Page:The Green Bag (1889–1914), Volume 19.pdf/688

 CIRCUIT RIDING IN THE PHILIPPINES ceeded, by dint of much effort, in getting one. My service in the army had taught me to beware of all such answers of Quarter masters and the like as, "Go ahead, we'll get it up to you a little later." This machine was a delight to the eye. It was a brand new Remington with 70 spaces. It repre sented a rate of progress in taking down testimony in court at least double that of the inexorably accurate and skillful, but hopelessly slow, escribientes — penmen — left over from the Spanish regime. More over, as the Spanish law, still in force, re quired the original record to be sent up to the court of last resort in case of appeal, this machine represented also the making of two copies at once, the carbon copy to be retained in case of appeal as against loss of the original in transit. Brower, the Remington and the under signed crossed safely in a canoe without being swept down to where the two rivers meet, by adopting the very simple expedient of starting a prudent distance above the forks of the river. Then we put the oilskin over Mr. Remington and watched the circus. How those twenty odd men got their twenty odd horses and half dozen mules across that boiling torrent I hardly know to this day. I have heard of General Shafter's skill in taking cavalry across the Rio Grande in the early part of his career. I have also heard imputed to him the frequent use, in conver sation, of expletives not suitable for publi cation. There must be some connection between the two. These packers actually seemed to neutralize the terror which the roar of the river instilled into the swimming stock by the roar of the stream of their profanity. Finally, after about two hours of much floundering and several narrow escapes, both of men' and beasts, from drowning, we found ourselves on the farther shore, all present and accounted for — soldiers, packers, constabulary, and stock; also baggage, including the typewriter. An other twenty minutes for the packers to perform their wonderful feats of loading and

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cinching the aparejos (pack saddles), and we're off. ^ That day we made about eleven miles, if I remember correctly. Only one indelible incident occurred during the course of it. We came to a small stream. How deep it was no one knew. It seemed hardly fair to require anyone else to take a chance I was unwilling to take myself. So I rode in. The horse waded nearly halfway across, then a bit of swimming, then bottom again, then shore. However, he manifested some fright for which I could not account, on the way over. I was afterwards informed by a soldier that about that time the rest of them had noticed a crocodile on the other bank, a little bit down stream from the point my horse was making for, and, curiously enough, that the creature instead of darting for us had run down stream on the bank a little way and then plunged in headed in the same direction, that is, away from myself and horse. I assume he was not hungry. The next day late in the afternoon, we crossed another swollen river, in canoes, swimming the stock alongside, leading them with halters. Though not specially super stitious, I have always disliked a grey mare mule, and since that ninth day of November, 1 90 1, I consider them positively uncanny. This particular one was old and vicious, — not merely nervous, but beyond a reasonable doubt, vicious. She meddled with and annoyed the other swimming animals until about mid stream, where it was swiftest, and there she put one of her front feet into the canoe and turned it over. Of course we had all to swim for our lives, for the river was not only far beyond our depth, but was swift and had some ugly eddies. However, nothing was lost except a revolver and cartridge belt Captain Chrisman had loaned me, which I had fortunately unbuckled and laid in the bottom of the canoe before we pushed off. A 44-Colt's and a belt full of cartridges buckled about a swimmer make a very material difference in the time he can hold his own against a