The herald. [microfilm reel] (Los Angeles [Calif.]) 1893-1900, 1898-08-14
OUR REGULARS
THEIR SPLENDID MANLINESS
AMID HARDSHIP
Brave, Quiet, Patient Men Who Die
Quietly Upon occasion-The
Heroism of Frank Martinez

You swing so easily into the routine, the
unrest. the per.ls and the fun of army life
that YOU lose that most precious and essen
tial thing a writer can have-and that Is
his point of view. Nothing seems strange
or unusual to you any more. You get
used to hunting for your food and sleeping
In the high grass and losing your tooth
brush and making paper caps for wounded
men and carrying cruel to the SICK ana
trading pinch of tobacco for half hard
tack and drinking from the same canteen
that your negro servant drinks FROM
These things cease to be hardships and
You cannot imagine that anybody would be
interested in their recital Colonies and
foreign attaches and authors who have de-
lighted the English speaking race with
their work come to you for food or cook
over your fire and drink sparingly from
your canteen, and when your food gives
out and when your fire is gone out you get
q return Of favors. All this makes for
perfect democracy of feeling The buffer
and the liar and the boaster doesn't retain
the level he won amid the artihcialities OF
civilization. And the good man, the gen.
erous, kind-hearted, helpful man, shines
out In the most splendid colors. He gets
to be regarded as the direct ambassador
Of heaven, because all men during an ac-
tive campaign il a strange country are SO
dependent one upon the other.
The spirit of helpfulness and kindness
prevails all through the ranks of the reg
ular army / can remember the time when
I used to hear that our regulars were re-
cruited largely from idle, worthless and
MAY
and the like of that The people who said
this may have been justified in what they
said, but If they were, then to have lived
idly, worthlessly. perhaps wickedy, and
to have been imprisoned, is grand school
ing In kindness of heart, unflinching brav-
cry, generosity of spirit, and simple
straightforward manliness.
What used to delight me particularly
about these regulars was their unanected-
ness. They never posed before you, what
ever your station; and, by the same token,
thew never imposed upon you. They were
respectful always and they were always
quick, deft and willing. They seemed TO
have no nerves, in the sense OF ever pelng
nervous, and no muscles. IN the sense OIL
ever being tired. They lived quietly ana
IL the occasion demanded 1t, they dieo
quietly. That was a curious fact. When II
came to dying they maintained the same
taciturn. respectful attitude they assumed
while living.
An. they are the brave, silent, patient
men. and 1 am glad I am home again. II
only to tell of them and to write about
them. To one of them I am sure owe 1t
that / am home, that am alive and able
- lodi oh L
forget that little, swarthy, smiling Italian,
who, despite his nativity, is as good an
American as ever lifted his hat to the flag.
Frank Martinez is his name, and when he
isn't busy saving peoples lives he plays the
cymbals in the band of the Thirteenth in
fantry, u. s. A.
When the yellow fever broke out at ST.
honey an isolation camp was established
some two or three miles back in the woods.
Thither we who had the fever were taken,
and tfithsr went Frank Martinez. There
were between fifty and seventy-five of US,
and he was our only nurse. Without him
do not know what we would have done,
and yet he was such a little chap, and he
had never had the fever, and he was play
ing with his life in coming near us. He
was always awake, always near at hand,
always responsive to the faintest whimper
Of sick man. There was no cot for him
to sleep on, and no room for it in the tents
If there had been one. So he passed the
nights on box of hospital stores under a
tree. I say he passed the nights, because
don't see how he could have slept through
them. He was never caught sleeping by
any Of that sleepless. restless crowd who
wanted something every hour of the day or
night.
He helped US to wash our feverish bodies
in the morning, he built the fires and pre-
pared the condensed milk, and buried the
camp offal and ditched the tents and car
ried live Goals to the smokers and water to
the thirsty. He cheered US with his merry
laugh and his radiant face, and he fetched
and carried and ran in rain and shine.
In darkness and dawn. He never thought
Of himself; he would work for hours in
dripping clothes, and when we would beg
him to strip and wrap up ina blanket he
would say: "NogIiI am too busy. Soon the
sun will come, and 1t will dry me-" Then
he would rush away to build fire or to
raise the walls of tent so that breath
OF clean air could reach us and we could
hear the water chugging in his shoes as
he went to and fro.
When I was released from the camp he
threw his arms about me and for an In
slant held me close in his strong, kind
arms. Then he blessed me in the beautiful
italian manner. and I went my way. As
the train slipped down the grade he stood
In front Of tent waving good-by.
I could not see him plainly then, for the
grateful tears blinded me, but as the days
pass there are no tears when think of him
only great reverence and love-and so l
can behold him clearly. He stands there
on the green hillside, little and swarthy,
and erect. blue circles of pain and weari-
ness under his eyes, his face pinched and
his hand shaking from lack of sleep.
That was my last sight of Frank Mar
tneiz. do not know If he is living or dead.
But do know that If he still lives he Is
doing good and that men are rising UP and
calling him blessed
And II he Is dead-well, there's q land
that is fairer than day, and for such az
him was 1t prepared.
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