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

The water was at once poured out on the ground and the barrel smashed up. Then a surgeon was found, to whom Ben related the facts of the case. A canteen of the water was examined, and the surgeon decided to give the man who had drunk the stuff an emetic. A few of the soldiers were taken with cramps inside of an hour afterward, and two of them were seriously sick for a week; but no lives were lost. But if the soldiers could have got at the Filipino who had poisoned the water, they would have shot him on the spot.

As soon as the danger was over, Ben returned to the wood, and had two men carry the wounded man back to the cottage, where he was left in charge of his wife and his niece. Through Gilbert it was learned that the wife had also remonstrated against using the poison, so it was fair to suppose that the aunt would protect her niece to a certain degree. “But she’ll have a hard time of it for doing us a service, I’m afraid,” said the young Southerner, as he and Ben resumed the march.

The scouts, under Chief Young, were in advance, and now a steady firing from the front told that another battle was at hand. Soon General Lawton came dashing through the crowd on the road, followed by his staff.

“Forward, boys!” was the cry, and then Ben’s command left the road and took to the rice-fields on the outskirts of Baliuag. The line was a long one, with the Oregon and Minnesota soldiers forming the skirmishing end, and Scott’s battery in a paddy-field on the extreme right. So far the insurgents had kept well hidden; but as the Americans drew closer to the town they could be seen running in half a dozen directions, as if undecided whether to fight or to flee.

The townspeople themselves were in a panic, and down the streets ran Filipinos and Chinese, some with their household effects piled high on their backs. They had heard of the coming of the Americanos, but had hoped almost against hope that their beloved town would be passed by unmolested.

Ben’s regiment was moving along rapidly when they came to a ditch which seemed to divide the rice-field in half. A short pause followed, when along came the cry of “Down!” and every man dropped, and none too soon, for the insurgents had opened up unexpectedly from a cane-brake behind the rice-field.

“We must take that cane-brake,” came the order from the colonel, and the word was passed along quickly, and away went the companies with a ringing cheer, firing as they ran, and reloading with all possible speed.

Ben was now truly in his element, and, waving his sword, he urged Company D well to the front, so that the cane was soon reached. But the rebels were not game for a hand-to-hand encounter and fled once more, through the cane and over a field of heavy grass leading to the very outskirts of the town beyond.

“They are running away!” was the cry. “On we go, boys, and the town will be ours in less than half an hour.”

But now a halt was ordered, on the edge of the cane-brake. From the outskirts of the town appeared a Filipino waving a white rag over his head.

“Flag of truce!” cried the American general. “Cease firing!” And the order was instantly obeyed. “Major Morris, you can select a detail of three men and find out what they want.”

“I will, general,” answered the major of the first battalion, and saluted. He had soon chosen his men, one of whom was Gilbert Pennington, and, waving a white flag before them, the party of four advanced into the open field.

CHAPTER XIII

IN WHICH A FLAG OF TRUCE IS FIRED UPON

Major Morris well knew the wiliness of the Filipinos, yet he did not doubt but that they would pay due respect to a flag of truce which they had themselves invited. Accordingly he advanced boldly with his little party, until the four had covered fully one-half of the distance which separated the American troops from the point where the rebels had taken a stand.

“He is thrustin’ thim a whole lot!” groaned Dan Casey, who was the closest man in the ranks to Ben. “If he gits plugged – ”

“They won’t dare to fire, Dan,” said a companion. “If they did – ”

The speech was cut short by the pop of a Mauser rifle, followed by two more pops, and the private who carried the white flag was seen to fling the banner down and fall headlong. In the meantime, the Filipinos who had appeared with the white rag were running back to their own ranks with all possible speed.

“They have fired on the flag of truce!” The cry arose from a hundred throats, and then a scattering volley rang out. At the same time the Filipinos opened up in a body, and Major Morris, Gilbert, and the third man were seen to pitch into the tall grass in such a manner that they were almost hidden from view.

“Gilbert is shot! And Major Morris too!” Such was the painful thought which ran through Ben’s brain. He looked at the colonel pleadingly.

“Advance at once, Captain Russell, with the first battalion, to the rescue of the flag of truce,” ordered the colonel, understanding him fully. “After this, give the enemy no quarter.”

“Forward, men, to the rescue!” shouted the young captain, almost before his superior had finished. “Deploy to the left and fire at will. And make every shot tell!” he added bitterly.

“Forward it is!” shouted Dan Casey. “Down wid the haythins that don’t know the manin’ av honor!” And he led in the rush over the long grass.

The whole line was soon advancing, but Ben’s company was in front, and kept there until within a hundred feet of where the four men had gone down. Then, to his amazement, the young captain saw Major Morris leap up, followed by Gilbert and the third soldier, and run with all speed toward the American line.

“Not shot!” cried Ben, joyfully. “Heaven be thanked for that!” And he almost felt like embracing his two friends. Only the flag-bearer had been struck, and he not seriously. The others had gone down in the long grass to destroy the enemy’s aim. The wounded flag-carrier was taken to the rear, and then the whole line pushed on with a yell which was as savage as it was loud and long. The incident, short as it was, was not forgotten, and when one end of the American line closed in on the retreating insurgents the latter fought to the last, knowing only too well that little quarter would be given to them because of their perfidy.

The long American line had swung toward Baliuag in a semicircle, and now, when the insurgents tried to flee by way of the north, they found themselves confronted front and rear. This put them in more of a panic than ever; and had General Lawton had a thousand additional troops, it is more than likely he could have surrounded the rebels completely and compelled every one in that territory to throw down his arms.

But he had not the extra men, nor could he get them. Moreover, he had hardly a decent map of the territory, while the enemy knew every field, every road, and every stream. They could not make a stand at Baliuag, nor could they run in the direction of San Rafael, so their only course was to take to the rice-fields, the cane-brakes, and the jungle, and this they did in short order.

By the time the outskirts of the town was gained Ben’s command was almost exhausted; yet the colonel of the regiment felt that now was no time to rest, and company after company was sent out in the hope that some of the scattering bands of insurgents might be rounded up.

“Major Morris, you will take your four companies up yonder road,” said the colonel, after receiving orders from General Lawton’s orderly, and the head of the regiment pointed out the road in question. Soon the battalion was off on the double-quick, the major more than eager to wipe out the treachery which had been shown to him and his companions but an hour or two before.

The road which the battalion followed was a winding one, lined with cottages of the better sort, showing that this was a fashionable outskirt of the town. Only a few people showed themselves, and nothing was seen or heard of the insurgents until a quarter of a mile had been covered, and the best of the habitations had been left behind. Then came an unexpected fire from a cane-brake, and out dashed fully two hundred savage-looking Tagals armed with guns and bolos.

“Halt! Fire!” came the commands, and the Americans obeyed as quickly as possible. Several of our men had been hit, one seriously, and now half a dozen Filipinos went down. For several minutes the fighting was at close quarters, and it looked as if the battalion had run into an ambush and were about to be slaughtered.

“To the shelter of the trees!” shouted Ben, and was about to guide his men when a fierce-looking rebel officer leaped before him with drawn sword. His own blade met that of the enemy, and both flashed fire. But the Tagal was a fine swordsman and kept at his work, feeling certain that he could run the Americano through and through. Clack! clack! went the blades, up and down, side to side, and straight forward.

“Take care there!” came from Major Morris, and just then the Tagal’s sword pricked Ben’s arm. The young captain leaped back a step, then came forward, and as quick as lightning his sword found the Tagal’s ribs. At the same time Dan Casey fired at the enemy, and the officer went down flat on his back, shot through the breast.

“I had to do it,” cried the Irish volunteer. “I thought he was afther stickin’ ye like a pig!”

“It was a close shave,” murmured Ben, as he passed on. “He handled his sword like an expert. I shan’t forget you for that, Casey.”

“Sure, an’ that’s all right, captain,” answered the soldier, quickly. “Is your arm hurted much?”

“I guess not. Come, we’ve got them on the run again.” And away the pair went, into the cane-brake, through which the rebels were crashing like so many wild cattle.

The day had been full of excitement, but much more was to follow. The cane-brakes were heavy, and soon Ben and Casey found themselves separated from the main body of the battalion and out of sight of their own company. Then several Filipinos confronted them and called upon them to surrender.

“We ain’t surrenderin’ just yit, we ain’t!” howled the Irish soldier, and let drive at the nearest rebel, while Ben discharged his pistol. Two of the enemy were wounded, and in an instant the others took to their heels, evidently convinced that such fighters were “too many” for them.

The encounter, however, had taken time, and now Ben called upon his companion to stop running. “We want to know where we are running to first,” he said. “Listen.”

They listened and made out a distant firing to both the right and the left. “I’m afther thinkin’ our b’ys is to the right,” said Dan Casey.

“I believe you are right, Casey; although both of us may be mistaken,” rejoined the young captain of Company D. “We will try that direction, anyway.”

They continued on their way through the cane-brake until they reached a small stream. Here the ground was soft and full of treacherous bog-holes, and both looked at each other in dismay.

“Sure, an’ this is more than we bargained fer, eh, captain?” remarked Casey, as he pulled himself out of a hole into which he had gone almost to his knees. “If we don’t look out we’ll git stuck so tight there’ll be no budgin’ av us.”

“The ground to the right seems to be firmer,” replied Ben. “Come, we will move in that direction.”

But to get out of the soft spot was not easy, and soon they found themselves between the tall cane and up to their knees in a muck that seemed to stick worse than glue.

“Sure, an’ this is fightin’ wid a vengeance,” said the Irish volunteer, smiling grimly. “It’s sthuck we are like flies on a fly paper, eh, Captain Russell?”

“We’ve got to get out somehow, Casey,” answered Ben, half desperately. “Our command is marching farther and farther away, and we’ll have all we can do to get up to them.”

“Sure thin, an’ Major Morris betther send a detail back wid a long rope to pull us out. We couldn’t fly from the inimy now if we thried, could we?”

“This is no joke, Casey.”

“Joke, bedad? No, captain, I’m afther thinkin’ it’s a mighty sarious difficulty. But there’s no use av cryin’, no matther how bad it is,” finished the Irish soldier, philosophically.

A moment of reflection convinced Ben that the best thing he could do was to go back part of the distance they had come, and make an endeavor to cross the little stream at another point.

They retreated with difficulty, first one sinking into some treacherous hole and then the other. Once Casey went flat on his back, and gave a loud yell of dismay when he found himself covered with a mud that was more like a paste than anything else.

“Sure, an’ I’ll not go in such a cane-field again, bedad,” he muttered, as he started to pick up the gun he had dropped. As he did so a cracking of cane-stalks near them caused both to straighten up in alarm.

“Who comes?” cried Ben, and drew the pistol he had shoved into his belt.

There was no answer and he repeated the demand. “Are you Americans?” he added.

Still there was no reply. But the cracking of the stalks continued, and the sounds seemed to move around the pair in something of a circle. Then came a soft command in the Tagalog dialect. At once Dan Casey clutched Ben by the arm.

“They be afther surroundin’ us, captain,” he whispered. “Be the noises there must be tin or a dozen av thim. Phwat shall we do, fight or run fer it?”

CHAPTER XIV

SURROUNDED BY THE ENEMY

For the moment after Dan Casey spoke Ben was silent, not knowing himself what was best to do. That the Filipinos were surrounding them there could be no doubt, since those approaching would have answered the young captain of Company D had they been Americans.

The position of the pair was dangerous in the extreme, for the tall cane-stalks surrounded them upon all sides, giving shelter to the enemy, while the Tagals could see the volunteers with ease.

“Keep quiet, Casey,” whispered Ben, as the soldier started to speak again. “They may not know how many there are of us here and sneak off, fearing an ambush.”

The Irish volunteer nodded to show that he understood. He was holding his gun before him, ready to shoot whenever it appeared necessary.

Presently there was another whispered command, coming from directly in front of our friends. A slight movement in the cane-brake followed, and then all became silent once more.

“Come!” whispered Ben. “Don’t fire until you see me do so.”

Thus speaking, the young captain moved slowly and cautiously from the spot they had occupied for five minutes or more. He picked his steps, and they fell as silently as those of a cat after a bird. Casey was at his heels, almost holding his breath, and his small eyes glistening with expectancy. Both knew that they were carrying their lives in their hands.

Two rods had been covered, and still nothing was seen of the Filipinos. Was it possible that they had withdrawn? But no, there was another cracking of cane-stalks and another command in the Tagalog language, coming now from their left. Then of a sudden a Mauser rang out, and a bullet whistled back of Ben’s head and across Casey’s face.

The report had not yet died out when Ben fired, straight for the flash of fire of which he had caught a momentary glimpse. That his shot reached its mark was proven by the wild yell of pain which followed.

“The jig is up!” cried Dan Casey. “We must run fer it, captain!” And as a Tagal came into view before them he fired point-blank at the fellow, hitting him in the breast and killing him on the spot.

As luck would have it, the Filipino whom Casey had killed was a petty officer and the leader of the detachment, and his sudden taking-off disconcerted the insurgents for a minute, who yelled one to another that their leader was shot. Taking advantage of the confusion, our friends rushed headlong through the cane-brake, firing several times as they ran. A dozen shots answered them, but none of these took effect.

“I think the road is yonder,” said Ben, pointing with his pistol as they progressed. “Hark!”

From a distance came a scattering volley, proving that the fighting was not yet over. It came from the direction in which they were running. But now those left behind were after them, shooting and shouting with vigor, for they were ten to two, and were determined that the wicked Americanos should not escape their clutches.

At last the cane-brake was left behind. Beyond was a small part of a rice-field, and close by a cottage which appeared deserted.

“Sure, captain, an’ we’ll be shot down like dogs if we show ourselves in th’ open,” panted Casey, who was almost out of breath.

“Get behind the house,” answered Ben. “It is our one chance,” and he started in advance. Again the Filipinos fired on them, and this time a bullet touched the young captain’s side, cutting a straight hole through his clothing.

They were yet a hundred feet from the cottage when two American soldiers came rushing forth, guns in hand. The strangers took in the situation at a glance, and let drive with such good aim that two of the enemy fell back wounded. The others paused, not knowing how many Americans might be concealed in the building, and in another minute Ben and Casey were for the time being safe.

“By gum, ef it ain’t Captain Russell!” cried one of the soldiers, as he faced Ben. “I’m right glad to be yere to help ye, cap’n,” and he smiled broadly.

“Ralph Sorrel!” returned Ben, as he recognized the tall Tennesseean who had once accompanied him on a search for Gilbert when the young Southerner was missing. “What are you doing here?”

“Jeming an’ me hev got a wounded man with us – Sergeant Kaser o’ our company. We war takin’ him back o’ the lines, when he got so bad we brung him in yere to rest a spell. But you – ”

“Thim rebels is comin’ agin!” announced Dan Casey. “Six, eight, nine av thim, wid wan limpin’. How many av us are there here?” he asked, as he looked around.

“Four,” answered Ben. “Load up, boys, and when you shoot – ”

“We’ll make every shot tell,” answered Jeming, a hardy-looking soldier, almost as tall as his companion.

“I don’t believe they will come very close,” continued Ben. “They know that we have the advantage of them, even if we are but four to nine.”

The young captain was right. The Filipinos had showed themselves only for a few seconds. Now, as Sorrel raised his gun, they lost no time in darting behind cover.

The cottage consisted of four rooms, all on the ground floor, and a low loft upstairs. It was well built and fairly furnished in native fashion. On the single bed it contained lay the wounded soldier, Sergeant Kaser, whom Ben had met several times. He was hit in the neck, and looked as if he could last but a few hours at the most.

“Sorry we can’t git ye back to camp, sergeant,” said Sorrel, as he did what he could to ease the wounded one’s pain. “The house is surrounded by the enemy. I reckon we kin keep ’em out, but I reckon likewise thet they kin keep us in – at least fer a while.”

“It – don’t – matter,” gasped Sergeant Kaser. “I am not – not – long for this world. What a terrible thing war is! I never thought I was going to be shot down like this!” And he gave another gasp. His eyes were staring from his head, for he was suffering severe pain.

Ben looked around the cottage for something which might be given to the sufferer to ease him. But the dwelling had been stripped of all small things, and nothing in the way of food, drink, or medicine remained. Sorrel had already bound a handkerchief soaked in cold water around the wounded neck, so nothing more could be done, excepting to raise the sufferer up to a sitting position, at his request. “I don’t know as thet is best fer him,” whispered the tall Tennesseean to Ben. “But he ain’t long fer this world, as he says, an’ he might as well hev his wish as not.”

In the meantime Casey and Jeming were on guard, one watching to the front and right, the other to the left and rear. The nearest building to the cottage was a hundred and fifty feet away, but bushes and small trees were numerous, and the Americans were afraid the rebels might try to sneak up behind these and surprise them.

“Something is moving over there,” announced Jeming, after watching several of the bushes for a short spell. “Can’t make out, though, if it’s man or beast.”

“Have you plenty of ammunition?” asked Ben, who, as an officer, felt in charge of the party.

“Seventeen rounds, captain.”

“And how about you, Casey?”

“Fifteen rounds,” returned the Irish volunteer, after counting up the contents of his belt.

“I have twelve rounds, captain,” came from Sorrel. “But I reckon you know how I shoot, an’ Jeming’s jest as good, mebbe better.”

“I think the supply is sufficient,” said Ben, “so don’t run any chances. If you think that is an enemy give him a shot. But don’t hit one of our fellows by mistake,” he added, by way of caution.

“It’s a Tagal!” cried Jeming, while the young captain was yet beside him. The gun was levelled like a flash, a report followed, and the Filipino fell behind the bushes and was seen no more.

“Thet will teach ’em to keep their distance,” was Sorrel’s comment. “Perhaps they’ll clear out soon, bein’ afeered some more o’ our troops will come this way.”

But the natives were “game,” as Ben expressed it; and instead of withdrawing, they began to come closer, using every bush, tree, and outbuilding to the best advantage. Some of their fellows had joined them, so that the attacking party now numbered fifteen, and each well armed. They had seen that Ben wore the uniform of a captain, and felt that the capture of such an officer would be much to their credit.

Sergeant Kaser was now groaning so that he could be heard even outside of the building, and as the rebels had fired through the windows several times, they concluded that they had wounded one of the four men they knew to be inside. If this was so, but three Americanos were now left, and they felt that victory would soon be within their grasp.

“Surrendor, or we kill eferyboddy!” cried one of the number, in English that could scarcely be understood. “We haf dreety mens outside.”

“We ain’t surrenderin’, not by a jugful!” answered Sorrel. “What in thunder does he mean by ‘dreety mens’?” he added, to his companions.

“I think he means thirty,” answered Ben. “But I don’t believe there are that many.”

“Yes, but there are more than there was,” announced Casey, quickly. “I’m just afther seein’ ’em pass yonder bushes.” He had pointed his gun, but the Filipinos had been too quick for him.

“Do you surrendor?” demanded the voice again. “We shall begin to shoot if you no gif up.”

“No surrender,” answered Ben, firmly.

Hardly had he spoken when something came rolling toward the cottage and stopped close to the porch. It was a rude ball made of sugar-cane husks and over a foot in diameter. The ball was ablaze and burning fiercely, as if covered with pitch.

CHAPTER XV

THE ESCAPE FROM THE BURNING HOUSE

“Hullo, that’s a new wrinkle!” exclaimed Ben. “They are going to try burning us out.”

“Sure, an’ thim haythins is up to all sorts av dodges,” cried Dan Casey. “It’s meself as would like to git a squint at th’ feller that threw that.”

“I’ve got him, I reckon,” whispered Sorrel, taking a ready aim at a thin hedge to the left of the house. The report of his gun was followed by a shriek of pain, and a Filipino fell into view, the blood flowing freely from a wound in his neck. Soon his companions caught him by the legs and dragged him back into cover.

After this brief exchange of “compliments,” as the tall Tennesseean called it, there came a lull. Evidently the natives were disconcerted by the unexpected fall of the man who had thrown the fire-ball and knew not what to do.

“Do you suppose they have quitted the vicinity?” questioned Jeming, after listening vainly for some sound from without. From a distance came a scattering fire, but around the native house was the silence of death, for the man who had been shot by Sorrel had fainted from loss of blood.

“They are up to something, you can be certain of that,” answered Ben. “The Filipino is at his worst when he is silent.”

“Right ye air, cap’n,” put in Sorrel. “Yere she comes agin – an’ a scorcher, too!”

From over the bushes came a huge fire-ball, blazing brightly. It struck the thatch of the cottage close to the edge of the roof, and before it fell to the ground had set fire to the abode, which began to burn as though no shower had wet it for a month.