CHAPTER IVLANDED IN CAPTIVITY
Philwas too angry and humiliated to do more than glare at the girl who had so cleverly thwarted him in his daring plan to strand the steamer. His companions had started to spring toward the coveted rifles of their enemy, but now they sank back into their seats and hopelessly looked into the menacing muzzles of these same rifles in the hands of the four aroused sentries. The girl had risen to her feet, her face flushed with excitement; she raised her hand to the natives, motioning them to put up their weapons.
Phil scrambled to his feet and sheepishly dropped again into his chair. His breathing was quick and his eyes dilated with suppressed rage and mortification. At that moment he could have quite forgotten his natural instinct of gallantry and would have taken pleasure in throttling this slight girl who had come between them and freedom.
“They would have all been shot,” she said in quick accents of excitement. “You see I can understand a little English. I could not be a traitor to my own blood as long as I had power to prevent it.”
For answer Phil gave her a look of loathing.
The girl recoiled under his menacing glance.
“I am sorry for you,” she hastened to add, “for now Colonel Martinez will have to keep you closer prisoners, unless you give me your word that you will not again try to prevent the escape of the steamer.”
Phil shook his head savagely, his eyes on the steering quadrant within easy reach of his hand. The girl waited breathlessly for an answer, then finding none was forthcoming she gave a sharp command in her own language and immediately the four sentries closed in around the Americans, their rifles pointed toward their prisoners.
“For goodness’ sake, Phil,” Sydney exclaimed in an agony of doubt, “don’t be foolhardy. We are absolutely in their power. See,” he cried desperately, “the ‘Albany’ has stopped and sheered away. She has given up the chase.”
Phil realized that Sydney was right—nothing could be gained by giving in to his rash anger. He saw that O’Neil had dropped the crowbar and had been led away by two of the natives, going as peacefully as a lamb. However his pride stood in the way of an outward surrender, and instead of agreeing to make no attempts to disable the steamer he arose and moved away from the tempting steering quadrant.
The “Negros” had meanwhile threaded her way among the dangerous shoals and was now in the river; the cruiser had disappeared behind the land.
A great crowd of natives ashore had witnessed the escape of the steamer from the war-ship and these lined the banks of the river shouting joyfully as the “Negros” steamed quietly to the bamboo pier in front of the village.
As soon as the dock had been reached, the girl dismissed the guards and the Americans once more gathered about the breakfast table.
A few moments later Colonel Martinez, his face wreathed in smiles, left the bridge and joined them.
“You are to be given the freedom of the town,” he said as he took a cup of coffee from the servant’s hands and sipped it gratefully, “but I warn you if you attempt to escape you will be shot, and even if you escaped, without guides you would be lost in the jungle and be killed by ladrones.”
Phil bowed his head in sign of submission. They were certainly prisoners, without hope of rescue.
“To-morrow morning,” Colonel Martinez added, “we shall leave the village and march inland. I have already sent to notify our leader that I have successfully arrived. I think for your own good it would be wiser for you to remain on board here until we start. I do not trust the temper of the people. Americans are not just now in favor.” He finished with an amused smile on his face.
After their captors had left them, the three terribly disappointed men sat bemoaning their fate.
“We might just as well make the best of it,” Sydney philosophically assured the others. “There certainly isn’t any way toescape that I can see. After all, we’ve been in just as tight places and have come out of them; we don’t make matters any better by crying over spilled milk.”
“If that girl hadn’t betrayed us,” Phil moaned, “we would have been on board the ‘Albany’ this minute.”
“Mr. Perry,” O’Neil broke in apologetically, “it ain’t like you to be unfair to anybody, most of all a woman. These are her own people—Colonel Martinez must be a friend of hers, or otherwise we wouldn’t have been living to see the ‘Albany.’ If she had only been an ordinary native girl, these ladrones wouldn’t have stopped and bowed and scraped and then given us the freedom of the after deck of the ship. No, sir, she’s a person of consequence. She saved our lives and then afterward she saved the lives of Colonel Martinez and his band of cutthroats, for if they had fallen into the hands of the crew of the ‘Albany’ they would have all been shot or swung at her yard-arm. Seizing this merchant ship and killing her captain is piracy.”
“I think O’Neil is right,” Sydney exclaimed patting the sailor on the back enthusiastically.“The girl’s all right—I’ll take my hat off to her every time.”
“It was my own stupidity, I suppose,” Phil declared, his face sobering slightly. “I thought she was too frightened to know what was happening; in fact I really didn’t believe she would understand what I intended doing.”
“Who do you suppose she is?” Sydney asked eagerly. “Isn’t it queer she has never told us her name?”
“It probably wouldn’t aid us if she had,” Phil replied; “she’s probably the daughter of some rich Filipino, who holds a fat position under our civil government. By the way she talked when we first met her I thought she was dead against war, yet she appears to know and welcome these cutthroat Tagalos with open arms.”
“There you go, Phil,” Sydney admonished, “unfair again. She has so far shown herself willing to help both sides. In your heart, when you’ve recovered from your disappointment and humiliation at being handled so roughly by a girl, you’ll see that she acted in a way that was just to both the insurgents and ourselves.”
The next morning at daylight the Americans were up and dressed, ready for the march with their captors.
“Colonel Martinez has secured enough horses for you and your companions to ride,” the girl told them as a half dozen small Filipino ponies were led down to the end of the wharf. “Your belongings will be carried by natives whom he has secured, so I hope you will not be put to too great hardships. The soldiers are used to marching, but for those unaccustomed to the country it is very tedious.”
Phil thanked her not ungraciously. He had during many hours of a sleepless night brooded over the situation and had awakened with much kindlier thoughts for this girl than he had held the night before.
The Americans, with Colonel Martinez, the girl and her brother rode at the head of the long file of armed insurgent soldiers. As the procession passed through the streets of the town the natives gathered and gave excited and enthusiastic yells of pleasure. Great curiosity was shown as to the white captives, but Colonel Martinez took precautions thatthey should not be disturbed by the evident dislike of the people. Phil read hatred in many eyes as they wended their way through the curious crowds, and he quite believed the insurgent colonel’s words that they would not be safe among them.
The trail which they were following led steadily inland, and constantly climbed above the level of the sea. After a few miles had been covered all signs of habitation disappeared, the country was bleak and barren of cultivation. At first they had passed through groves of cocoanut, banana and many varieties of tropical fruit trees and afterward the velvety green of rice fields lay on either hand, but now the earth was scorched and brown, the high jungle bush lay thick on either side of the trail. The Americans realized the hardships of a campaign in such a country against a wild and determined foe. They had marched for about four hours without a rest when a signal of warning was given from scouts in front. The leader stopped, giving a low order to a soldier at his elbow.
“What is it?” Phil breathed, forcing his pony forward eagerly.
“They’ve seen something,” O’Neil whispered; “probably a company of our soldiers on a ‘hike.’”
The Americans were ordered to dismount, and a dozen riflemen quietly surrounded them. Colonel Martinez spurred ahead while the entire band dissolved in the jungle, leaving the trail clear. Scarcely twenty feet from the trail the Americans were roughly seized, their hands secured tightly behind their backs and gags were forced into their mouths. They submitted peaceably. Suddenly, scarcely fifty yards away, a column of khaki-clad soldiers appeared marching down the trail. Phil caught a glimpse through a vista in the dense brush of these men, swinging lightly along, ignorant of the presence, so near them, of over two hundred armed enemies. His pulse beat fast and his heart seemed ready to burst within him. Were these Americans walking innocently into an ambush? He tried to scream a warning, but he emitted no sound save a faint gurgle, which his guards heard, and for his pains struck him down with their knees until he lay with his face pressed close to the pricklyearth. He could hear the tramp of shod feet and an occasional snatch of a song. Once he heard a sharp command in English and at another time a jest which called forth local laughter. It seemed an age since he had seen the head of this column appear, and yet the earth trembled under the tread of a multitude of feet. Finally the sounds died away. The soldiers had passed, and no attack had been made. After a long hour of waiting their guards brought out the Americans and unbound their hands, taking out the cruel gags from their mouths. Colonel Martinez appeared, still mounted upon his small gray pony.
“I am very sorry,” he said politely, “but I could not run the risk of detection. That was Colonel Bane with two battalions of the Seventy-eighth Infantry. I had been warned that he was in the neighborhood. I was not strong enough to attack him.”
Phil could have cried aloud at the utter uselessness of this warfare. Their movements heralded far and wide whenever a column moved, in a country well-nigh impenetrable, how were the Americans ever to put down this ugly rebellion?
At sunset the band halted and went into camp. Phil saw that the site selected was a strong one and one that could be easily defended from attack if the attackers came by trail, and there seemed no other way through the impenetrable brush.
“We shall remain here until my messenger returns,” Phil overheard Colonel Martinez say to the girl. “Will you wait until your father sends for you, or will you accept an escort from me?”
“I shall remain here,” she said; “the morning should bring my own people.”
Shortly afterward the girl took her brother’s hand and led him away to the part of the camp that had been set aside for her own use, and Colonel Martinez joined the disconsolate Americans.
“The señorita,” he said as he sat down on the ground near Phil, “has told me of the brave conduct of my prisoners, and I wish it were in my power to set you free. I have known many American navy men before this war began and my treatment by them has always been courteous and considerate. I have the power to take your parole, and knowingthe hardships which you must undergo as prisoners among our soldiers I advise you to give it. To-morrow morning you can be on your way to Palilo.”
It was certainly a grave temptation, but the midshipmen knew that in giving their parole all hopes of taking part in the war would vanish; and then, the insurgents not being recognized as belligerents, the Navy Department might even see fit to order them to break their parole.
“Thank you, señor,” Phil finally replied. “We shall take our chances as your prisoners. We shall always remember your considerate treatment of us, and if by the chances of war the situation is reversed you can count on us to repay our obligations to a chivalrous enemy.”
“If you and your companions were to remain in my keeping,” the Filipino answered, a pleased smile on his face at Phil’s subtle compliment, “I should have no concern, but I must give you over to the mercies of General Diocno; he is a Tagalo, and has known nothing but war since his youth; he would never surrender to the Spaniards, and for yearsa price has been upon his head; he is said to be cruel to those who fall into his hands.”
Phil shuddered at the frank words of his captor. He saw in the earnestness of his face that this gruesome information was being given for the Americans’ own good.
“Your friends,” the colonel continued, “will doubtless attempt a rescue, and that will only add to your danger.”
After Colonel Martinez had said good-night Phil told his companions of the unpleasant and disquieting reports concerning their future captor, but nothing could shake O’Neil’s good spirits.
“It’s all in the game, Mr. Perry,” he said philosophically. “They can’t do more than kill us, and as we’ve got to die some day, it might just as well be in Kapay as any other place. But as long as we’ve got our senses and our strong arms, there are going to be some little brown men hurt before I give up my mess number.
“What I’ve been trying to study out,” the sailor continued, seeing the two lads still silent, “is how all those American soldiers could pass along that trail and not find outthat this band of natives had just left it. Where are all the old Indian fighters we used to have in the army?”
Phil and Sydney both raised their heads, a look of surprise in their faces.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Sydney exclaimed. “Our trail must have been there; the native soldiers all go barefooted and leave but indistinct tracks on this hard soil, but our pony tracks must have been in plain sight.”
“The solution is,” Phil broke in sadly, “those men were volunteers, the Seventy-eighth Infantry, the colonel said; there probably wasn’t an old soldier among them. They fight like demons when they see the enemy, but are as helpless as children against a savage foe skilled in woodcraft. If that had been a battalion of regulars there’d have been a fight and we would now be free, or,” he added with an unconscious shiver, “dead there in the jungle, for the native guarding me would have been only too happy to stick his bolo into me.”
O’Neil had already rolled himself in his blanket, apparently resigned to the tricks of fate, and the midshipmen, realizing, after theirlong day’s ride in spite of their troubled minds, that they were in need of rest, were soon comfortably settled on the bundles of dry grass given them to lie upon. As Phil dropped into a troubled sleep, he was conscious of the four native guards, pacing to and fro just outside of ear-shot. These four men were all that stood between them and liberty; for once they had escaped, he felt confident that O’Neil could be depended upon to follow the track of those half a thousand soldiers who had marched past so carelessly only a few hours before.
After what seemed an incredibly short time, although he had slept for hours, he awakened with a start; sitting bolt upright, he gazed quickly about him. A faint streak of light in the eastern sky told him the night had nearly passed. His brain, keenly alive, grasped for a reason; what had stirred him to wakefulness? All was quiet about the camp. The guards were no longer on their feet, but he could see their shadowy forms squatting on the ground, their rifles in their hands. With a disappointed sigh, for what he did not know, he dropped back upon his bundle of straw,but he soon found he was too wide awake for more sleep. He finally arose, stretching himself as though just awakened, and by an impulse which he was powerless to disobey, walked slowly toward the guards. As he advanced he saw with surprise that they did not move. Stealthily he went on until he stood over the nearest one, squatting naturally, the butt of his rifle between his bare feet. The guard was sound asleep. Farther on he saw in the dim mysterious light of early dawn that the other three were also silently sleeping, their bodies propped up against the trunks of the dwarf pine-trees. Phil’s heart beat fast. Here was freedom within his grasp. He leaned forward, seizing the rifle barrel of an unconscious guard, drawing it slowly from his relaxed fingers. The butt still rested between his feet and as he slowly, steadily drew the rifle toward him, the sleeping native’s body settled itself inch by inch upon the ground.
HERE WAS FREEDOM WITHINHIS GRASP
A twig snapped close by, sending the blood coursing through his veins while his hand shook from the sudden start. Terrified he cast his startled eyes into the jungle behind him. The dim shadow of a man stood scarcely ahundred yards away, silently watching him. In the dim light the figure seemed of heroic size. He retreated toward it and back to his sleeping companions, the rifle clasped in his hand. Then suddenly the silence was broken by a volley of rifle-shots and the hiss of bullets sounded everywhere about him. Stunned, unable to explain the meaning of this, he dropped to the ground and lay silent, his face in the straw of his bed. The next second a line of shouting, excited khaki-clad men streamed past, firing their rifles as they charged upon their hidden native foes.