Cheerily a whistle rang out, sending the men running to the beach; there was the Sabah, tripping jauntily through the water toward her recent mooring-place, and on her deck, smiling and waving, were the missing men.
“Merry Christmas,” Lewis greeted the men, as he walked down the company street. Stopping at the cook’s tent, he inquired what there was for dinner.
“Beans, bacon, and hardbread,” was the reply.
“Tough menu for Christmas, eh, cook?”
A shrill whistle echoed through the forest
Since their arrival, every turkey and duck had disappeared, and the barrio offered nothing to enhance their limited ration. It was an old trick; the natives objected to sharing their food with soldiers, and as soon as any troops landed on the island, ever possible article was spirited away into the jungle.
It was a bad day for every one. Most of the men were homesick, and they all felt the shadow of impending disaster; only Lewis and his confidants realized the seriousness of the situation, however.
“Corporal, take four men with bolos and cut six banana trees,” called Lewis. “Plant them in a row down the company street.”
Curiosity and amusement were mingled with indifference as the men started toward the thicket to execute the order. What had come over the lieutenant? Obediently the trees were brought, and Lewis superintended the planting. The squad was kept busy cutting ferns and palms, and it began to dawn on the astonished men that they were preparing for a holiday. The spirit was taken up generally, and the gloom was gradually dispelled.