The Campaign of the Jungle: or, Under Lawton through Luzon

“Good for you!” cried Ben. Then he drew a long breath, to think of the narrow escape he had had. The native, his hand flowing with blood, retreated as suddenly as he had approached.

The tide of the battle was now taking Americans and insurgents toward a cane-brake. The rebels still fought desperately, but they were beginning to lose confidence, for the Americans were pushing them hard.

But now came a cheer from the rear, and Company B rushed up to the aid of Ben’s command. To the young captain’s astonishment, Gilbert was in command, all the upper officers being either killed or wounded.

“Gilbert!” he called, but had no time to say more. But the young Southerner heard and waved the sword he had picked up. Soon the two companies were fighting shoulder to shoulder, and the enemy were driven out into the cane-field, and then into a meadow. Here they tried to make a stand, around an old rice-house, and it took another half hour to dislodge them. But when they did retreat at last, they went in great haste, many leaving their weapons and outfits behind them.

The fighting over, Ben started to find the major. Gilbert accompanied him. Their first hunt for the commander, however, was unsuccessful.

“It’s queer,” was Ben’s comment. “I trust he isn’t dead in the bushes.”

The hunt gradually brought them to a trail through the jungle, and presently Gilbert heard a faint moan for help. Running in the direction, they found a soldier of Company C lying on some moss, his knee shattered from a Mauser bullet.

“Oh, the pain!” groaned the poor fellow. “Help me, won’t you?”

“We’ll do all we can for you,” answered Ben, and while he went to work, Gilbert ran back to bring up the hospital corps with a stretcher.

“You want to go after Major Morris,” said the wounded soldier, as soon as he felt comfortable enough to talk.

“We are looking for Major Morris,” replied Ben, much astonished. “Where is he?”

“He was knocked over by one of the Dagos, and then three of ’em carried him away.”

This was certainly news, and Ben waited impatiently for Gilbert to get back. As soon as the young Southerner returned, both asked the wounded soldier in what direction the captured major had been taken.

“They went through the cane-brake,” was the answer. “You’ll find the trail easily enough, I think, if you look for it. One of the rebs wore boots with high heels, so you can’t miss ’em.”

The wounded man did his best to point out the right direction, and was then taken back to the hospital tent. Without delay Ben called Ralph Sorrel and half a dozen others to his aid.

“We must go after Major Morris, and at once,” he said. “Are you ready to undertake the work? It may be a dangerous proceeding.”

“We’re with yer, cap’n,” answered Sorrel, and his sentiment was that of all of the others.

The trail into the cane-brake was followed without much difficulty, and the party of eight advanced as rapidly as the nature of the ground permitted. The storm had cleared off the night before, and the sun shone down hotly, making the air in the brake suffocating.

“This yere is a putty big cane-brake, an’ no error,” remarked Sorrel, after a quarter of a mile had been covered. “Cap’n, it won’t do fer us to turn ourselves about an’ git lost.”

“We’ll stick to the one trail,” answered Ben. “As yet I’ve seen no side trails, although I’ve been watching every foot of the ground that we crossed.”

“Nor I, cap’n, – an’ don’t wan’t to, neither,” added the tall mountaineer.

A little further on was a clearing, in the centre of which stood a small cane-house. Halting on the edge of the opening, they beheld several Filipinos on guard outside the house. In the doorway, with his back to the opening, stood Major Morris, his hands bound behind him.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE TORNADO IN THE CANE-BRAKE

“I reckon we have got ’em tight, cap’n,” came from Sorrel, as the party of Americans came to a halt and surveyed the scene before them.

“It depends upon how many of them there are,” answered Ben. “Sorrel, supposing you skirt the clearing and try to count noses.”

The Tennesseean was willing, and started off, taking Gilbert with him. He was gone probably ten minutes.

“Not more than ten at the most,” he reported. “And of that number two are wounded and have their arms in slings.”

“Any other prisoners besides Major Morris?”

“Not that we could see,” came from Gilbert. “We could rush them easily enough if it wasn’t for the major,” he added.

“We don’t want any harm to befall Major Morris,” said Ben, thoughtfully. “If we – The rebels have discovered us, look out!”

Ben had scarcely finished when a report rang out and a bullet whizzed over their heads. One of the soldiers outside of the cane-house had seen two of the Americans and had fired upon them.

The discharge of the firearm caused Major Morris to turn around, and as he did so Ben waved his cap at his commander, and was recognized. Then two of the insurgents hurried the major out of sight.

The Americans were not slow to return the fire; and, although nobody was struck, the insurgents lost no time in disappearing from view. A lull followed, as both sides tried to determine what was best to be done next.

“Here comes a flag of truce,” said Gilbert, presently, as a rebel appeared, holding up a white rag. “If I were you, I wouldn’t honor it.”

“I would like to hear what they have to say,” replied Ben, quietly.

“But remember how they fired on the other flag of truce,” insisted the young Southerner. “You’ll be running your head into a lion’s mouth.”

“Sorrel, keep that man covered,” said Ben. “I won’t move out any further than he does.”

“If you go, I’ll go with you,” said Gilbert, promptly.

He would not be put off, and together Ben and he moved into the opening, Ben holding up a new handkerchief as he walked. The rebel at once halted, as if expecting them to come over to where he stood.

“You come over here!” cried Gilbert, and waved his hand.

There was a full minute’s delay, and then of a sudden the rebel threw down his white flag and sped toward the house. At the same time three reports rang out, and Gilbert fell back, struck in the shoulder.

“What did I tell you!” he gasped. “They are treacherous to the last degree!” And then the young Southerner fainted.

As just mentioned, three reports had rung out, but only two had come from the house. The third came from Ralph Sorrel’s weapon, and the man who had carried the pretended flag of truce fell dead in his tracks.

The dastardly attack angered Ben beyond endurance, and leaving Gilbert resting comfortably on some cut cane, he leaped to the front. “Come, boys, we will root them out!” he cried, and ran on toward the house as fast as he could, firing as he went. Sorrel was at his heels, and the others fired, each “red-hot” as they afterward expressed it.

The insurgents saw them coming and fired several shots, but nobody was struck, and in a trice the house was surrounded. Then Major Morris came bounding through a window, and it was Ben who cut his bonds with a pocket-knife.

“I saw it all,” exclaimed the major. “Go for them, men, every one of the rascals deserves death!” And stooping over the dead rebel, he took from his bosom a bolo and joined in the attack. “They are a pack of cowards – a mere set of camp followers.”

The major was right; the rebels in the house were no regularly organized body, and at the first sign of real peril they fled by the back way, over a ditch and straight for the nearest jungle. But our friends were determined that they should not escape thus easily, and pursued them for nearly half a mile, killing one more and wounding three others. Long afterward they learned that those who had thus forfeited their lives were bandits from the mountains back of San Isidro. They had joined the forces under General Aguinaldo, merely for the booty to be picked up in the towns through which the rebel army passed.

As soon as the contest had come to an end, Ben hurried back to where he had left Gilbert. The wound from which the young Southerner was suffering was painful, but not dangerous. Yet it was likely to put Gilbert in the hospital for the best part of a month.

“It’s too bad – I thought I could see the thing through to the end,” said Gilbert, shaking his head dolefully.

“You’ll have to take your dose as I did,” answered Ben. “I am glad it is not serious. Our regiment couldn’t afford to lose such a brave fellow as you.”

“Brave? Didn’t I hang back until you proposed to go out alone, Ben? If anybody was brave, it was you,” and then Gilbert turned his face away to conceal the pain that was coming on.

The hospital corps was so busy that Gilbert could not be carried back of the firing line for some time. Feeling that there would be no more fighting that day, Ben decided to remain by his old chum, and requested Sorrel to do likewise, leaving the others to accompany Major Morris back to the command proper. In the meantime, a skirmish line was stretched to the north of the cane-brake, that the insurgents might not regain any of the lost territory.

It was frightfully hot, but scarcely had Major Morris left with his party than a faint breeze sprang up which gradually increased to a fair-sized wind. Making Gilbert as comfortable as possible under some of the tallest of the cane, Ben and Sorrel sat down beside him to do what they could to help him forget his pain.

The three had been sitting in the shade for the best part of half an hour, and Sorrel was sharpening his knife on the side leather of his shoe, when, glancing up, Ben noticed a peculiar cloud in the sky overhead.

“That looks rather queer,” he remarked. “Does that denote a wind-storm, Sorrel?”

“It denotes something, that’s sartin,” responded the mountaineer, surveying the cloud with care. “It’s something I ain’t seed out yere yit,” and he leaped to his feet.

The cloud was about as large as a barrel in appearance, and of a deep black color. It seemed to be whirling around and around, and as it came forward began to expand. Then it shot off to the southward, but not out of sight.

“I’m glad it’s gone,” said Gilbert, who had roused up to watch the strange thing. “I don’t want to get caught in a western cyclone – and that cloud looks like those I have heard described.”

“The rainy season is coming on here, and I presume we are bound to have more or less tornadoes,” answered Ben. “They say that last year they were something awful along the seacoast.”

The cloud was circling around the southern horizon, but now it turned once again and came slowly toward them. While it was yet quarter of a mile away, it shot down to earth and a strange humming sound reached their ears, followed by a whistling that caused each of them to shiver.

“It’s a whirlwind!” yelled Sorrel. “Come into yonder hollow, cap’n!” and he caught hold of Gilbert and lifted him up. The hollow he mentioned was less than fifty feet away, yet to reach it in time was almost impossible, so swiftly did the tornado approach them. The air became black as night and was filled with cane, grass, and branches of trees. It struck the house in the clearing, and with a single mighty crash the structure went up into the air, to fall with another crash a hundred yards beyond.

Running with the tall Tennesseean, Ben pitched into the hollow just as the first of the tornado hurled itself at them. Down came the mountaineer, but taking good care that Gilbert should not be hurt by his quick leap. Then all fell flat, with their faces to earth.

It was like some horrible nightmare to Ben, – the whistling wind and the strange humming, the blackness, and the whirling cane and tree limbs. In some places the ground was furrowed up as by a plough, and down on their heads came dirt and grass, and then a shower of stalks that buried them completely. And still the wind kept up, in a madder gallop than ever. Ben felt as if every moment was going to be his last.

The time was an age; yet by the watch it was not yet five minutes when the tornado had departed, leaving its track of ruin behind. But still the party of three under the cane-stalks lay still, wondering if it was safe to get up.

“Do yer calkerlate it’s over, cap’n?” came from Sorrel, after a painful pause.

“It appears to be, but there is no telling what such a thing will do next,” answered the young captain, as he pressed on the stalks over him, and got up. “Gilbert, are you hurt?”

“No,” came with a gasp. “But, Ben, that was – was a terror, wasn’t it?”

“It was, Gilbert, and something I never want to witness again.”

By this time Sorrel was also on his feet and hauling Gilbert into daylight. The cloud was gone, and the sun shone as brightly as ever. But at a great distance they saw the tornado sweeping up into the mountains.

“We are well out of it,” was Ben’s comment, as they watched the cloud until it was out of sight. “That played sad havoc here. I wonder what it will do in the mountains?”

No one could answer that question, and no one tried. Ben would have been very much surprised had anybody told him that the same tornado which had visited him was also to visit his brother Larry. But so it proved, as we shall speedily see.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE FLIGHT FOR LIBERTY

“Well, this is getting too monotonous for anything.”

It was Larry who spoke, and he sat on the stump of a tree at the mouth of a wide cave, gazing disconsolately at a fire which several insurgents were trying to build.

The place was on the top of a high hill, backed up by still higher mountains. On every hand were sharp rocks and trees, with a tangle of thorns. Small wonder, then, that Aguinaldo and his cohorts considered these fastnesses inaccessible for American troops. No regular body could have gotten to such a place, and to forward supplies hither was totally out of the question.

The rebels numbered fifteen, all mountaineers and strong. At General Luna’s request they had brought ten prisoners to the spot, and the other prisoners were to come up some time later. Why the Filipinos thus divided the men they had taken is not definitely known, yet divided they were, until some escaped and others died or were given up.

Since Larry had been captured he had passed through half a dozen different hands. It must be said he had been treated fairly well, better, perhaps, than many of my readers may suppose. To be sure, his clothing was in rags and his shoes were almost minus their soles, but in these respects he was no worse off than those who kept him captive. Then, too, the food given him was very plain, but the rebels ate the same, and to complain, therefore, would have been worse than useless.

Larry had missed Barton Brownell, for the pair had been fairly friendly, as we know. With the transferal to new quarters the young sailor had struck up an acquaintanceship with Dan Leroy, one of the Yorktown’s men, also a prisoner. A number of the sailors from the Yorktown– in fact, a boatload, had been captured, but Leroy had become separated from his messmates at the very start.

“Yes, it is monotonous, lad,” said Leroy, who was resting at Larry’s feet. “But, as I’ve said a hundred times afore, we can’t help ourselves, consequently, make the best on it. Ain’t that sound argyment, lad?”

“I reckon so, Leroy, but – but – ”

“When ye git as old as I am you’ll see things in a different light. We can’t complain o’ the treatment here, lad.”

“But I would like to know how the war is going, and if my brother knows I am alive.”

“Reckon the war is goin’ agin the Tagals, or they wouldn’t be a-pushing back into the mountains like this.”

“It’s a wonder they don’t try to exchange us.”

At this Dan Leroy smiled grimly. “Might be as how they consider us too vallyble,” he suggested. He was a short, stout fellow, much given to joking, and rarely out of good humor.

It was about the middle of the afternoon, and from a long distance came the sounds of firing. But the booming came from big field-pieces, so Larry knew it must be far away, and so it gave him small hope.

The rebels had just brought in some fresh meat, procured from the town at the foot of the long hill, and they speedily proceeded to make a beef stew with rice and yams. The smell was appetizing, and as nobody had had a square meal that day, Larry brightened over the prospect.

The cave in the hillside was irregular in shape, running back to a series of openings which nobody had ever yet explored. In this cave the insurgents kept some of their supplies, brought up from San Fernando, San Isidro, and other places. It was a fact that Aguinaldo hardly knew where to “jump” next.

Before nightfall the dinner was ready, and the chief of the rebels had the prisoners supplied with bowls of the stew. “Eat all of eet,” he said, with a grin. “For maybe no geet such t’ings to-morrow.”

“Thanks, we’ll fill up then,” responded Larry, and set to with a will, as did all the other prisoners.

The captives were unarmed, and though the rebels watched them, they were allowed more or less of the freedom of the camp. Finishing his bowl of stew, Larry leaned over to where Leroy sat.

“Leroy, if we can manage to get a kettle of that stew, I’ll be for trying to get away to-night,” he whispered.

“And how are ye going to get it, lad?” asked the sailor.

“Wait and you will see,” was the answer, and Larry arose and sauntered over toward the fire.

“I spilt some of the stew on the ground,” he said, which was true, although the amount had not been large. “Can I have more?”

“Yes, take what you will,” returned the insurgent chief, who felt in good humor, through having obtained a leave of absence, to start on the morning following. “And give some to your friends. We’ll fill up for once.”

“Thank you,” answered Larry, and hurried to the other prisoners with the big pot from over the fire. The prisoners had a large tin kettle for water, fitted with a cover so that bugs might be kept out, and this he filled to the brim, and also gave the others all they wished.

“Going to eat all of that?” queried one of the men, with a short laugh.

“Sometime – not now,” answered Larry. Then he took the pot back to the fire and carried his bowl and the kettle into the cave. At once Leroy followed him.

“And now, what’s this nonsense you’re talkin’ about running away?” demanded the Yorktown sailor, as soon as they were alone.

“I’m going to try my luck to-night, Leroy. If you don’t want to go, you can stay with the others.”

“But how are you going? There’s a guard around the foot of the hill, and they will shoot you on sight.”

“I’m not going to try the foot of the hill – at least, not this side of it.”

“Well, you can’t get to the other, for that cliff over this cave is in the way.”

“I’m going to explore the caves back of this. They must lead to somewhere.”

The old sailor shook his head. “More’n likely they lead to the bowels of the earth. You’ll fall into some pitfall, and that will be the end of you.”

“I’ll light a torch as soon as I am out of sight of this place, and I’ll be very careful where I step.”

“This cave may be as big as the Mammoth Cave of Kentucky. You’ll get lost in one of the chambers and never find your way out.”

“I’ll have to risk that. But I’m bound to try it – if they give me the chance.”

“You’re foolish. Why, confound it, I’ve half of a mind to report the scheme.”

“Oh, Leroy, surely you won’t do that.”

“I mean just to save you from yourself, Larry.”

“I don’t intend to remain a prisoner until I am baldheaded, Leroy. I’m going to try to escape – and that’s the end of it.”

“Will you take any of the others along?”

“If they want to go.”

“There won’t a soul go – and I know it,” responded the stout sailor, in positive tones.

When the other prisoners came in, he told them of Larry’s plan. One and all of them agreed it was foolhardy.

“I don’t believe there is any opening,” said one. “Or if there is, it’s so high up in the mountains that you’ll never reach it.”

“And what are you going to do for eating? That kettle of stew won’t last forever,” said another.

So the talk ran on, but the more he was opposed, the more headstrong did Larry become – and that, as old readers know, was very much like him.

“I shall go, and good-bye to all of you,” he said, in conclusion. And then he shook hands with one after another, Leroy last of all. The Yorktown’s man was trembling.

“I hate ter see ye do it, lad,” he said. “It seems like going to death, but – but – hang it, I’ll go along, so there!”

“But you needn’t if you don’t wish to,” protested the youth. “I am not afraid to go alone.”

“But I am a-going, and we’ll sink or swim together, Larry. Who else goes?”

Dan Leroy, looked from one face to the next. But not another prisoner spoke, for each had taken a short walk to the rear caves and seen quite enough of them. Then a guard came in, and the strange meeting broke up immediately.

The prisoners lay down to rest, but not one of them could go to sleep. All of the others were waiting for Larry and Leroy’s departure. At last, satisfied that all was right for the night, the guard went outside, to join several of his companions around the camp-fire.

“Now, then,” whispered Larry, and arose, to be followed immediately by Dan Leroy. The kettle secured, they hurried for the rear of the outer cave, without so much as looking at the others, who raised up to watch their shadowy disappearance.

The flight for liberty had begun. Would it succeed or fail?

CHAPTER XXV

THE CAVES UNDER THE MOUNTAIN

For a distance of five hundred feet the way was known to both Larry and his sailor friend, and the pair passed along swiftly, guided in part by the flickering rays from the camp-fire outside of the main cave.

“Have a care now, lad,” whispered Leroy, as they reached a narrow passage, which turned first to the left and then upward. “The roof is low, and you don’t want for to dash your brains out on the rocks.”

“Never fear but I’ll be as careful as I can,” responded the youth, feeling his way along. “Better keep close, Leroy, that we don’t become separated.”

The turn made, it was no easy matter to ascend the sloping floor, with here and there a rough bowlder to cross, or a hollow in which one might fall and break a leg without half trying, as the Yorktown sailor said. Presently Leroy called a halt.

“Better light the torch now, Larry.”

“I was going to save it,” was the reply. “There is no telling how long we may have to depend upon it.”

“That is true; but it’s no longer safe to walk in this pitchy darkness.”

Leroy was provided with matches, used in smoking his pipe, which had not been denied him, and striking one he set fire to an end of the dry cedar branch which Larry had laid away over a week before, when the thought of running away had first crossed his mind. At the start the branch spluttered wofully and threatened to go out, but by coaxing it remained lit, and presently burst into a flame that was sufficient to see by for a circle of twenty or thirty feet.

On they plodded, up an incline that seemed to have no end, and then around another turn. Here the chamber widened out, and beyond there were branches, two to the left and one to the right.

“This is as far as I’ve ever been,” said the boy. “The passages beyond seemed to lead downward for part of the way, and it’s impossible to judge which is the best to take. But I was of a mind to try that one on the right.”

“Well, I reckon as how the right ought to be right,” laughed Leroy. “If it ain’t, all we can do is to come back to here an’ try over again, eh?”

“We haven’t got time to waste in experimenting, Leroy. This is a serious business. We are liable now to be shot on sight.”

“An’ nobody knows thet better nor Dan Leroy, your humble servant. An’ if you say try one o’ the other passages, I’m jes’ as willin’.”

“No, we’ll take that on the right,” returned the youth, and started onward without further delay.

The passage was a crooked one, not over ten feet wide in any one part, and but little over the height of a man. At one place a great rock blocked the way, and over this they went on their hands and knees.

“Kind o’ a tight squeeze,” remarked Leroy. “If that rock war a bit bigger, we wouldn’t be able to git over it at all.”