ATTACKED IN THE CANYON.
A good sleep during the night had rested me thoroughly; so, while the
others sat around, talking or smoking “home-made” cigars, made out of
some native tobacco which Matt Gory had secured during his wanderings,
I started up the canyon on a short tour of exploration.
“I’ve heard that there is gold on this island,” I laughed, when Tom
Dawson asked me where I was bound. “I’m going to strike a bonanza.”
“Look out that you don’t stir up some wild animal big enough to chew
you up,” he yelled after me.
The canyon was filled with brushwood and vines, with here and there
heavy clusters of tropical flowers, so odoriferous that they were
positively sickening. Some of these flowers, I afterward learned, can
readily put one to sleep if you sit by them long enough.
I found an easy path to the top of the canyon, at a point where the
walls were fifty to sixty feet high and three times as far apart. At
the top was a patch of smooth ground, back of which began the upward
slope of the mountain.
I kept my eyes open for wild animals, but nothing of size presented
itself, although I detected something moving near the mountain top,
probably some Philippine goats. There were countless birds, and in a
dark corner of the canyon I roused up half a dozen bats, none of which,
however, offered to molest me.
Coming to a truly beautiful spot, where a tiny mountain stream formed
a waterfall that leaped and danced in the sunshine striking through
some flowered brushwood, I threw myself down and gave myself up to
reflection.
What a variety of adventures had I passed through since leaving home!
In Hong Kong the days had not passed without incident, and now here I
was, cast away on the island of Luzon, minus my money and the documents
I had been intrusted to deliver, and in a land that was practically in
a state of war.
And yet I knew absolutely nothing of the important events which were
transpiring in what might be called the outer world. I did not know
that the war between Spain and the inhabitants of Cuba had reached
its height and that the relations between Spain and the United States
had culminated in the total destruction of the battleship _Maine_ in
Havana harbor, and that we were on the verge of war with the Spaniards
in consequence. Nor did I know how my father was suffering in Cuban
wilds, as related in “When Santiago Fell.” Perhaps it is a good thing
that I did not know about my parent’s condition, for I would have
worried a good deal, and worrying would have done no good.
From day-dreaming over the present I began to speculate on the past,
on my schoolboy days, and on the great interest I had taken for
several years in steam engines, machinery of all sorts, and in big
guns. Guns, such as were used in the forts on our Pacific seacoast,
had particularly interested me, and I had studied them in all of their
details, never once dreaming how useful this knowledge was to be to me.
From day-dreaming I fell into a light doze, from which I awoke with a
start to find the form of a man leaning over me. The man had clutched
my arm and this had aroused me. One glance showed that the man was
Captain Kenny.
“Now I’ve got the chance I’ll serve you as I served Holbrook!” he
hissed into my ear, and hurled me over the edge of the canyon down to
where the mountain torrent struck the rocks far below.
“Don’t!” I managed to gasp; but that was all. I felt myself dropping
through space, made a vain clutch at some brush which scraped my
cheek, and then struck heavily on the rocks--and knew no more. When I
recovered my senses it was pitch-dark around me and a light rain was
falling. At first I could not collect myself and did not attempt to
stir. Where was I, and what had happened?
The flowing of water over one arm aroused me, and, making examination,
I found that I was lying half in and half out of the mountain torrent.
Had I fallen into a little different position I must surely have
drowned. As a matter of fact my hair showed that I had fallen head
first into the water, but had by some unconscious movement saved myself
from a watery grave.
It was fully a quarter of an hour before I felt able to sit up, much
less stand on my feet. I ached in every joint, and my head was in such
a whirl that I could scarcely see.
“Oh, what a villain Captain Kenny is!” were the first words that
crossed my lips. “I’ll get square with him as soon as I can join the
others again!” Alas! little did I then realize that my companions had
hunted for me in vain, and that a band of Tagals had made it necessary
for them to set off in their boat without me, taking with them the
guilty captain, who had never opened his lips concerning his perfidy.
By the darkness I knew it was night, but what part of the night I could
not determine. Yet I thought it could not be late, and that I must try
to get back to the shore, no matter how much pain it cost me.
I arose to my feet to make a disheartening discovery. My left ankle
was badly wrenched and much swollen, and to walk on it was out of the
question. Here was a new difficulty, and I must confess that I could
scarcely hold back the tears as I felt my helplessness. Perhaps this
may seem childish to some of my readers, but they must remember that it
is no fun to be cast away in a savage land, away from your friends, and
in the condition in which I found myself.
Not without considerable pain and exertion, I dragged myself to a place
of shelter beneath the overhanging rocks of the canyon. Here it was
dry, and the winds had swept in a quantity of dried leaves which made
a fairly comfortable couch. The exertion necessary to reach this place
caused me to swoon.
When I was again myself, it was daylight, but still raining--a fine
drizzle that was little more than a mist. Looking at my ankle I saw
that the swelling had gone down a bit, and I presently found that I
could stand upon it, although the operation was far from a pleasure.
The rain had collected in a hollow close at hand, and here I got a
drink and bathed my bruised head and lower extremity. I might have
eaten some light food, but nothing was at hand, excepting some berries
which were strange to me, and which I did not dare to touch for fear
they might prove poisonous.
Slowly the hours came and went and still I remained under the cliff, a
prey to many disturbing thoughts. What were my companions doing? Would
they come up the canyon in search of me, or would they sail off and
leave me to my fate?
Toward nightfall several shots in the distance disturbed me. They
did not come from the shore, but from still further up the canyon. I
listened intently, but nothing but silence succeeded the discharge of
firearms.
The night which followed proved a long one. For several hours I could
not get to sleep for thinking of my position, but finally I fell into a
deep slumber that lasted far into the next day.
The sun was now shining brightly and the birds and insects had again
taken up their songs and hummings. I arose and stretched myself, and
was pleased to note that I could walk fairly well and that my brain was
clear, even though my head still felt sore.
I directed my footsteps down the canyon to the seashore, coming out
at the spot where I had left Dawson and the others encamped. Nothing
remained but the charred embers of a camp-fire, which had been built to
cook some fish.
I say nothing remained. There was something else there that filled me
with horror. It was a long Tagal spear, and its barb was covered with
blood. The sands were filled with countless tracks of bare feet.
“There has been a fight here,” I murmured, and ran to the water’s edge.
The _Mollie_ was gone, but whether taken by friends or the enemy there
was no telling.
For a long while I stood on the sands speculating upon the new turn of
affairs. I was now left utterly alone, that was clear. What should I do?
Without a boat a journey by water was out of the question. If I tried
to gain Manila by a trip overland I felt that I would either become
lost in the mountains or else fall into the hands of the warlike Tagals.
“I’ll follow the shore to Subig Bay,” I concluded, and in an hour was
on my slow and painful way, after a morning meal of half-ripe plantains
which were far from palatable.
By noon I concluded that I had covered four or five miles, having had
considerable difficulty in getting past the mountain which cut off the
beach for the space of two or three furlongs. It was now growing so hot
I was compelled to seek shelter in the forest, and here put in the time
by bringing down half a dozen birds, which afforded me nearly as many
meals.
The next four days were very much alike. I continued on my way, past
Iba and several other settlements. At the place named, I almost ran
into the lines of the native rebels and saw a pitched battle from afar,
in which, as I afterward ascertained, ten insurgents and six Spaniards
were killed and twice that many were wounded.
The end of the fourth day found me at the entrance to Subig Bay, and
here I rested for several hours. Lying on the north shore I saw half a
dozen ships at anchor, one of which, a two-masted schooner, flew the
Stars and Stripes.
“If I can get to that craft I’ll be safe,” I said to myself. “I’ll
watch her and see if anybody comes ashore.”
On the following morning I saw the schooner move slowly for the
entrance to Subig Bay. Running with all speed for the point of land
between the bay and the China Sea, I waved my hands frantically and
was at last gratified to see that somebody on board had noticed me.
Presently the schooner came to anchor again, and a small boat put out
for the beach.
As the boat came closer I uttered a cry of amazement and delight, for
at one of the oars sat a person I had not expected to see for many days
to come. It was Tom Dawson.