directly afterwards another boat shared her fate. The other two gunboats continued on their course, the quickly descending darkness making them a more difficult target for the enemy. Suddenly a lantern signal informed the commander of the Mindoro that the third ship had become disabled through some damage to the engines. Parrington at once ordered the gunboat to be run ashore on the island of Mindoro and blown up during the night. Then he was compelled to leave the last of his comrades to its fate. His wireless apparatus had felt disturbances, evidently caused by the enemy's warning to the ships blockading Manila, so that his chances of entering the harbor unmolested appeared exceedingly slim.

The Japanese cruiser ceased firing as it grew darker, but curiously enough had made no use whatever of her searchlights. Only the flying sparks from her funnel enabled the Mindoro to follow the course of the hostile vessel, which soon passed the gunboat. Either the enemy thought that all four American ships had been destroyed or else they didn't think it worth while to worry about a disabled little gunboat. At all events, this carelessness or mistake on the part of the enemy proved the salvation of the Mindoro. During the night she struck a northwesterly course, so as to try to gain an entrance to the Bay of Manila from the north at daybreak, depending on the batteries of Corregidor to assist her in the attempt. Once during the night the Mindoro almost collided with one of the enemy's blockading ships, which was traveling with shaded lights, but she passed by unnoticed and gained an entrance at the north of the bay at dawn, while the batteries on the high, rocky terraces of Corregidor, with their long-range guns, kept the enemy at a distance. It was now ascertained that the Japanese blockading fleet consisted only of ships belonging to the merchant service, armed with a few guns, and of the old, unprotected cruiser Takatshio, which had had the encounter with the gunboats. The bold expedition of the latter had cleared up the situation in so far that it was now pretty certain that the entire American cruiser squadron had been destroyed or disabled, and that Manila was therefore entirely cut off from the sea.

The batteries at Corregidor now expected 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 José, with his skull smashed in. The Filipinos had surprised the station of San José 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, deeply touched, pressed his comrade's hand. The insurrection of the Filipinos! In Manila the bells of the Dominican church of Intra muros rang out their monotonous call to early mass.

Chapter II

ON THE HIGH SEAS

The Tacoma was expected to arrive at Yokohama early the next morning; the gong had already sounded, calling the passengers to the farewell meal in the dining-saloon, which looked quite festive with its colored flags and lanterns.

There was a deafening noise of voices in the handsome room, which was beginning to be overpoweringly hot in spite of the ever-revolving electric fans. As the sea was quite smooth, there was scarcely an empty place at the tables. A spirit of parting and farewell pervaded the conversation; the passengers were assembled for the last time, for on the morrow the merry party, which chance had brought together for two weeks, would be scattered to the four winds. Naturally the conversation turned upon the country whose celebrated wonders they were to behold on the following day. The old globe-trotters and several merchants who had settled in East Asia were besieged with questions, occasionally very naïve ones, about Japan and the best way for foreigners to get along there. With calm superiority they paraded their knowledge, and eager ladies made note on the backs of their menus of all the hotels, temples, and mountains recommended to them. Some groups were making arrangements for joint excursions in the Island Kingdom of Tenno; others discussed questions of finance and commerce, each one trying to impress his companions by a display of superior knowledge.