Before leaving the ship, the Americans joked about their possible fate, as Americans will, while the natives, on going down the gangway, crossed themselves and commended their souls to the Virgin, each race brave and stout-hearted in its own fashion. To be sure, they carried with them life-preservers and signals in case of accident, while the ship stayed as near the little twinkling lights on the small boat as possible, like some big mother hen hovering over her only chick.
The next morning the buoy at Flecha Point was picked up, the splice made, and the journey to Zamboanga continued. On the afternoon of February 21st, after making the final splice twelve miles out, we sailed into the harbour, to learn that the cable was working successfully in every detail, and that the natives of the town were overjoyed to be in communication with the world. The great event was celebrated on board by a jolly dinner, to which many officers from shore were bidden, after which we sat up on the quarter-deck until very late, exchanging home news and gossip some six or seven weeks old, while a round and red tropic moon hung in the heavens like a Japanese lantern, and the torchlights of innumerable fishing smacks bobbed up and down, as the natives speared for fish in the dark waters of the bay.
The next morning was Washington’s Birthday, in honour of which the ship was dressed, and, more wonderful still, a holiday declared for all hands aboard, the first one since leaving Manila, This was principally due to the fact that at this particular juncture a day more or less made no appreciable difference in the outcome, while at Christmas and New Year’s every moment was of import.
Even before sunrise the natives were astir in preparation for the great event. All of them discarded their tarred clothing, appearing in natty white “Americanos” and dinky straw hats, while some even sported swagger sticks. In the Philippines any white suit which consists of well fitting trousers and a coat buttoning up to the throat, as contradistinguished from baggy pantaloons with a camisa worn on the outside, is called by the natives an “Americano,” and is by them greatly admired from a sartorial standpoint.
Nearly all the Signal Corps employees, being men of social standing because of their really princely salaries, fifteen gold dollars a month, sported such suits, which with the addition of stockings and neat tan shoes, instead of bare feet thrust carelessly into chinelas, gave them the appearance of belonging to the native four hundred, any one of them looking eligible for the high office of presidente or secretario. There must have been many a flutter under modest panuelas when the sixty young swells struck Zamboanga that day, with money sufficient to buy unlimited sorbetas and the little rice potas so dear to the heart of Philippine maidens.
The jackies having shore leave were most picturesque, and, alas, hot as well, in their blue flannel suits, with the round sailor cap set at a jaunty angle on their heads; while the Signal Corps soldiers and hospital men in fresh khaki, the officers in crisp duck, and the women freshly starched and ironed, gave a holiday aspect even beyond that of the fluttering flags aloft, as the ship had been dressed both on Chrismas Day and New Year’s, although the work had gone on with unabated energy.
Indeed, some of the Irish sailors in the forecastle were overheard talking together that morning, one of them saying, as he rammed his tobacco down hard in his pipe with anticipatory joy in the smoke to come:
“Sure, not that I am complainin’ at the same, but will anny of yez tell me why the ship’s a-flutter with flags, and the lads all given a holiday, and that old coffee-mill of a cable machine stopped grinding for the once?”
“Because,” answered a comrade with an expressive wink, “it’s Garge’s birthday, Garge Washington, you know, the daddy of his counthry!”
“Oh, to be sure!” responded the other, meditatively, taking a whiff or two at his pipe to see that it was really lighted before he threw the match overboard. “To be sure! And it’s a great mon that same Garge must have bin, a great mon, Dinnis. Sure, St. Pathrick himself couldn’t touch him with a shillaly.”