CHAPTER VCAPTAIN BLYNN MARCHES
Asnight fell, Captain Blynn led his battalion of regulars from their barracks, across the bridge and on to the trail leading to the northward of Palilo. The American officer rode in the lead, the Filipino Presidente at his side. The soldiers behind him, eight full companies, each under its own officer, swung along with the long, untiring step of the American soldier. They each knew that before the night was over and the sun had lifted its fiery head above the misty mountains to the eastward twenty miles of rough trail must be covered, and then they had been promised to be brought face to face with an enemy whose shadows they had chased during these many long, tiresome months.
Espinosa, as he rode in silence by the side of the big American, chuckled inwardly at the fruitlessness of this expedition. “These childlikeAmerican dogs,” he thought, “they will arrive in time to see the smouldering fires where our men have cooked their morning rice, while they will be high in the hills, looking down on them derisively, and possibly will fire a few shots at long range to show their contempt.”
Captain Blynn’s restless gaze contemplated his companion from time to time as the native signaled the right trail. They were now in a narrow defile between two hills that rose precipitously to a height of over a thousand feet. Captain Blynn, as he contemplated his surroundings with a soldier’s eyes, drew his revolver from its holster and laid it gently across the pommel of his saddle.
“A nice place for an ambush,” he said in a low, insinuating voice. “I suppose, señor, you are prepared to stand before your Maker.”
The native shuddered. He saw only too clearly the accusation and threat in this terrible American’s words. If there was to be an ambush, he knew nothing of it, but if a single hostile shot was fired, he would pay the penalty with his life.
The Filipino forced an uneasy laugh. “Asfar as I know, señor capitan, there are no insurgents this side of Banate.”
“For your sake, I hope you are right,” the American replied. “As you see, I am taking no chances. You are our guide; if you get us into trouble, you pay, that’s all.”
Captain Blynn ordered a halt and called a lieutenant from the leading company.
“Take ten men, Simpson,” he said, “and act as the point. If you are attacked, retreat and fall back on the main body.”
Lieutenant Simpson picked his men quickly and disappeared quietly down the trail. Captain Blynn watched them until swallowed up in the darkness, and then set the long line in motion again. Every soldier took, instinctively, a tighter grip upon his musket, and loosened the sharp sword bayonet from its scabbard. Each knew that when “Black Jack” Blynn took precautions there was reason to scent trouble.
Half-way through the defile a guarded whistle of warning came to Blynn’s ears from the point. As one man the long column halted; the soldiers’ heavy breathing was distinctly audible above the tremor of the metallicrattling of accoutrements. Each soldier sought his neighbor’s face for a key to the solution of the problem. Blynn, motioning Espinosa to follow, rode silently forward. In the trail a hundred paces ahead he saw Lieutenant Simpson bending over a dark object.
“What is it?” Blynn asked in a harsh whisper.
“A dead native,” Simpson answered shortly. Espinosa was off his horse instantly; bending down quickly he struck a match, illuminating the native’s dead face. He started, turning a sickly yellow. His heart stopped beating, and his knees shook under him, but Captain Blynn was too much occupied with the silent figure to notice the peculiar behavior of his guide. They turned the dead man over, revealing the terrible havoc accomplished in but a few hours by the tropical scourge.
“Poor chap!” Blynn exclaimed. “Only a common ‘Tao’ stricken by cholera and dead before he knew what had hit him.”
They moved the body off the trail, and again the command was set in motion.
In the flash of the match Espinosa hadrecognized his messenger although his face was horribly disfigured by his last mortal suffering. He shuddered at the consequences of this man’s death—Martinez would not get his warning message and would fall into the trap set for him. He, Espinosa, could never explain his actions. He would doubtless pay for this treachery with his life. But his cruel mind was instantly made up as to his future actions. He feared this American too thoroughly not to take them to the place where the Tagalos under Martinez were encamped; above all else Captain Blynn must be made to believe that he was sincere; all depended upon that. Everything must be sacrificed for his final great ambition. Martinez would not be taken alive. That was a necessity, he would see to that. Once he was killed his part in the night’s expedition must remain a secret among the Americans.
Casting from him his first fears he straightened his slight frame and rode boldly, with head erect, beside the American leader.
One hour before sunrise Captain Blynn disposed his command in a single circular line about the base of a high hill; its sideswere covered with a dense jungle while a single trail led to the top.
Under the guardianship of Espinosa the command moved forward, straight up through the high clutching brush; the men were so close to each other that their neighbors on each side were always in sight. Captain Blynn and one company marched fearlessly up the trail. A few feet from where the round top hill had been cleared he halted and waited for the remainder of his men to join him. His enemy’s camp was silent, but his keen eyes could discern shadowy forms lying prone on the ground. He searched for a sentry, but no movement could be seen. Were they all asleep, believing themselves secure in their surroundings? No! there directly in front of him he saw a white figure standing upright beside a dark form on the ground. This must be an officer, for the native soldiers do not wear white—something familiar in the pose and cut of the uniform struck him. Could it be possible, was it a navy uniform? At that instant the soldiers on both sides reached the edge of the clearing. As yet the enemy were unaware of theirpresence. Not a moment must be lost; they must attack at once. Firing his revolver, Captain Blynn plunged forward, straight toward the white-clad figure. Several of his men passed him while he stopped to find why the figure had thrown itself face downward in the grass at the discharge of his revolver.
The next moment he was shaking hands with three almost tearfully joyful fellow countrymen.
As soon as Phil realized that they were again free his thoughts were for the Filipino girl and her little brother. Was she in danger? With the rifle he had taken from the sentry in his hands, he rushed anxiously in the direction that he believed she might be found. He recognized some of her belongings on the ground at his feet, but the girl had vanished. Fearful at the thought of finding them killed by his own people, he sought her everywhere, repeatedly risking his life as the terrified natives, finding themselves trapped, flung at him with their long, sharp knives or discharged their weapons almost in his face. He gave them but littleheed, not giving a thought to the reason why he had not been killed, although a faithful sailor at his elbow was the only tangible cause. A score of times O’Neil had saved his young officer at the risk of his own life.
A small group of struggling men on the right near the edge of the jungle suddenly caught his restless eye and desperately he plunged downward toward them. On the ground two men struggled in a death embrace, while the girl and her brother stood wild-eyed with fright, unwilling spectators to the fierce duel. Phil gave a gasp of relief as he stood beside the girl. The two combatants uttered no sound save their sharp gasps for breath while they struggled for supremacy. Phil saw with wonder that the men were both natives and then for the first time realized that they were alone; no soldier was within a hundred yards of them. Behind them the soldiers were relentlessly, stubbornly herding the natives into a mass of flashing, frenzied humanity at the top of the hill.
“It is Colonel Martinez,” the girl gasped seizing Phil’s arm. “Oh, save him, señor,he will be murdered.” Phil saw the other native, by an effort almost superhuman, free his right arm, and in it a bright blade flashed in the dim light. The girl’s appealing face looked into his for an instant, and the next moment the lad had thrown himself between the two men; seizing the hand with the knife he bent it slowly backward, finally wrenching it from its firm grasp. O’Neil was beside him. The sailor caught the two natives as if they had been fighting dogs and held them for a second in his powerful arms clear of the ground. Espinosa fell limply as the sailor released his hold, and lay breathing heavily, too exhausted for speech. Colonel Martinez quickly regained his revolver, and was immediately the man of action. He gazed boldly at the Americans, his revolver held menacingly, and the while edging slowly away from his captors. Phil turned his eyes to the figure on the ground and the angry glare he received disconcerted him; the next second as he looked about him he saw that Colonel Martinez had gone; from the gloom of the jungle he heard the rustle of brush and caught a glimpse of misty forms. Heraised his rifle half-way and then lowered it. In his heart he rejoiced that he had not taken him prisoner.
In the next second Espinosa leaped toward him. Phil was stunned by a stinging blow; but before it could be repeated O’Neil interposed and Espinosa had measured his length on the ground.
“Where did Colonel Martinez go?” Phil asked quietly.
“I didn’t see,” O’Neil answered, his face as solemn as that of a judge.
Phil smiled and put out his hand. The two men exchanged clasps. “I believe he would have done as much for us,” Phil said.
Before the sun had risen above the sea to the eastward, the fight was over. But few of the enemy had escaped. Asking no quarter, fighting to the last man, they had died as they had lived. Two hundred rifles were the spoils of the fight.
Captain Blynn and the midshipmen were seated after their victory on the bloody battle-field, while the lads gave a hurried account of their capture.
Suddenly from the grass a horribly disfiguredface confronted them. It was Espinosa. His cunning gave him counsel that he must control his ungovernable temper. He could gain nothing by accusing these Americans of wilfully aiding Martinez in his escape. “I am sorry to inform you, señor captain, that Colonel Martinez escaped. These gentlemen can tell you the details. I was about to kill him. They doubtless had good reasons for permitting him to escape.”
Captain Blynn turned quickly to the midshipmen, a surprised look on his face at the words of his guide.
“Is this true?” he asked angrily.
Phil felt as he had before the court-martial that had tried him for disobeying orders.
“I alone am to blame, captain,” the lad replied quietly, after an effort. “I saw these two men on the ground and separated them, seeing they were both natives. This man attacked me afterward, so of course he was knocked down.”
“But it was Colonel Martinez! His capture is worth far more than all these men and rifles,” the captain exclaimed angrily, pointing to the heaps of slain being laid sideby side in the narrow trench dug by the soldiers.
“He escaped,” Phil said, his throat dry, but his eyes looking fearlessly into those of the enraged officer.
“You will have to explain this, sir,” Captain Blynn cried hoarsely, cutting short any explanation. “You are under my command here. If you have deliberately allowed this man to escape, I shall prosecute you to the utmost of my power, and you know the articles of war sufficiently to understand the penalty for such an unauthorized act.”
Phil was stunned; but his conscience had acquitted him of all guilt.