The voyage was uneventful save that the soldiers were ill-treated by Lieutenant Foster, who succeeded in gaining for himself the eternal hatred of the men under his charge. As the recruits were then unacquainted with military practices, many expressions of disgust being made in an unguarded way, reached the ears of the worthy Lieutenant, who heaped still greater indignities upon the men by way of retaliation. At Honolulu W.A. Kinney, the large plantation owner, entertained the Utahns during their brief stay in that city. The "Rio de Janeiro" arrived in Manila Bay on the 24th of August, but it was four days later before the recruits set foot on the soil of Luzon and made their phenomenal march up the streets of Manila to Plaza de Felipe II, where they greeted their comrades. Lieutenant Wedgewood, having recovered from his fever, arrived October 4th on the "Scandia," which left San Francisco on August 27th. During the long dreary days following the arrival of the recruits their life was not entirely joyous. From sunrise to sunset they were forced to listen to the blood-curdling tales which their companions told of the late conflict with the "Dons." At first they hearkened to them with respectful attention. They never doubted the truth of these glowing fairy stories. They revered these self-lauding heroes as a species of immortal beings. In return for this tributary deference they were treated with contempt. The veteran called them "rookies," and whenever one of them attempted to soar he was promptly and sternly reminded of his inferiority and kindly invited to get off the pedestal upon which he had so unwittingly placed himself while one of his superiors proceeded to relate a harrowing tale of blood and thunder and rain down in the trenches. Every bit of rainy weather or glorious sunset reminded the Malate hero of something he had seen in the trenches and at once he began to dilate upon it with great attention to details and a lofty air of his own importance. So it went on. The recruits vainly sought for relief. He tried to stem the tide of persecution by relating stories of his own. But as soon as he made such an attempt he was immediately "bawled out" and his tormentors proceeded with a fresh tirade. Finally one of the groaning victims hit upon a happy plan, and after it was carried out it effectually stopped the torture. When in the future the mendacious veteran essayed to array himself in a cloud of glory by narrating legends of personal prowess, he was unceremoniously suppressed by the rookies, who sang: It may be so; I do not know, But it sounds to me like a lie. Instantly upon the starting of this little hymn it was taken up by every soldier in the barracks and the unlucky veteran, crestfallen and beaten, was only too glad to retire into seclusion. * * * * *