ntains afforded a little
coolness.

* * * * *

On board the _Mindoro_ Parrington had found orders to take the relief
guard for the wireless telegraph station to Mariveles the next morning.
At six o'clock the little gunboat had taken the men on board, and was
now steering across the blue Bay of Manila toward the little rocky
island of Corregidor, which had recently been strongly fortified, and
which lies like a block of stone between gigantic mountain wings in the
very middle of the entrance to the Bay of Manila. Under a gray sail,
which served as a slight protection from the sun, the soldiers squatted
sullenly on their kits. Some were asleep, others stared over the railing
into the blue, transparent water that rippled away in long waves before
the bow of the little vessel. From the open skylight of the engine room
sounded the sharp beat of the engine, and the smell of hot oil spread
over the deck, making the burning heat even more unbearable. Parrington
stood on the bridge and through his glass examined the steep cliffs at
the entrance to the bay, and the bizarre forms of the little volcanic
islands.

Except for a few fishing boats with their brown sails, not a ship was to
be seen on the whole expanse of the water. The gunboat now turned into
the northern entrance, and the long, glistening guns in the
fortifications of Corregidor became visible. Up above, on the batteries
hewn in the rocks, not a living soul could be seen, but below, on the
little platform where the signal-post stood near the northern battery,
an armed sentry marched up and down. Parrington called out to the
signalman near him: "Send this signal across to Corregidor: 'We are
going to relieve the wireless telegraph detachment at Mariveles, and
shall call at Corregidor on our way back.'" The Corregidor battery
answered the signal, and informed Parrington that Colonel Prettyman
expected him for lunch later on. Slowly the _Mindoro_ crept along the
coast to the rocky Bay of Mariveles, where, before the few neglected
houses of the place, the guard of the wireless telegraph station, which
stood on the heights of Sierra de Mariveles, was awaiting the arrival of
the gunboat.

The _Mindoro_ was made fast to the pier. The exchange of men took place
quickly, and the relief guard piled their kits on two mule-carts, in
which they were to be carried up the steep hillside to the top, where a
few flat, white houses showed the position