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

“If that is so, why did you leave Manila in such a hurry?”

“I – I wanted to help my brother, who was in trouble. I have not seen a dollar of Bogg’s money. ’Tis he who still owes me for his board, black wretch that he was!” roared Benedicto Lupez, savagely.

At these words Larry was startled. Was Lupez really telling the truth, and if so, where was the money that had wrecked the saving institution?

“He didn’t even pay his board?”

“Not one piaster, boy, – nothing. And I thought him honest, or I would not have taken him in.”

“But his valise is gone, and the bands around the money – ”

“Were as he left them. I can swear I touched absolutely nothing,” answered Benedicto Lupez, earnestly.

Larry was nonplussed. Had the Spaniard looked less of a villain, the young sailor would have been inclined to believe him. But that face was so crafty and calculating that he still hesitated.

“Well, if you are innocent, you will not object to helping me rejoin our soldiers,” he ventured.

“I want nothing to do with the Americanos, – they mean to get me into trouble, even though I am innocent,” growled Benedicto Lupez. “Come, José, we will go,” he added to his brother, in their native language.

His brother was already at the doorway. The shouting and firing outside was increasing. Leaping forward, Larry caught Benedicto Lupez by the arm.

“You’ll stay here,” he began, when the Spaniard let out a heavy blow which hurled the young sailor flat.

“I will not be held by a boy!” cried the man. “Let go, do you hear?” For Larry had caught him by the foot. The boy’s hold was good, and in a trice Benedicto Lupez lay flat on his back. Then he rolled over and over and a fierce tussle ensued, which came to a sudden end when José Lupez leaped forward and kicked Larry in the head, rendering him partly unconscious.

What followed was more like a dream than reality to the bruised youth. He heard a confused murmur of voices and a dozen or more shots, and then, as Benedicto Lupez and his brother ran off, several rebels swarmed into the hut, one stumbling over the lad’s form and pitching headlong. This insurgent was about to knife Larry when he saw that the young sailor’s eyes were closed, and that he was bleeding about the head.

“Un Americano, and wounded,” he said, speaking in the Tagalog dialect. “If he lives, he may make us a useful prisoner;” and a few minutes later Larry felt himself picked up and borne away, first in a man’s arms and then on horseback. He tried to “locate” himself, but when he opened his eyes all went swimming before them, and he was glad enough to sink back once more and shut out the swirling sight.

On and on, and still on went the rebels, some on foot and a few on their steeds. In front were a few wagons and caribao carts piled high with camping outfits, and also one or two light guns – all that had been saved from the garrison. General Lawton’s attack had been a brilliant success, and Santa Cruz itself had surrendered with hardly the loss of a man to the Americans. The troops coming in did their best to round up the insurgents, but they had scattered in all directions and only a few were caught, and these swore that they were amigos, or friends, and had to be given their liberty. This pretending to be friends after they were routed was a great trick with thousands of the natives. They would come into the American camp under the pretext that they had just escaped from the insurgents who had threatened to kill them if they would not join Aguinaldo’s forces. What to do with such people was one of the most difficult problems of the rebellion. They could not be placed under arrest, and yet that is what nine out of ten deserved.

When Larry was once more himself he found that it was night. He was in a heap in a large casco which several Tagals were propelling with all speed across the Laguna de Bay. There were several other cascos in front and behind, all filled with natives with guns. The entire procession moved along in almost utter silence.

The youth wanted to know where he was being taken, but no sooner did he open his mouth than one of the soldiers clapped a dirty hand over it and commanded him to be silent. As the soldier carried a bolo in his hand, Larry considered “discretion the better part of valor,” and for the time being, held his peace.

A swarm of mosquitoes soon told the boy that they were approaching a marsh, and presently the casco ran in between the reeds and under some high, overhanging tropical bushes. Then those on board leaped ashore, and the youth was made to follow them.

A weary tramp over the marsh and then up a high hill followed. The hill was covered with wild plantains, monstrous ferns, and a species of cedar tree, all thickly interlaced with the ever present tropical vines, which crossed and recrossed the tortuous path the party was following. Overhead the stars shone down dimly, while the forest was filled with the cries of the birds, the chattering of an occasional monkey, and the constant drone and chirp of the innumerable insects. The path was uneven, and more than once Larry pitched into a hollow along with the Tagal who accompanied him and who never let go his hold on the youthful prisoner.

At last they came to a halt before a series of rocks. Here there was a rude cave, partly concealed by bushes. As the party halted, several natives came from the cave to give them welcome. There was no doubt but that this was a rendezvous well known to the insurgents.

“A prisoner is it?” said one of the natives, coming forward and holding up a torch of pitch. “A mere boy. Bah, Lanza, cannot you do better?”

“He was with the soldiers who took Santa Cruz, and he wears the cap from a warship,” replied Lanza. “It may be we can get more out of him than out of somebody older.”

“Well, perhaps; but I would rather you had brought in a man,” was the brief response.

The conversation was in the Tagalog dialect, and consequently Larry did not understand a word of it. The boy was made to march into the cave, which he found to be much larger than he expected. It was fully forty feet broad by sixty feet deep, and at the farther end a bright fire was burning, the blaze mounting high up in a natural chimney and rendering the surroundings as light almost as day.

On coming to his senses, the youth’s hands had been bound behind him, and now he was made to sit down with his back against a fair-sized tree trunk which had been dragged into the cave for firewood. A rope was passed around the log and this in turn was fastened to the cord about his wrists, thus making him a close prisoner.

For several hours the rebels paid but scant attention to him, further than to furnish him a bowl of rice “pap,” from which he might sup while it was held to his lips. They also gave him a drink of water, and one young rebel considerately washed the wound on his head, on which the blood had dried, presenting anything but a pleasant sight.

As the hours went by the rebels around the cave kept increasing in numbers until there were several hundred all told. Those who came in last told of the complete downfall of Santa Cruz, but none of them had the least idea of what the Americans were going to do next. “Perhaps they will follow us to here,” said one, grimly.

“No, they know better than to follow us into the jungles and mountains,” said the leader, Fipile. “If they did that, we could shoot them down like so many monkeys.” They had still to learn the true character of the tireless general who had now taken up their trail, and who knew no such words as fear or failure.

It was well toward noon of the day following when Captain Fipile came in to have a talk with Larry. He spoke English remarkably well, for he had spent several years of his life in San Francisco, and in Hong Kong among the English located at that port.

“Your name, my boy,” he said, sitting down beside the young tar. And when Larry had given it, he continued, “You were with the American troops who carried Santa Cruz?”

“I was, sir, although I got into the city before they did.”

“Indeed, and how was that?” questioned the Filipino leader, and Larry told as much of his story as he deemed necessary.

To the tale Captain Fipile listened with interest, even smiling when Larry told how he had broken out of the prison. “You did wonderfully well for a boy,” he remarked. “A man could not have done more. What became of your friend?”

“I left him at the warehouse. I hope he rejoined the soldiers.”

“And what of Señors Benedicto and José Lupez?”

“I don’t know what became of them.”

“I know this José Lupez fairly well, and I always thought him an honest man.” Captain Fipile stroked his chin thoughtfully. “We are fighting you Americans, it is true, but we would not wish to shelter a thief who had run away from among you. We are above that, even though a good many of your countrymen will not give us credit for it.”

“We know that some of the Filipinos are honest enough,” said Larry, hesitatingly. “What do you intend to do with me?” he went on, after a pause.

“That remains to be seen. Would you like to join our army?”

“Me? No, sir!” cried the youth, promptly.

Captain Fipile laughed outright. “You are honest enough about it, I must say. How about giving us a little information? Will you object to that?”

“I have given you considerable information already.”

“I mean military information.”

“I haven’t anything to say on that point.”

“Can’t I persuade you to tell me what you may happen to know?”

“No, sir.”

“If I can get you to talk, it may go much easier with you while you remain our prisoner,” went on the captain, suggestively.

“I’m sorry, but I haven’t anything to say.”

“Very well, then, Master Russell, if you are rather harshly treated in the future, remember you have only yourself to blame. As a general rule, we take prisoners only for the purpose of squeezing what information we can out of them.”

And thus speaking, Captain Fipile arose and quitted the cave, leaving Larry to his own reflections, which were more dismal than they were encouraging.

CHAPTER IX

THE ADVANCE INTO THE JUNGLE

Santa Cruz had been taken, but there was still much to do around the shores of the Laguna de Bay to make it safe territory for the Americans to hold. From the city the rebels were pursued eastward, and a number of cascos and larger boats were captured. Inside of a few days Paete, Longos, Lumban, and several other villages, were visited by detachments of General Lawton’s command, and the insurgents fled in each instance, leaving all behind them. Nearly a hundred who stopped to fight were either killed or wounded, and victory was entirely upon the side of the Americans.

But now it was learned that the forces under General Aguinaldo and General Luna were concentrating once more to the north and east of Malolos, and much as he regretted the necessity, General Otis was compelled to order General Lawton and his command back to the territory above Manila. No garrisons could be spared for Santa Cruz, or the other places captured, so these settlements were allowed to fall once more into the hands of the enemy, after all the fortifications had been destroyed and the arms and munitions of war confiscated. It seemed a pity to leave these towns and villages after having once taken them, but to garrison them properly would, according to General Lawton’s estimate, have taken thousands of soldiers.

With the taking of Santa Cruz, the Americans marched through all the streets and by-ways, looking for lurking rebels and hidden arms, and in this search a squad of infantry came upon Luke Striker, who had propped himself up on the sacking in the warehouse and was making himself as comfortable as possible.

“Hullo, sailor,” cried the sergeant in charge of the squad. “Where did you come from?”

Luke’s story was quickly told, and he begged the soldier to look for Larry, fearing that serious harm had befallen the lad. At once two soldiers were detailed to care for the old Yankee, while the rest went on a hunt which lasted far into the night.

As we know, nothing was seen of Larry; but from a wounded and dying Filipino, the soldiers learned that the boy had been taken a prisoner, and must now be many miles away from the city. News of this reached Luke while he was in the temporary hospital opened up after the first fight, and the information made the old fellow feel as bad as did his wound.

“If they’ve captured him, he’s a goner, I’m afraid,” he said to Jack Biddle, who had come in to help look after his messmate. “Poor Larry! What will his brother Ben say, when he hears of it?”

“Better not tell him right away,” suggested Biddle. “Give him a chance to get strong fust. Besides, Larry may give ’em the slip. He’s putty cute, ye know.”

The news soon spread that Larry and several others were missing, and a description of the absent ones was given out. The next day one of the missing soldiers was found dead in the jungle, but nothing was learned of the others.

“It serves the young sailor right,” growled Lieutenant Horitz. “He knew too much for his own good.” He had not forgotten the disaster on the river, and secretly he wished Larry all manner of ill-luck. During the rush through the woods the Lieutenant had tumbled and struck his nose on a stone. That member was much swollen and cut in consequence, and this put him in a worse humor than ever before.

By the time the expedition was to return to Manila, Luke was able to walk around again, and he was put on one of the larger boats and Jack Biddle was detailed to look after him. The return to Manila was made without special incident, and two days later found Luke on board the Olympia among all his old friends.

But the Yankee tar was thoroughly out of sorts. “I wouldn’t care for the wound at all, if only I knew Larry was safe,” he was wont to say a dozen times a day. Barrow, Castleton, and all the boy’s old friends were likewise troubled because of his strange disappearance.

It was Jack Biddle who got shore leave and travelled up to Malolos to break the news to Ben. He found the acting captain of Company D just preparing to take his place in the command once more.

“I’m glad to see you lookin’ well, leftenant,” he said, after shaking hands warmly. “Ye look almost as healthy as ye did on the voyage from Brooklyn to Manila.”

“And I feel almost as well,” replied Ben. “The rest has done me a world of good. But what brought you up, Jack? Did Larry come with you?”

“No, Larry didn’t come,” stammered the old tar, and looked down at the floor. “Fact is, leftenant, Larry – he – he couldn’t come.”

“Couldn’t come? Why, what’s the matter?” cried Ben, quickly. “Is he sick?”

“I reckon not – leas’wise, I don’t know. Fact is, leftenant, none on us know. Ye see, he went upon thet Santa Cruz expedition – ”

“Yes, yes, I know that. And what of it? Was he – was he – ” Ben could not utter the words which came to his mind.

“No, he wasn’t shot, thet is, so far as we know. But he’s – well, he’s missin’, an’ we can’t find hide nor hair o’ him anywhere. I might ez well tell ye fust ez last, though it cuts my heart to do it, leftenant.” And Jack Biddle shook his head dubiously.

It was a great shock to Ben, yet he stood it better than the old tar had expected. He asked immediately for details, and though he drank in every word his manner showed that his thoughts were far away.

“I wish I had been along,” he said bitterly. “If he wasn’t killed, the Filipinos must have carried him off a pretty good distance. I wonder if General Lawton tried to find out anything under a flag of truce.”

“Everything that could be done was done – I have Captain Gaston’s word on that,” answered Jack Biddle. Captain Gaston and Ben were well known to each other.

Ben sank down on a bench, and for several minutes said not a word, but the tears stood in his eyes, tears which he hastily dried that nobody might see them. Then Gilbert Pennington came in, to tell him that the regiment was ordered to move within the hour.

“It’s too bad!” declared the young Southerner. “But brace up, Ben, ‘While there is life there is hope,’ and it’s a pretty sure thing that he wasn’t killed.” And with this ray of comfort Ben had to be content.

During the days that General Lawton had been in the vicinity of the Laguna de Bay, the regiment to which Ben and Gilbert belonged had not been idle. With a number of other troops they started for the town of Santa Maria, where they came upon the enemy and dislodged them with shells. The town, already in flames, was allowed to burn, and the Americans pursued the rebels quite a distance into the mountains, but failed to catch them.

In the meantime the camp of the Third Artillery, situated some distance to the west of Malolos, was attacked. A fierce engagement in the swamps took place, and in the end the rebels were driven northward and began then to concentrate at Tarlac, which soon became one of their new capitals – they shifting the seat of government as often as it suited their convenience.

It was now felt by General Otis and others in command that no time should be lost in an endeavor to round up the insurgents to the north of Malolos, who were the main support of the rebellion, although scattering bands were still operating to the south and southeast. The rainy season was but a few weeks off, and once this set in military operations would be much retarded, if not stopped altogether, for, taken as a whole, the roads throughout the Island of Luzon are bad, and heavy rains render them well-nigh impassable.

In order to make the campaign against the rebels as effective as possible, General Otis decided to send out two columns, one under General MacArthur to strike out for Calumpit, and the second, under General Lawton, to take a route to the eastward, along the base of the hills leading to San Isidro. By this it was hoped, if the rebels at Calumpit were defeated and tried to take to the mountains, they would fall directly into Lawton’s hands, and not only have to surrender but also give up all their war supplies.

It was in the furtherance of this plan that General Lawton left Manila with his brigade and struck out for Novaliches which was gained after a small skirmish at Tuliahan River. From here the column moved to Norzagaray to await reënforcements which were coming in from Malolos and vicinity. To these reënforcements belonged the command to which Ben and Gilbert were attached.

It had begun to rain, and those who understood tropical weather predicted that the wet season was at hand. Yet it was very hot, and the water which fell arose in clouds of steam on the road, rendering marching anything but comfortable.

“Sure, an’ it makes a man feel as if he was takin’ a stame bath, so it does,” remarked Dan Casey, as he swung along on the route step. “I don’t know as I iver see it rain hot wather before, bedad,” he added, as he wiped the perspiration from his sadly freckled face.

During the day’s march, which was trying to everybody, Ben was silent, wondering what had become of Larry and if he would ever again see his younger brother. When the command went into camp under the shelter of a grove of tall trees, both Gilbert and Major Morris visited his tent to comfort him.

“He is not the only one who is missing,” remarked the major of the first battalion. “So far I understand the warships have lost about a dozen men who went ashore and failed to return. And you know there are six men missing from our own regiment.”

“That is true, major,” was the acting captain’s answer. “But it’s only when it’s a close relative that the blow really comes home to one, you know.”

“I suppose that is true, captain. But don’t be disheartened. It may be that your brother is already back at Manila.”

“I can’t see what the rebels would do with him as a prisoner,” said Gilbert. “They have to move around so lively that I can’t see what they want with prisoners anyway.”

And so the talk ran on until it came time to retire. That night Ben slept but little, and it was not the rain or the aching of his wound that kept him awake either. He was bound to think of Larry constantly until something was heard of the missing lad.

CHAPTER X

THE TAKING OF ANGAT

“We are out for a fight to-day.”

It was Sergeant Gilmore who spoke, and he addressed Ben. The sergeant was still acting as first lieutenant of Company D, and it looked as if he might hold the position permanently. As for Ben, it was settled that he would be appointed permanent captain of the command as soon as the necessary papers could be made out.

The regiment had joined General Lawton’s command and was now in the vicinity of Angat, a pretty town, full of quaint buildings, and a place which, as yet, the rebellion had scarcely touched. But the insurgents had been developed in force by the sharpshooters in front, and now a constant rattle of musketry was heard, which made Ben’s blood tingle as of old, when the cry had been, “On to Santiago!” and “On to Malolos!”

“Yes, you are right, Gilmore,” answered the young captain. “And I am not sorry. It will help us to forget the rain and our other discomforts.” Ben did not say it would help him to forget about Larry, but that is what he meant.

The regiment was soon advancing on the double-quick. It was spread out in skirmish order, and the route lay over what had once been a rice-field, but which was but little more than a sheet of dirty water four to eight inches deep. Here and there were holes, and into these some of the soldiers would sometimes step, thus getting an involuntary bath, much to their disgust.

“It ain’t all a picnic,” remarked one of the unfortunates, as he leaped up out of a hole and shook himself like a big dog. “Folks at home as just read the newspaper accounts of the war don’t know anything of what us fellows have to put up with. All they think we do is to rush forward, kill the enemy, and cover ourselves with glory. I’ll wager some of ’em would put on a mighty sour face if they had to tramp ten or twenty miles in the mud and wet, carry a gun and other luggage, and hardly knowing when the next meal was going to turn up and what it was going to amount to.”

“Oh, you’ve got ’em bad, Bradner!” shouted a comrade. “Here, light my pipe and take a smoke. It will dry off your nose if nothing else.” And Bradner took the pipe and was thankful that tobacco, at least, was still forthcoming.

Half an hour later Ben received orders to take his company up to the firing line, and away went the command on the double-quick, with the young captain at the head. The rain had let up a bit, and the rebels could be seen making a stand behind a grove of half-wild plantains, where were located a score of nipa huts.

“Run them out, boys!” shouted Ben, as they drew closer. “If we go at them with a rush we’ll soon have them on the run!” And on swept the company, with orders to fire at will. Soon there was a constant cracking of rifles, and Ben and the other officers joined in with their pistols. The insurgents fired in return, and one man of the company fell back, hit in the arm.

Just before the grove was gained there was a brook to cross. This was much swollen, and here a number of the soldiers came to a halt, fearing that fording was out of the question.

“Don’t stop!” came in a loud cry from Major Morris. “You can leap the stream easily enough. Come, I’m going!” And over he went with a bound, and a score of soldiers followed. A raking fire came from the nipa huts, but now the rebels were seen to be fleeing. The Americans answered the fire with volley after volley from their own guns, and the huts were surrounded as quickly as possible.

“Captain Russell, you will take the trail to the left,” said an orderly, dashing up. “Major Morris will rejoin you at the fork in the road.”

“The trail to the left,” repeated Ben, and turned to his company. “Forward, boys, – left oblique!” he shouted, and on they went again, past the nipa huts and down a trail leading along the edge of a rich plantation. Several more huts were passed, but the inmates were nothing but women and children, and offered no resistance. Then at a distance could be seen a stone wall, as if the insurgents had endeavored to construct a rude fortification in a great hurry.

The company was going at the stone wall pell-mell when Ben called a sudden halt. “To the right, boys, and come at the end of the wall,” were his orders, and the command swept around as desired.