A RECONNAISSANCE
A Herzovinian war-ship had come to join the four other men-of-war, all
anchored inside the narrow harbor of Ukula.
The Herzovinian consul at once went on board the newcomer, and
afterward he and her captain passed through the allied lines on their
way to Vaileli.
That evening many were the rumors in Ukula. Alice and Avao collected
the stories from the women.
“Herzovinia has accepted Kataafa’s allegiance, and will aid him to
conquer and then annex the islands,” Alice told the midshipmen that
evening, “and also,” she exclaimed, “the women say that Kataafa has
been persuaded to make a big attack on the town.”
“I can hardly believe it,” Phil declared, “but apparently the admiral
is not willing for us to remain passive in our defense. Have you
heard,” he asked, “about the expedition to-morrow?”
Alice shook her head, her eyes big with excitement. “Where?” she asked.
“No one knows,” Phil answered. “We start at daylight.”
The next morning before dawn a force of one hundred sailors, consisting
of both English and Americans, had been formed in column of march on
the Ukula road. A machine gun, mounted on a light carriage and hauled
by hand, formed a part of the expedition. The midshipmen were detailed
to go along as aides to the commanding officer, Lieutenant Tupper.
“We’re going to reconnoiter Vaileli plantation, I hear,” Sydney said as
he and Phil drank their coffee preparatory to joining the expedition,
“and gather food for the natives in the town.”
“Mind, sir, it’s a ticklish business we’re starting out on,” O’Neil
said confidentially to the lads as they joined him. The boatswain’s
mate commanded one of the new companies of native troops, but had
volunteered to go along, after learning that no native troops were to
take part in the expedition. “If we do this at all we should take all
the force we’ve got and fall upon them good and hard. Half measures,
sir, are dangerous.”
The column started just as the first streaks of dawn appeared in the
eastern sky. They traveled by the road which followed close to the
beach. On one side was the sea and the other the impenetrable bush. Out
beyond the reef the “Sitka” steamed slowly along to guard them in case
of an attack by a force beyond their strength to oppose.
The expedition reached the Vaileli plantation by eight o’clock and
halted on the same ground where only a few nights before the Kataafa
warriors had held their celebrations. No warriors so far had been
encountered. The only outward evidence of hostilities were the empty
villages passed en route.
A number of cleverly built forts and barricades along the road had been
encountered and destroyed by the sailors en route.
“They’ve all been occupied recently,” Lieutenant Tupper declared, “and
they are not of native design. Some white man’s hand has guided them in
their construction, that is evident.”
The “Sitka” had entered between the reefs and dropped anchor in deep
water within a half mile of the shore.
Lieutenant Tupper with several officers, and among them the midshipmen,
approached the plantation house. They saw many black boys, Solomon
Islanders, working about the place, but not a white man or a Kapuan was
visible.
Klinger finally appeared. Phil saw that he was pale and looked worried.
“Where are the Kataafa men?” the lieutenant asked brusquely. “I see
you’ve been feeding and sheltering them,” he added insinuatingly, “and
doubtless are now concealing their whereabouts.”
“I do not know,” Klinger replied stubbornly. “I cannot help it if they
take my fruit. I have no sailors to protect my property.”
“I’ve a good mind to take you back with us,” the lieutenant said
angrily. “You and that count are advising these natives to fight us.
Who else is in the house?” Tupper asked, advancing upon the porch.
Klinger held his ground.
“There are no others here,” he replied. “You are welcome to search the
house if you desire, but I warn you this is Herzovinian property, and
you must answer for all insults.”
“I’d like to see you strung to a yard-arm,” Lieutenant Tupper
exclaimed, angrier than ever at the man’s cool effrontery.
Phil surprised a sinister gleam in Klinger’s eyes that gave him a
sudden pang of uneasiness. Did Klinger know where Kataafa and his
warriors were hiding?
“We are going to requisition your fruit,” the lieutenant said
authoritatively. “You can put in your claim for damages, and if I have
anything to say in the matter you wouldn’t get a shilling.”
The sailors had spread out through the beautiful groves of banana and
breadfruit trees and were quickly stripping the trees of their fruit
and carrying the great bunches down to the beach, where they were being
loaded into the cutters of the war-ship.
“There won’t be enough to feed a locust on when they get through,”
O’Neil chuckled. “I’d like to get a hold on that fellow Klinger alone
for about ten minutes. I have an idea he knows where Kataafa and his
men are this very minute.”
“We’re not looking for a fight,” Sydney said, shaking his head
emphatically. “We’re only making a reconnaissance and bringing back
food for the town. That’s why no natives were brought along.”
“I don’t like the looks of it,” O’Neil declared. “We sent word to
Kataafa that unless he attacked we would not disturb him for the
present, and he is said to have said the same thing to us. In that case
what is he hiding for?”
“Maybe he fears either we or he cannot keep their word,” Phil suggested.
O’Neil shook his head.
“Look out for a trick,” the sailor insisted, “and besides, I hear Chief
Tuatele commands the natives in the Vaileli district, and he is the
meanest Kapuan ever born. In fact, they say he has a mixture of Solomon
Islander in him.”
Lieutenant Morrison and Ensign Patterson from the “Sitka” had listened
to the sailor’s remarks, and nodded their heads in agreement with his
views.
“It’s queer we have met no women,” Lieutenant Morrison said in his
quiet, thoughtful voice, “but of course we go back by the beach road
the way we came, and with the guns of the ‘Sitka’ to back us, I can’t
believe that even Chief Tuatele would dare attack.”
“Let him attack,” Patterson exclaimed. “We’ve got a hundred rifles and
a machine gun. I guess he won’t find us such an awfully easy mark.”
The last boat load of fruit had been sent off to the “Sitka” when the
English lieutenant in command of the expedition formed his column for
the return march.
“The king of France marched up the hill and then marched down again,”
he laughed as he gave the command to set the column in motion.
Lieutenant Tupper was in the lead. The road stretched along the
seashore, winding in and out in conforming to the irregularities of the
beach.
“I say,” Lieutenant Tupper suddenly exclaimed, “isn’t that road to the
left a short cut?” He took out a small pocket chart and consulted it.
Then he glanced out to the “Sitka,” which had gotten under way and
was following, as before, just beyond the surf on the outer reef. “It
will save us nearly a mile, and is shady, all the way, through cocoanut
groves.”
His mind was made up without more ado, and the head of the column
wheeled to the left away from the sea and their supporting war-ship and
took the trail leading through the woods.
“Anybody got any wire cutters?” O’Neil asked Phil, who was walking
at his side. “Look, sir, both sides barbed wire. Nasty thing to get
through in a hurry.”
Phil saw that on each side of the road ran a substantially built fence
of barbed wire as high as a man’s head. The woods here were not very
thick. Cocoanut and other trees were plentifully mixed.
They had now reached the top of a rise. The road from there led down
and at the bottom a small, swift stream would have to be forded.
The machine gun was being dragged by its crew between the two companies
of sailors. As the head of the column entered the stream it was found
that the water was deeper than where it had been crossed nearer its
mouth. Phil and Sydney were told to warn the machine gun’s crew, and
have the rear company give aid if they needed it to get the gun across
safely.
The midshipmen left the head of the column just as it was on the point
of entering the mountain stream. Phil looked behind as they ran rapidly
back toward the machine gun.
“The water’s above the men’s waists,” he exclaimed.
Lieutenant Morrison was waiting at the machine gun when Phil arrived to
tell him of the depth of the stream which they were about to cross.
“Childers,” the lieutenant said quietly to the gunner’s mate in charge
of the delicate weapon, “better dismount the gun and have it carried
across by hand. We cannot afford to run the risk of getting the
mechanism wet.” He looked about him and Phil read apprehension in his
eyes. “I think it would have been wiser to have returned by the beach
road,” he added uncomplainingly, but Phil thought only too truly.
“Aye, aye, sir,” Childers replied, and as the gun carriage was brought
to a stop four men picked up the gun, raising it upon their shoulders.
Childers removed the breech mechanism for fear it would fall out. The
men with the gun on their shoulders waded into the icy cold water.
The advance company had gone on barely a hundred yards beyond the
river, and there had halted to permit the rear company and the machine
gun to catch up.
The men on the drag ropes of the gun mount were on dry land when the
midshipmen left Lieutenant Morrison, with whom they had been walking,
and started ahead to rejoin the leader.
A savage cry from out the jungle on the left brought the entire command
to immediate attention. The cry was taken up and increased in volume
until the woods rang, and then suddenly came a scattering volley of
musketry fire.
Phil and Sydney drew their revolvers. They had halted, gazing in
bewilderment into the dense bush, from which there continued to come a
multitude of savage shouts with a scorching rifle fire. The sailors
ahead had deployed along the road and were excitedly but blindly firing.
Phil gazed behind him and saw the machine gun had been hurriedly
replaced upon its mount, yet the gunner’s mate, Childers, was storming
furiously at the men about him. They had dipped the breech of the gun
into the water in their sudden shock and surprise at the weirdness of
the attack.
Phil hastened back in hopes of being able to lend a hand: his
familiarity with the gun qualified him for the task, but Childers had
already deftly put back the mechanism and was about to feed in the
cartridge tape carrying the ammunition.
“Got any oil?” Phil asked excitedly.
Childers pointed to a can in the accessory box whose top was open.
Phil unscrewed the top of the oil can and poured its contents over the
wetted breech and into the mechanism.
“Bring up the gun,” was the cry from the advance company.
With a rush the sailors carried the gun and carriage up the road and
swung its muzzle toward the concealed foes.
Childers snapped a cartridge in place while Lieutenant Morrison,
seating himself upon the trail of the mount, pointed and pulled the
trigger. One shot was heard and then the mechanism jammed.
Again Childers drew back the gas lever, but only one shot could be
fired.
“It’s put together wrong,” the gunner’s mate cried out aghast as he
slipped out the bolt and examined it.
“The Colt gun won’t work!” was the disheartening news that spread up
and down the line. The unseen enemy had now become bolder. Many of them
disregarding the danger, in their exultation, revealed their half-naked
bodies from behind trees, while the sailors made good their expended
ammunition in dropping these in their tracks. The white men were being
attacked from all sides save one and the volume of fire told only too
plainly that nearly a thousand rifles were against them.
“We’ve got to get off this road and take cover,” Phil cried in
exasperation as he saw men drop sorely hit near him. Lieutenant
Morrison’s face was pale and as he rose from his seat on the gun
carriage, he steadied himself upon Patterson’s shoulder. His right leg
hung useless; a bullet had shattered the bone below the knee.
The two midshipmen seized bayonets from the guns of those fallen and
began to hack away at the barbed wire fence in their rear. Others now
joined them, while the most part of the sailors threw themselves upon
the ground and continued their fire at the flitting figures, only
seldom and then dimly visible within the impenetrable bush, on their
front and flank.
Lieutenant Tupper was already severely wounded, but he saw that to save
his men a retreat was urgently necessary. To remain there in the open
was useless and would prove costly if not destructive.
The sailors retreated slowly through the places in the fence, cut
laboriously with the bayonets.
“The gun must be abandoned, Childers,” Lieutenant Morrison exclaimed in
despair, after they had dragged it through the torn fence and Childers
had made a last heroic effort to disassemble the breech mechanism in
order to locate and repair the defect.
The rebel natives perceiving the retreat threw caution to the winds and
now showed themselves in a savage swarm. The sailors made a desperate
stand, and at such close range the execution among their delirious
enemies was great; but nothing could stop their mad rush.
Phil clung to his wounded lieutenant on one side, while Patterson
supported him on the other.
Cries for mercy could be heard behind them, where a wounded sailor was
discovered by the eager savages. Then triumphant yells and a scream of
terror told the horrible story of the poor fellow’s end.
“Leave me,” Lieutenant Morrison begged them. “Save yourselves.”
The natives were almost within reach when Lieutenant Morrison’s body
suddenly sank to the ground. A second bullet had reached a vital spot.
Phil stopped. Patterson was behind him. He had emptied his revolver
with telling effect in holding the enemy at bay in an endeavor to cover
the retreat of his stricken friend. Phil now sprang to the ensign’s aid
and as he did so he could have cried out for joy, for there was O’Neil
at his side, cool and collected, among the terrible dangers, firing
his rifle from its magazine. Each shot carried a message of death.
“Run, both of you,” the sailor cried out to them. Phil saw Patterson
reel, and caught him in his arms. The lad turned the ensign toward him
and a great sob of anguish escaped his lips as he saw the death pallor
already on the stricken officer’s face. The next moment the lifeless
body fell at his feet, and almost touching the lifeless body of the
friend for whom he had heroically but fruitlessly given his young life.
Turning upon the enemy, who had now hesitated in their advance in face
of such unexpected resistance, Phil fired his revolver until empty.
Then a crash and a mighty explosion almost threw him to the ground.
“Quick, sir, run; those are our shells,” O’Neil exclaimed, and together
the two raced for the beach, guided in their flight by the discharges
from the guns of the “Sitka,” while behind them the rebel natives
were left to exult over their victory. Again the invincible white
man--papalangi--had been found to be only mortal.