swarming multitude as is rivaled almost nowhere else, except it be
on Broadway at the passing of the old year. But this mob,
moreover, was fully seventy percent black, and rather largely
French--and when black and French and strong drink mix, trouble
sprouts like jungle seeds. Now and then Policeman G----drifted by
through the uproar, holding his "sap" loosely as for ready use and
often half consciously hitching the heavy No. 38 "Colt" under his
khaki jacket a bit nearer the grasp of his right hand. I little
knew how familiar every corner of this scene would one day be to
me.

A Chinese grocer sold us bread and cheese. Down on the further
corner of the hubbub we entered a Spanish saloon and spread
ourselves over the "white" bar, adding beer to our humble
collation. Beyond the lattice-work that is the "color line" in
Zone dispensaries, West Indians were dancing wild, crowded "hoe-
downs" and "shuffles" amid much howling and more liquidation; on
our side a few Spanish laborers quietly sipped their liquor. The
Marines of course were "busted." The rest of us scraped up a few
odd "Spigoty" dimes. The Spanish bar-tender--who is never the
"tough" his American counterpart strives to show himself--but
merely a cheery good-fellow--drifted into our conversation, and
when we found I had slept in his native village he would have it
that we accept a round of Valdepenas. Which must have been potent,
for it moved "Scotty" to unbutton an inner pocket and set up an
entire bottle of amontillado. So midnight was no great space off
when we turned out again into the howling night and, having helped
Renson to reach a sleeping-place, scattered to the bachelor
quarters that had been found for us and lay down for the few hours
that remained before the 5:51 should carry us back to Empire.