the “Great White Way,” through the marine camp, the Pike, Cheyenne Joe’s, and later joined in the merriment at a dinner in the Tyrolean Alps. A quartette of Indian chiefs occupied a table some distance from ours, among whom was the famous old Apache warrior Geronimo. On learning that one of the chiefs was Geronimo, a member of our party, a celebrated singer of coon songs, expressed a desire to meet him, whereupon I invited the Indians to join the “Merry Wanderers of the Night.” After the introduction the old chief made a speech in the Apache tongue; they sang, danced, chanted, and became quite hilarious; this was not due, however, to the stimulants of the Tyrolean Alps, for, although the Indians would have relished a mint julep, they were obliged to indulge in milder potations. Each chief, before departing, had ardently proposed to the actress of his choice, who accepted him in the language and manner of the stage. The wee hours of the morning were gliding by as this jovial party of merrymakers boarded their “special” of palace sleepers, and thus ended a round of joy, keen wit, and humor.
Strong resentment against the conduct of Filipino scouts had been expressed in different quarters of the “Fair,” and trouble between these and the white soldiers had been narrowly averted a number of times. The flirtations between white women of apparent respectability and the islanders had created adverse criticism. The marines, goaded by these flirtations and seeing fashionably gowned women on the arms of Filipinos promenading the Pike, felt that it was more than they could stand. In consequence a plan of campaign was outlined. One of the officers said, “I foresaw this situation and gave warning that it would come about. It is amazing the way white women shower attentions on the scouts, parading them to their homes and all that sort of thing.”
On several occasions marines had interfered when white girls were seen with the scouts; this usually precipitated a fight, causing bitter feelings in both camps. The resentment against the brown men, which continued growing stronger daily, took form when, at about ten o’clock at night, sixty
soldiers of the scout battalion surrounded and assaulted ten marines, who, after a pitched battle, compelled their assailants to retreat. The marines returned to camp, and, expecting trouble, were awaiting reinforcements, when a marine rushed in, spreading the alarm, that the Filipinos had sought succor at their camp and that about three hundred were coming down the Pike armed. Always reckless and ripe for excitement, a marine shouted, “Come on, boys! let’s clean the Gu Gus off the earth.” This exclamation was hailed with cheers, and in a few moments more than one hundred marines were in pursuit of the enemy. Before reaching the Irish village, the detachment split into two sections, one section covering the north end of the Pike while the other hurried on to intercept the chocolate soldiers near Bohemia. On seeing the marines entering the Pike, on the double, the scouts fled, retreating presumably for a darker section of the grounds where they could adopt their accustomed mode of fighting. It was too late, however, for, alas! they were hemmed in, and to the victor
belonged the spoils. The marines charged, a pitched battle ensued, in which the Filipinos, being in the majority, held their ground for a short space of time, but soon wilted under the terrific onslaught of the Americans.
This scene was laughable in the extreme, and reminded me of a chapter from “Gulliver’s Travels”; those who had escaped a knockout were glad to end the struggle. Having retreated toward their camp, they had arrived in the vicinity of the Agricultural Building, when some of them drew arms and commenced firing. This enraged the marines to such an extent that they decided to charge their camp, which precipitated a clash with the Jeffersonian Guards in which two of the guards were seriously injured. At this juncture an alarm brought the mounted police galloping to the scene, who finally restored order, both sides withdrawing to the peaceful habitations of their camp.
Washington was apprised of the affair, and the troops were severely reprimanded; but the lesson taught the scouts had great
bearing on their future attitude toward the Americans. The St. Louis newspapers depicted the scenes of this riot, and devoted several columns in which they eulogized the marines for the stand they had taken.
No military organization could have been treated with more courtesy than the marine battalion at the St. Louis Exposition, and, when the day arrived for its departure, it was with reluctance rather than pleasure that the comfortable tents, the scenes of so much merriment, had to be vacated for the less desirable quarters in barracks.
After breaking camp and securing our equipment, we bade the big show a fond farewell. A long line of street cars conveyed the battalion to the Union Station, where Pullman sleepers of the “Big Four” draped with streamers awaited it. The Sixth Infantry band discoursed music as the soldiers of the sea bade their friends good-by, and, as they boarded the two sections of the train, the reverberating strains of “Maryland, my Maryland” were received with vociferous applause by the multitude that crowded the station platform.