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

But the youth demurred and insisted on going ahead. “We’re bound to strike something soon,” he said, and did, immediately afterward. It was a log lying on the edge of an incline, and down he pitched, and log and lad rolled over and over, with Luke following, to bring up with a loud splash in the river below.

The force of their fall took them under the surface of the stream, and in the struggle to save themselves both lost their cutlasses. But, as old readers know, each could swim well, and they speedily came up and struck out for the most available landing-place, which was on the opposite bank.

“Alto!” came the sudden cry, in Spanish. “Halt!” And now a sentry appeared from behind a pile of cord-wood lying but a short distance away.

“Discovered again,” muttered Luke, and felt for his pistol. “Soaked!” he muttered, in disgust.

The cry of the rebel on guard had given the alarm to several others, and in a twinkling Larry and the old Yankee tar found themselves confronted by an even more determined crowd than that encountered on the road. With the water behind them, escape was out of the question, for a jump back into the river would have courted a fire which must have resulted in death.

“Americanos!” muttered one of the rebels, drawing closer. “And sailors, not soldiers,” he added, in his native tongue. “Where did you come from?”

Larry and Luke shook their heads. “Talk United States and we’ll speak to you,” said the old sailor.

“You gif up?” demanded an under officer, as he pushed his way forward, with his pistol covering Larry’s heart.

“Ain’t nuthin’ else to do, I reckon,” replied Luke, before Larry could answer. He was afraid the boy might be rash and try running away again.

“Throw down de pistoles, den,” muttered the Tagal, with an ugly frown.

Down went the weapons on the ground, and then two of the rebels advanced to search them. They found nothing of special value excepting the pair’s jack-knives, and these were confiscated and turned over to the officer in command.

The prisoners were then told to march up the river shore to a road leading into Santa Cruz. With their hands bound tightly behind them, they were placed in charge of a detail of four Filipinos, who were instructed to take them without delay before the general in charge of the city’s defences.

“They may hold information of importance,” said the under officer. “Do not delay a minute;” and off went the crowd, the soldiers prodding the prisoners with their bayonets whenever Larry and Luke did not walk fast enough to suit them.

The course taken was through a narrow and exceedingly dirty street. It was after midnight, yet the expected attack of the Americans had kept all the inhabitants awake. The prisoners were jeered at repeatedly, and at one point were covered with a shower of mud and stale vegetables. The onslaught might have been more serious had not the soldiers interfered.

“Get back, you dogs,” shouted the leader, a little Tagal scarcely five feet in height, but with an air of magnificent importance. “These men are to go before the general, and at once!” And much abashed the natives fell back, and the prisoners were molested no further.

It would naturally be supposed that the general in command would be found at the front at such a time, when an attack on the city was but a matter of a few hours. Instead, however, General Bamodo was found at one of the government buildings, calmly smoking a cigar, and conversing with several native business men.

“Spies, eh?” he queried, when the guard had told him about the prisoners. “Bring them in immediately.”

Larry and Luke were told to enter the room, and did so, their still wet clothing forming little puddles at their feet. The guards stood beside and behind them. General Bamodo eyed them critically. He spoke no English, and so called in an interpreter.

“Where are you from?” demanded the interpreter, presently, after a few words with his superior.

“We are from the warship Olympia,” answered Luke, briefly.

“You were sent here by General Otis as spies, not so?”

“No, sir, we are jest plain, everyday sailors.”

“Then what brought you here?” demanded the interpreter, after translating their words to General Bamodo.

“We missed our way on the road,” put in Larry, before Luke could answer. He thought it best not to say anything about accompanying General Lawton’s expedition.

“You must have missed it very much, General Bamodo says,” growled the interpreter, after another consultation with his superior. “Santa Cruz is a good many miles from Manila harbor.”

To this Larry remained silent, and another talk in Spanish followed. Then a sudden shot from a distance caused General Bamodo to leap to his feet and dash down his cigar.

“Take them to the prison – I will examine them later on,” he said, in Spanish, and hurried away.

A few minutes later Larry and his Yankee friend were marched off, this time to a stone building several squares away. Here they were taken inside, thrust into a cell, the iron-barred door was locked upon them, and they were left to their fate.

CHAPTER VI

IN WHICH LUKE STRIKER IS WOUNDED

The plan to surprise Santa Cruz had failed, yet General Lawton’s command was just as eager as ever to press forward and do battle with the native garrison, of which the town on the Laguna de Bay boasted. It was thought the Filipino command could not be a strong one, and even if it had been the Americans would have gone ahead just the same, so accustomed were they to victory over their misguided foes.

It was arranged that the centre and left wing of the infantry should move directly upon the town, while the right wing should swing around, to cut off the Filipinos’ retreat, should they start such a movement. In the meantime, protected by a cross fire from the tinclads, Laguna and Oeste, the cavalry landed on the hill overlooking the bay, and began to do battle with the enemy’s force in that territory, cutting its way over field and brush to the left wing as it swung closer to the river already mentioned several times. The cavalry developed a strong resistance which lasted for over an hour; but in the end the Filipinos were glad enough to fall back into the town proper.

Out on the main road leading to the principal bridge over the river the sun was boiling hot, and many a soldier felt more like seeking shelter and resting than like pushing forward with his heavy gun and other equipments. But General Lawton was here and there, encouraging every one, and they pushed on until a sharp fire between the enemy and the advance guard told that a running fight, and perhaps a regular battle, would soon be at hand.

“At them, my men!” cried the various commanders. “They’ll run, no doubt of it. They haven’t stood up against us yet!” And away went the long skirmishing line, and soon there was a steady crack and pop of guns and pistols as the Americans pushed on, catching many a poor Filipino who was too late in either running or throwing down his arms. A number surrendered, and these were promptly sent to the rear.

Presently the river was gained, and here the Americans came to an unexpected halt. There was a long bridge to cross, and beyond was a barricade of stone and wood. Were the insurgents massed behind that barricade? If they were, to cross the bridge in column of fours or otherwise would mean a terrible slaughter.

“Here goes!” sang out one petty officer, and made a dash forward, which was as reckless as it was daring. As he moved along the bridge several held their breath, expecting to see him go down at any instant. But then came a rush of first half a dozen, then a score, and then whole companies, and it was speedily seen that the barricade was practically deserted. The insurgents were hurrying into the town as hard as they could, with Uncle Sam’s men after them, both sides keeping up a steady firing as they ran.

In the meantime, soaked to the skin and utterly miserable over their capture, Larry and his Yankee friend had been thrust into the prison cell and left to themselves. After the door was locked and the jailer walked away, the youth uttered a long-drawn sigh.

“Luke, we’re in a pickle, this trip,” he groaned. “What do you suppose they will do with us?”

“Heaven alone knows, my lad,” responded the old tar. “Bein’ as how they ain’t cannibals, I don’t reckon they’ll eat us up,” and he smiled grimly.

“They think we are spies.”

“Thet’s so.”

“Do you know that they shoot spies – and do it in short order, too?”

“And why shouldn’t I know it, Larry? I’ve heard tell on it often enough. But they have got to prove we air spies first, ain’t they?”

“They’ll do what they please. I believe half of these Filipinos think the Americans are nothing but cut-throats. They can’t conceive that we should want to come here and govern them for their own good.”

“Because they would rather govern themselves, even if they made a mess of it, than be under anybody’s thumb nail, Larry. Howsomever, thet ain’t the p’int jest now. The p’int is, kin we git out o’ here before they settle to do wuss with us?”

“Get out? You mean break jail?”

“Exactly. We don’t want to stay here if we kin git out, do we?”

“To be sure not.” Larry leaped up from the bench upon which he had been resting and ran to the door. At this Luke smiled glumly and shook his head.

“Ye won’t go it thet way, lad – the guard locked it, I seen him do it, – and the lock is a strong one, too.”

Luke was right, as a brief examination proved. Then the boy turned to the window, an affair less than a foot square, having over it several iron bars set firmly into the stones. “No thoroughfare there,” was his comment.

The two next examined the floor, to find it of brick, and as solid as the walls. “Only the ceilin’ left now,” said Luke. “I reckon we might as well give it up. Even if we do git out, more’n likely a guard outside will shoot us down.”

But Larry was determined to test the ceiling, which was but a couple of feet over their heads. So he had his companion hold him for that purpose.

“There is a loose board up there,” he cried, as he was feeling his way along. “Hold me a little higher, Luke, and perhaps I can shove it up.”

The old sailor did as requested, and with a strong push Larry shifted one end of the plank above, so that it left an opening ten inches wide and several feet long. Catching a good hold he pulled himself to the apartment above, to find it stored with boxes and barrels containing old military uniforms and other army equipments, relics of Spanish rule.

“Any way out up thar?” queried Luke. “If there is, we don’t want to waste any time, ye know.”

“I’ll tell you in a minute,” replied Larry, in a low voice, and ran first to one end window of the storeroom and then the other. In front was the street, fast filling with soldiers. In the rear was a stable which just now seemed deserted. The several windows of the storeroom were all barred, but here the bars were screwed fast to wood instead of being set in stone.

“I think there is a chance here,” said the boy, coming back to the opening. “Here, give me your hand, and I’ll help you up,” and he bent down; and soon Luke stood beside him.

“Think we can git out thet way, eh!” said the Yankee tar, surveying the prospect in the rear. “Well, I reckon it’s worth workin’ for, Larry. But the drop from the window, even if we pull away the bars – ”

“Here is a rope – we can use that,” answered the boy, pointing out the article around several small boxes. While Luke pried away the bars of one of the rear windows he possessed himself of the rope, and tied it fast to a bar which was not disturbed. As soon as the opening was sufficiently large to admit of the passage of each one’s body, Luke swung himself over the window-sill.

“Come on,” he cried softly, and slipped from view. Never had he gone down a ship’s rope quicker, and never had Larry followed his friend with such alacrity. Both felt that life or death depended upon the rapidity of their movements.

The ground was hardly touched by Luke when a Filipino boy appeared at the entrance to the stable. For an instant the youth stared in opened-mouthed astonishment, then he uttered a yell that would have done credit to an Indian on the war-path.

“The jig’s up!” cried the Yankee tar. “Come, Larry, our legs have got to save us, if we’re to be saved at all.”

He leaped across the yard and for the corner of the stable, where he collided with a Tagal soldier, who was coming forward to learn what the yelling meant. Down went both the sailor and the guard; but the rebel got the worse of it, for he lay half stunned, while Luke was up in a trice. As the soldier fell, his gun flew from his hands, and Larry tarried just long enough to pick the weapon up.

Behind the stable was a narrow, winding street, lined on either side with huts and other native dwellings, with here and there a barnlike warehouse. Into this street darted our two friends, and there paused, not knowing whether to move toward the wharves or in the opposite direction.

“Look out!” suddenly yelled Larry, and dropped flat, followed by the Yankee tar. A sharp report rang out, and a bullet whistled over their heads, coming from the prison yard. On the instant Larry fired in return, and the prison guard disappeared as if by magic. Long afterward, Larry learned that he had hit the Tagal in the arm.

There was now a general alarm throughout the prison, and the two escaped prisoners felt that any other locality would be better for them than the one they now occupied. “Let us try to find our soldiers,” said Luke, and once again they started to run, this time up the road where, far away, they could make out a forest of some sort. Then came a second report, and Luke Striker staggered back, hit in the shoulder.

“Luke! Luke, you are struck!” gasped Larry. His heart seemed to leap into his throat. What if his dearest friend had been mortally wounded?

“I – I – reckon it – it ain’t much!” came with a shiver. The sailor straightened himself up and started to run again. “They are after us hot-like, ain’t they?”

A turn in the road soon took them out of sight of the prison, and they breathed a bit more freely. But the strain was beginning to tell upon Luke, and watching him, Larry saw that he was growing deathly pale.

“You can’t keep this up, Luke,” he said, and put out his arm to aid his friend. As he did so, the Yankee tar gave a short groan, threw up both hands, and then sank down in a heap at the boy’s feet.

CHAPTER VII

THE RETREAT TO THE RICE-HOUSE

Larry was greatly alarmed, not knowing but that his companion was about to die on his hands. Quickly he knelt at the Yankee’s side, to learn that Luke had fainted away from loss of blood. The shoulder of his shirt and jacket were saturated through and through.

“What shall I do?” the boy asked himself, and gazed hurriedly at the surroundings. To one side of the road were several nipa huts, to the other a long, rambling warehouse. The doorways of all the buildings stood open, and no one seemed to be in sight.

As quickly as he could the youth took up his friend and staggered with his heavy burden to the warehouse, which was about half filled with rice. Entering the structure, he passed to a small apartment somewhat in the rear. Here there was a quantity of old sacking in a heap, and upon this rude couch Larry placed the unconscious form.

The boy had been taught on shipboard just what to do in case of such an emergency, and now he worked as he never had before, for Luke was very dear to him, and the thought that his friend might die was horrible to contemplate. He prayed to Heaven that the old gunner’s life might be spared to him.

The wound was an ugly one; yet even to Larry’s inexperienced eye it did not look as if it could be fatal, and the boy breathed a long sigh of relief as he bound it up. Then he went in search of water, and finding a well back of the warehouse brought a bucketful in and began to bathe Luke. Soon the sufferer stirred and opened his honest eyes wonderingly.

“Why – er – how’s this?” he stammered. “Did I – oh, I remember now!” And he sank back again.

“Keep quiet,” whispered the boy. He had heard voices coming toward the warehouse. “If you make a sound, it may be all up with both of us.”

The old tar breathed heavily and nodded. Throwing some sacking over the prostrate form, Larry slipped back into the main apartment of the warehouse. He still held the gun, but it was empty and could be used only as a club.

Two men were approaching the warehouse, both tall, slim, and evidently of Spanish extraction. They were talking loudly and excitedly to one another; but as Larry understood but few words of Spanish, what they were saying was lost upon the boy.

“I don’t believe they are after us,” thought the lad, when the strangers came to a halt just outside the warehouse. As they did so a long volley of rifle shots came from a distance, followed by another and then another. The shooting came from the centre of the town and made Larry’s heart beat fast. “Our soldiers must be coming in,” he thought. “Oh, I hope they make the town ours!”

The shots appeared to disturb the two Spaniards greatly, for both clutched each other by the arm and looked thoroughly frightened.

Presently an old woman came running out of one of the huts. She yelled at the two Spaniards in her own tongue and pointed at the warehouse. Evidently she had seen Larry and Luke, but had been afraid to expose herself.

The strangers listened to the old woman with interest, then began to talk to each other. “Perhaps we can get some information, José,” said one, in Spanish.

“Perhaps we shall get a bullet,” answered his companion, grimly. Nevertheless, he consented to enter the building, and both passed through the great doorway of the warehouse.

Hardly knowing how to receive the newcomers, Larry stepped for a moment behind a bin of rice. But then, as the pair moved toward where Luke lay, he raised his gun threateningly.

“Halt!” he called, as sternly as he could. “Halt, or I shall fire!”

“We are betrayed!” roared one of the Spaniards, in his native tongue. “No shoot! no shoot!” he added, in broken English. “We mean you no harm.”

“Up with your hands, then,” went on Larry, resolved to make the most of the situation, even though the gun was empty; and four hands went promptly into the air, for the two men before him were as cowardly as they were unprincipled.

There was an awkward silence for several seconds, while boy and men surveyed each other. Larry lowered the gun slightly, but still kept his finger on the trigger. He noted that the newcomers appeared to be unarmed, although they had both knives and pistols hidden upon their persons.

“You are an Americano sailor, not so?” asked one of the Spaniards.

“I am,” was Larry’s prompt reply. “Are you one of Aguinaldo’s rebels?”

“No, no! We are no rebels – we are peaceful Spanish gentlemen,” put in the second Spaniard.

“Do you belong here?”

“I belong here,” said the man who had first spoken. “My brother, he belongs at Manila.”

The brother mentioned shot an angry glance at the speaker. “Yes, I come from Manila,” he said. “But I belong truly in Spain, being a merchant of Madrid.”

“Well, our war with you folks is over,” said Larry, slowly, hardly knowing how to proceed. “If you are not going to help the rebels, you ought to help us. We are doing all we can for your prisoners out here,” he added, meaning the Spaniards that were being held by the forces under General Aguinaldo – soldiers who were captured during the struggle between Spain and her Philippine colonies.

“We can do but little,” came with a shrug of the shoulders. “We are not armed, and if we help the Americanos, Aguinaldo says he will behead all the Spanish prisoners he is holding.” Such a threat was actually made, but it is doubtful if the Filipinos would have been base enough to carry it out.

“We came in here not to make trouble,” went on the second Spaniard. “We came to learn what the firing means. Are the Americanos coming here in force?”

“They are.”

“Then Santa Cruz is doomed,” groaned the Spaniard. He dropped his hands and began to pace the warehouse floor. “I shall lose much if the city falls. The rebels will burn all my property, for they hate me.”

“I trust not,” answered Larry, his fear of the pair gradually leaving him. “Hark to that!” he added, as the rattle of guns was again heard. “Our men must be coming in fast, and orders are to save everything that can be saved. If the rebels – ”

He broke off short as a cry from Luke reached him. Running to the Yankee sailor he found Luke kicking out vigorously with his foot.

“I couldn’t keep still no longer, nohow!” burst out the old tar. “A plagued rat came right up and wanted to nibble my leg, hang him. Who’s them air fellows out thar?”

But the Spaniards had already followed Larry, and were now gazing at Luke in wonder. “Wounded, not so?” said one. “You were in the fight, then.”

“No, we escaped from the prison,” answered Larry, simply. “We were captured during last night. I wish I was sure we’d be safe here until our soldiers come along.” He turned to the old sailor again. “How do you feel now?”

“Better, Larry, a heap better. But I ain’t ready fer no more foot races jest yet.”

“Then we’ll have to remain here. Or perhaps you had better remain here while I go scouting around and see if I can find some of our soldiers, or the ambulance corps.”

“An’ what o’ these gentlemen?”

“We shall go, too,” said one of the Spaniards. “Your friend will be safe here – if he keeps hidden under the sacks,” he added.

Waiting for the strangers to move first, Larry came behind them, still holding the gun as though the weapon were ready for use. The men had spoken fairly enough, yet there was that about them which did not please Larry in the least. “They are regular rascals, or else I miss my guess,” thought the youth.

The roadway still seemed deserted. But far off they could see the natives flying in several directions. Then from a distance came a cheer which Larry knew could only come from American throats.

“Our soldiers must be over there,” he said to the Spaniards. “Will you come with me?”

The men hesitated, and consulted together in their native tongue. “I do not know what to say,” said one, slowly, and began to follow Larry along the highway. Seeing this, the other came, too.

Suddenly a loud shout came to them from a thicket back of some nipa huts, and instantly a band of insurgents burst into view, armed with guns and bolos. They were firing as they retreated, and made a stand on the opposite side of the road.

“José Lupez!” cried one of the officers of the rebels, addressing one of the two Spaniards. “What do you here?”

“And have I no right here?” asked the Spaniard, sharply.

“Who is that with you?”

“My brother, Benedicto, from Manila, who was visiting me.”

“He has betrayed us into the hands of the Americanos! If he – ”

The rest of the sentence was drown out in a volley of musketry, and two rebels were seen to fall. Some started to run, but others held their ground.

Larry listened in amazement. He had heard the names José Lupez and Benedicto, and knew that the two Spaniards were brothers. Could this Spaniard, Benedicto Lupez, be the man who had made off with the money Braxton Bogg had stolen from the Hearthstone Saving Institution?

CHAPTER VIII

A PRISONER OF THE FILIPINOS

Larry had retreated to a small nipa hut standing close to the roadway, feeling that if the Americans were coming in that direction, they would soon be at hand to give Luke and himself aid.

While the insurgents and the Spaniards were conversing, the latter had approached the hut, and now both followed the young sailor inside.

“Is your name Benedicto Lupez?” demanded Larry, approaching the taller of the pair.

“Yes,” was the short response.

“Then you are from Manila – you ran away from there about two weeks ago?”

“Ha! what do you know of that?” demanded the Spaniard, eying Larry darkly.

“I know a good deal about you,” answered the youth, boldly. “After Braxton Bogg was arrested you made off with the money he had left at your residence.”

“’Tis false!” roared the Spaniard, but his face blanched even as he spoke. “I know nothing of that man or his money. I – I was deceived in him.”