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

“That settles it!” came from Jeming. “We’ve got to get out, or we’ll be burnt up like rats in a corn-crib.”

“But the sergeant – ” began Sorrel, when a low moan issued from the corner.

“Never – mind – me, boys,” came, with several gasps. “I’m – I’m going! Good – good – bye – to – to – Tell mother – ”

He said no more, but fell back exhausted. All rushed to him, but ere anybody could raise his form again he was gone from this earth forever.

Tears stood in the eyes of Ralph Sorrel, and Jeming was scarcely less affected, for both had known the sergeant intimately. “Another victim,” murmured the tall Tennesseean. “How long is this yere blamed war goin’ ter last, anyhow?”

“Not much longer, I hope,” answered Ben, in a low voice. “I, for one, have seen enough of bloodshed.” Then the young captain straightened up, for fear he might break down. “But we must attend to our duty, and get away if we can. See, the flames are eating in at the window.”

“All right, cap’n, I’m ready,” said Sorrel. “But we must carry this yere body outside fust. We can’t let it be burnt up, nohow.”

He nodded to Jeming, who understood, and covering the form of the dead man with a blanket, they marched to the door with the stiffening form. The coast seemed clear, and they darted out and deposited their grewsome burden on the grass. They were just returning to the shelter of the doorway when two shots rang out, but neither was effective.

By this time the cottage was burning so fiercely that to remain inside longer would have proved highly dangerous. Accordingly, Ben called a council of war.

“I think we had best strike out for the grove of trees on the right,” he announced. “The distance is shorter than to the other shelters, and the grass is so high that perhaps we can get some benefit by stooping down as we run.”

“Right ye air, cap’n,” answered Sorrel, and Casey and Jeming nodded.

“Surrendor, you Americanos!” came in a shout from without. “Surrendor, you beasts!”

“Let them burn up, they deserve it!” came in Spanish.

“All ready?” asked Ben, and receiving a nod, he hurried to a side window. Below was a small bush, and in a moment he had dropped to the ground. As he started through the long grass, Casey and the others followed him.

A wild yell speedily showed that this new movement had been discovered, and a dozen shots rang out. But the Filipinos were too excited to shoot straight, and the bullets merely clipped their way through the mango and other trees, or buried themselves in the side of the burning building.

At first Ben thought to fire in return. But to find shelter was the prime consideration, and on he went, holding his pistol in readiness, but without pulling the trigger. Here and there a Filipino could be seen flitting from bush to tree, but these glimpses were short and far from satisfactory.

“They are coming!” came from Dan Casey, just as the nearest of the trees was gained. “Back, ye rascals!” he shouted, and fired as quickly as he could. Casey was right; the Tagals were surrounding them, and now they had to fight back to back, in as hot a contest as the young captain had ever seen. They were clearly outnumbered, but retreat was impossible, for the Filipinos surrounded them upon every side.

What happened during the next five minutes is almost impossible to describe, for every movement was executed with lightning-like rapidity, the Filipinos bound to kill or capture the Americans, and at the same time afraid that they would slip like eels through their fingers. After a score of shots taken at a distance, they closed in, and Ben found himself confronted by two fierce-looking men, one armed with a Mauser rifle and the other with a wicked-looking bolo. The Mauser was empty, and its owner evidently out of ammunition, for as he advanced he used the weapon as a club.

Ben was hard pressed, for his pistol was now empty, and there was no chance to reload it. But his sword kept the two Tagals back, and had it not been for his gun, one of the enemy would have had his head split open from the blade. But now the rascal with the bolo tried to attack the young captain from one side, while he with the gun swung around to the other.

Ben could expect no aid from his companions, for all were as hotly engaged as himself; indeed, Sorrel more so, for he was fighting three men, while Jeming and Dan Casey, side by side, and with their backs against a heavy thorn-bush, were fighting the balance of the detachment.

The young captain felt that he could do little or nothing more, and expected each instant to have his assailants hurl themselves directly upon him, when a shout came from Sorrel which gave all of our friends hope.

“Some soldiers air comin’!” sang out the Tennesseean. “This way, boys, this way, an’ be quick about it!”

“What’s the matter?” came in a hoarse growl from the roadway, and in a few seconds a whole company of the North Dakota troops burst into view. Their captain, a short, fat man, but one who was an excellent fighter, took in the situation at a glance, and ordered the Filipinos surrounded.

Taken by surprise, the Tagals were dumfounded, and for half a minute knew not what to do. Then they started to run, but this movement came too late, and four went down at the first volley from the newly arrived men. The others, realizing their helplessness, threw down their arms and surrendered.

“Had it hot, eh, captain,” said the North Dakota man to Ben as he came up with a quizzical smile on his round face, from which the perspiration was pouring in a stream.

“Yes,” panted Ben. “You came up in the nick of time, and I must thank you for – ”

“That’s all right, captain – no more than you would do for me, and I know it.” The North Dakota man shook hands. “It’s been a long running fight to-day,” he added. “Where is your command?”

“That remains to be found out,” answered Ben. “Have you seen any of them during the last two hours? I and one of my men became separated from them in the cane-brakes.”

“I guess you’ll find them up near Baliuag. Most of the troops are up there. But I wouldn’t try going around by this road, for the rebels are scattered in small bands all over this territory. You’ll find the main road all right.”

“What will you do with these prisoners?”

“Take them up to the main road and send to the colonel for orders.”

“Then I will go with you,” said Ben, and spoke to the others about it. Soon the whole party was on the way, Sorrel and Jeming carrying the dead form of Sergeant Kaser between them, with Casey trudging near to give them a lift whenever necessary.

It was now growing dark, and looked as if a thunderstorm was at hand. Seeing this, the detachment pushed forward rapidly, until at last the main road was gained. Here, from one of the drivers of a quartermaster’s turnout, they learned that Ben’s regiment had gone into temporary camp on the outskirts of the town of Baliuag, which was a mile further on. A number of Americans were missing, having become lost in a manner similar to Ben and Casey.

The young captain now lost no time in marching forward once more, and reached his regiment in less than half an hour. He found his company in charge of Gilmore. Many had given him up for dead, and they were delighted at his reappearance.

“We can’t do without you,” said the acting first lieutenant. And as he shook hands his honest face showed that he meant what he said.

“And I don’t know that I can do without my company,” replied Ben. “Anyway, I’m awfully glad to be back. In the future, I must be a little more careful about keeping the boys in sight.”

CHAPTER XVI

NEWS FROM HOME

It was evident that the majority of the insurgents had now had enough of fighting, for while the engagement just mentioned was taking place, General Luna of the Filipinos sent forward his chief of staff to General MacArthur, with a request that hostilities cease, pending a conference of Americans and Filipinos looking toward a settlement of existing difficulties.

But our leaders knew only too well what delay meant, and refused to enter into any compact unless the natives first threw down their arms. The Filipinos wanted their freedom, but events had now so shaped themselves that absolute freedom for them appeared to be out of the question. So the conference practically amounted to nothing. And while this was taking place, General Hale began to move eastward to join General Lawton’s command on its march toward San Isidro. It was the policy of all the American commanders to give the Filipinos no rest during the short time left to them before the heaviest of the rainy season set in.

A rest of two days did Ben’s company a world of good. Communications with Malolos were now opened, and supplies were coming forward rapidly. With the supply wagons came Carl Stummer, just from the hospital and still somewhat “shaky,” but eager to be again on the firing line.

“I could not dink me of stayin’ any longer,” he said, as he shook hands all around. “Der docther say, ‘You vos besser here,’ und I say, ‘I ton’t gits me no besser bis I schmell dot powder purning vonce more alretty!’”

“Well, it’s powdher ye’ll be afther shmellin’ soon,” put in Dan Casey. “It’s forward we go to-morrow, so th’ colonel is afther sayin’.”

“Goot!” said Carl. Then he added with a faint smile. “You see, Tan, I vos afraid you kill all dem Filibenos off pefore I could git here.”

“Sure an’ I saved a couple fer ye, Carl,” replied his chum. “Ye’ll not be wantin’ fer a scrap, I’ll warrant!” And then he related his own and Ben’s adventures, to which the German volunteer listened with much interest.

The wagon train had brought in the mail, and this included the usual letters for Ben – one from Walter and the other from Uncle Job Dowling. Ben breathed a long sigh as he opened the communications.

“I’m going to spring a surprise on you,” so wrote Walter. “I’ve been reading the newspapers, and it makes me weary to think that I am just cruising around with our squadron doing nothing, while you and Larry are right in it, head and heels. I’ve applied for a transfer to one of the warships in Manila waters, and it may be that before this reaches you I will be on the bounding Pacific on my way to join you and Larry in our fight with Aguinaldo and his supporters. Si Doring, my old Yankee chum, has applied with me, so we’ll probably come on together, and when we get there you and Larry will have to look to your laurels, that’s all.”

“Dear Walter!” murmured Ben, after reading the letter twice. “What will he say when he hears that Larry is missing? If Larry doesn’t show up, it will break his heart, and it will break mine, too!” And he brushed away the tears that sprang up in spite of his efforts to keep them down. Then he turned to the heavy, twisted scrawl from his Uncle Job.

“It’s rare good news you have sent, Ben,” wrote the old man, after stating that he was in good health, “and the news comes none too soon, for the party who took a mortgage on my house wants his money, and where I am going to get it I don’t know, with money so tight and interest and bonus so high. I’ve told him that Braxton Bogg is captured, – and he saw it in the newspaper, too, – and he is about of a mind to wait for his money now until the bank gets back what was stolen, and settles up. For myself, I can’t hardly wait till that time comes; and after this you can be sure I’ll be mighty careful where I put my cash and what’s coming to you three boys, too. You won that thousand dollars’ reward fairly, and I hope you and Larry won’t squander it like most soldiers would. I thought that war would end soon, but it appears like it would go on forever. Tell Larry to take good care of himself, and mind that you don’t get shot.”

“Poor Uncle Job – he’ll be in a hole again,” murmured Ben. “Evidently he wrote this right after I sent word Braxton Bogg was caught, and he doesn’t know anything of my being shot and getting over it, and of Benedicto Lupez skipping out with what Bogg stole. Hang the luck, but everything seems to be going wrong.” And Ben grated his teeth, in a mood hard to explain.

“What’s up, Ben?” The question came from Gilbert, who had just come up to watch the young captain, in considerable surprise.

Ben showed the two communications. “I’m just thinking of what I had best write to my Uncle Job,” he returned. “I’m afraid it will break the old fellow’s heart to learn that the money is gone – and after he is trying to turn over a new leaf, too.”

“And the news about Larry will cause him pain, too, I reckon.”

“No doubt, but – but – well, between you and me, Gilbert, I’m afraid the money will hurt the worst – Uncle Job always did set such a store by a few dollars. As for me, I’d give all I’ll ever be worth if only I knew Larry was safe,” concluded the young captain, arising from a seat under a palm tree as Major Morris came forward to speak to him.

“Captain, I’m ordered to the front to-night, to do a little reconnoitring,” said the major of the first battalion. “I thought perhaps you would like to go out with me. Possibly we can again get on the track of that Bogg fortune;” and he smiled faintly, for he had been with Ben on the night Braxton Bogg had been first made a prisoner.

“I’ll go out with you gladly,” answered the young captain, promptly. “But I doubt if that money is ever found – or my brother Larry, either,” he added, with bitterness.

“Oh, cheer up, captain, you are blue to-night. Come, a little danger will put you on your mettle once more, and you’ll forget all about this thing – although I’ll allow it’s enough to make anybody heart-sick.”

Supper was served, and the sun had long since sunk to rest over the vast plain and ocean to the westward, when Ben and Major Morris set out, taking with them an ample supply of ammunition and likewise a day’s rations, for they were to move directly into the heart of the enemy’s country and might be absent for a day or longer. The object of their going was to find out if a certain Lieutenant Caspard, who had deserted the American ranks, was with the rebels now gathering at Maasin, and if so, whether or not he was acting as an officer of the Filipino forces. If they could catch the deserter and bring him back, they were to be well rewarded. Strange to say, the orders were not to shoot him if it could be avoided.

“It’s a strange mission,” said Major Morris, as they set out. “But such are Colonel Darcy’s orders, and he is backed up in them by the general. Between you and me, I think this Caspard has been playing a double game between our forces and those of the Filipinos, and those at headquarters want to find out just what it means. One man told me that this Caspard was out of his head, and had an idea that he could stop the war by telling the rebels we would grant them everything they want if only they would throw down their arms.”

“Would the rebels swallow such a yarn?”

“Some of the more ignorant might. But that isn’t the point; Caspard may have given them some military information of vast importance. You must remember we are in a territory that may be full of pitfalls for us,” concluded the major.

Ben thought but little of the ending of this speech at the time, but had good cause to remember it before midnight. On they pushed past the picket guard and on to a side road which it was said would bring them around to the north side of Maasin. Both were in fairly good humor by this time, and the major told many an anecdote of army life which made Ben laugh outright. The major saw that his companion was indeed “blue,” and was bound to dispel the blues if it could be done.

“And that story puts me in mind of one on General Grant,” he continued presently. “Grant was sitting in his tent one night when – ”

“Hush!” interrupted Ben, and caught his companion by the shoulder. Then he pointed into the semi-darkness ahead. “Are those rebels, or friends?”

The road they were pursuing was, for the most part, a winding one. But they had now gained a straight stretch, the farther end of which was somewhat in the open. Looking in that direction Ben had discerned six or seven figures stealing silently along, guns on shoulders and packs on their backs.

Major Morris came to a halt and surveyed the figures attentively. “I don’t believe they are our men,” he whispered. “None of the troops came as far as this – so the general stated.”

“Then, if they are rebels, what have they been doing?” went on Ben. “See, they have picks and shovels and axes.”

“Perhaps it’s an engineering corps,” and the major laughed softly at what he considered his little joke. “These Tagals are bound to be up-to-date, you know.”

“Well, if they are an engineering corps, what have they been doing?” demanded the young captain, who felt by no means satisfied at his companion’s words.

“I’ll give it up – no, I won’t, I’ll go forward and investigate,” came from the major. “There they go, around the turn, and walking just as fast as they can. If we want to catch up to them, we will have to hurry.”

“We don’t want to get too close, major. They are not the game we are after, remember.”

“True, captain, but it won’t do any harm to find out what we can of them. We may be doing General Lawton a great service by such an action.”

The night was cloudy, and as they pushed forward to the bend in the road it became darker than ever, until they could see hardly anything of what was ahead of them. The way was evidently little used, for the grass grew thickly even in the centre of the highway.

The pair were going on, side by side, and with eyes strained to catch sight of those who had gone before, when suddenly Major Morris felt the ground giving way beneath him. “My gracious!” he ejaculated, and caught Ben by the arm. At the same instant the young captain uttered a cry, and also felt himself going down. Then came the snapping of slender bamboo poles, and the scattering of some loose grass, and down into darkness and space shot the pair, swallowed up utterly by a hole which had unexpectedly opened to receive them.

CHAPTER XVII

IN AND OUT OF A STRANGE PITFALL

Major Morris and Ben had fallen into a pit dug by the Filipinos for the purpose of catching their enemies. It was an old trick, and one which had been used quite extensively at the opening of the rebellion, but which was now falling into disuse, for the reason that few Americans were ever caught by the device.

The method was to dig a square hole in the centre of some trail or road which the Americans would probably use in their advance. At the bottom of this hole would be planted upright a number of sharp bamboo sticks, and then the top would be covered over with slender bamboo sticks and loose grass or palm leaves. If one or more persons stepped upon the top sticks, they would break at once, and the unfortunates would fall upon the sharp points below, which were certain to inflict more or less serious injury.

Fortunately, however, for the young captain and his companion, the hole into which they had tumbled was not provided with the sharp sticks mentioned. The natives had just finished the opening when an officer had called upon them to leave the vicinity as it was getting dangerous, owing to the rapid advances made by the Americans. So the trap had been set with its most dangerous element lacking.

Yet the fall was by no means a pleasant one, and for a brief instant the young captain of Company D thought that the bottom had dropped out of everything, and that he would surely be killed. He tried to catch hold of something, but all he could reach was the major’s shoulder, and then both landed with a thud on the soft dirt left at the bottom of the hole.

Ben was the first on his feet, which was not saying much, since the bottom of the opening was not level, and he stood in the soft loam up to his ankles. Shaking himself to find that no bones were broken, he drew a long breath.

“Major, are you all right?” he asked.

“No – no – I’m not all – all right,” came with a gasp. “I’ve had my wi – wind knocked ou – out of me.”

“Any bones broken?”

“I gue – guess not. But wh – who ever heard of such a con – founded trick?”

“I’ve heard of it several times, major. But we are not as bad off as we might have been had the rebels put some sharp sticks down here to spit us with.”

“True.” Major Morris gave a grunt, and wiped the dirt from his eyes. “Well, I reckon we’ve learned what their engineering corps was up to.”

This was said so dryly that in spite of his discomfiture Ben was compelled to laugh.

“Yes, we’ve learned. The question is, now we are down here, how are we going to get out?”

“Better make a light and see how deep the hole is first,” replied the commander of the first battalion.

Fortunately Ben had plenty of matches with him, and striking one, he lit a bamboo stalk and held it up as a torch. By the flickering light thus afforded they saw that the hole was about eight feet wide and twice as long. The level of the road above was fully eight feet over their heads.

“Looks as if we were in a box, eh, captain?” said the major, grimly.

“We’re certainly in a hole,” responded Ben. “But I think we can get out without much trouble. I wish we had a spade.”

“Well, wishing won’t bring one, and there is nothing here to take the place of one, either.”

“Nothing but our hands. Here, if you’ll hold the light, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Here is a bit of a flat stick, try that,” rejoined Major Morris; and taking the article mentioned, Ben set to work with vigor, attacking one end of the hole by loosening the dirt so that a large portion of it soon fell at their feet. Standing upon the fallen portion he continued his operations, and presently more of the dirt fell, leaving an incline up which both began to scramble on hands and knees. It was not a very dignified thing to do, but it was far better than to remain in the hole, and besides, there was nobody at hand to comment on the want of dignity in the movement.

“We are well out of that,” began Major Morris, brushing off his clothing as he spoke. “In the future – ”

“Hold on, major, somebody is coming,” interrupted Ben, and pulled his companion back. He had seen a faint light advancing toward them, from a side road which joined the main road at a point but a few yards distant. Soon he made out a heavy cart approaching, drawn by a pair of caribaos, or water buffaloes. On the seat of the cart sat two sleepy-looking natives.

“We must stop that cart,” was the major’s comment. “If we don’t, there will be a bad smash-up.”

“I don’t think it’s a good plan to expose ourselves,” replied Ben.

“But do you want those chaps to break their necks?” demanded the commander of the first battalion. “More than likely they are amigos.”

“I’ve got a plan for warning them, major.”

As Ben spoke he picked up some of the driest of the grass and palm leaves and applied a match to the stuff. It blazed up readily, and he threw the mass in with the other stuff about the edge of the hole.

“There, if they can’t see that they must be blind,” he said. “Come, let us get out,” and off they ran for the thicket close at hand. From here they watched the cart and saw it come to a halt near the hole and knew that the turnout was safe.

“I shouldn’t think the rebels would care to leave those holes about,” was Major Morris’ comment, as they pushed on once more. “They are as dangerous to their own people as they are to us.”

“I suppose they tell their own people about them.”

“Those men on the buffalo cart evidently knew nothing.”

“The rebels don’t care for the amigos. Their idea is, if a native is not with them, he is against them, and must suffer with the Americans.”

To play the part of spies in such a country as this was not easy, for the Americans were easily distinguished from the natives. Had Ben and the major spoken Spanish fluently, they might have passed for Spaniards, as each was tanned from constant exposure to the strong sun. But this could not be, and so they had to go ahead and trust to luck to see them through with their dangerous errand.

At length they felt that they must be close to the enemy’s picket line, and paused to consider the situation. Before them was a gentle slope, terminating at a small but deep stream which flowed into the Rio Grande River.

“I think some of the rebels are over there,” said the major, pointing to a hill, from the top of which could be seen a faint glow. “There is certainly a camp-fire back there.”