That was a wild day in Manila. Far over near the Escolta somebody shot at a
vagrant dog lapping water from a little pool under one of the many
hydrants. The soldier police essayed an arrest; the culprit broke and ran;
the guard fired; a lot of coolies, taking alarm, fled jabbering to the
river side. The natives, looking for trouble any moment, rushed to their
homes. Some soldiers on pass and unarmed tumbled over the tables and chairs
in the Alhambra in their dash for the open street. A stampeded sergeant
told a bugler to sound to arms, and in the twinkling of an eye the call was
taken up from barrack to barrack, and the news went flashing out by wire to
the extreme front. The shopkeepers hastily put up their shutters and bolted
their doors. Cabs, carts, _quilez_ and _carromattas_--even the street
cars--were instantly seized by the soldiery scattered all over town, and
utilized to take them tearing back to join their regiments. In five minutes
the business streets down town were deserted. Chinese cowered within their
crowded huts. The natives, men and women, either hid within the shelter of
their homes or fled to the sanctuary of the many churches. All over the
great city the alarm spread like wildfire. The battalions formed under
arms, those nearest the outer lines being marched at once to their
positions in support, those nearer the walled city waiting for orders.
Foreign residents took matters more coolly than did the Asiatic; German
phlegm, English impassibility and Yankee devil-may-carishness preventing a
panic. But those who had families and owned or could hire carriages and
launches were not slow in seeking for their households the refuge of the
fleet of transports lying placidly at anchor in the bay, where Dewey's
bluejackets shifted their quids, went coolly to their stations and, grouped
about their guns, quietly awaiting further developments. In an agony of
fear Colonel Frost had bidden his driver to lash the ponies to a gallop and
go like the wind to Malate; but the appearance of the long ranks of sturdy
infantry resting on their arms and beginning to look bored, measurably
reassured him before he reached his home. Once there, however, the sight of
Nita, clinging hysterically to her sister and moaning on her bed was
sufficient to determine his first move, which was to wire for his launch to
come around to the bay shore and take them off to the fleet. The next was
to send and ask for an officer and twenty men from the Cuartel, on
receiving which message the major commanding, standing on the dusty roadway
in front of his men, grinned under his grizzled mustache and said, "Frost's
got 'em again. Here, Gray, you go over and tell him to keep his hair on,
that it's nothing but a fake alarm." And Gray, glad enough of the chance to
go again into the presence of the woman who so fascinated him, sped on his
mission. He was in a fury over his recent humiliation in her very
sight--he, a commissioned officer, tossed aside like a child and outwitted
by this daring intruder in the shape of a private soldier--he and his guard
brushed away and derided by a young fellow in some strange regiment--who
had easily escaped along the beach to an adjoining inclosure into which he
darted and was no more seen. The streets were full of scurrying soldiers,
and it was the simplest thing in the world for him to mingle with them and
make his way to his own command. Of course, Gray well knew who the man must
be--Nita's troublesome lover of whom Witchie had told him so much. There
was his chance to recover the letters and claim the reward; but man and
letters both had escaped his grasp; and when he pulled up, blown and
exhausted after fruitless chase, he was brought to his senses by the sight
of his own men falling in "for business," and he had to scamper for his
sword and join them.
That was a miserable evening. Margaret Garrison was the only member of
the household who seemed to have her wits about her and her nerves under
control, for Frank, her liege lord, had his duty elsewhere, and not until
hours later trotted slowly home. Margaret plainly let Gray understand how
he had fallen in her estimation at being so easily tossed aside. A
warning finger was laid upon her lips. "Not one word of what has happened
while he is here," she muttered; and a nod of her fluffy head toward the
perturbed colonel told plainly that the chief of the household really had
no place in the family councils. To the sisters that alarm was a blessing
in disguise. It was all sufficient to account for Nita's prostration. To
the rash and reckless lad, who, claiming to be an orderly with a letter
from the colonel, had been passed by the gate guard to the open stairway,
it afforded ample cover for escape, when, alarmed by Nita's cry, Gray and
the corporal came springing to her aid. To Gray himself it gave only a
few minutes' forgetfulness of his trouble, for, smarting under the sting
of a woman's only half-hidden disdain, he would have welcomed with almost
savage joy some fierce battle with a skillful foe, some scene in which he
could compel her respect and admiration. He was still smarting and stung
when at last that opportunity came.
Long will Manila remember the night! It followed close upon the heels of
warnings that for weeks held every officer and man to his post of duty.
Day after day the strain increased. The Insurgents, crowding upon our
outposts in front of Santa Mesa on the north and of Santa Ana on the
south side of the Pasig, had heaped insult and threats upon our silent
sentries, compelled by orders to the very last to submit to anything but
actual attack rather than bring on a battle. "The Americans are afraid,"
was the gleeful cry of Aguinaldo's officers, the jeer and taunt of his
men. The regulars were soon to come and replace those volunteers, said
the wiseacre of his cabinet, therefore strike now before the trained and
disciplined troops arrive and sweep these big boors into the sea. And on
the still, starlit night, sooner perhaps than his confederates within the
walls intended, the rebel leader struck, and, long before the dawn of the
lovely Sunday morn that followed, the fire flashed from forty thousand
rifles in big semicircle around Manila, and the long-expected battle was
on.
Hours after dawn, hours after the attack began, the --teenth were in
extended battle order to the south of Malate confronted by thickets of
bamboo that fairly swarmed with Insurgents, yet, only by the incessant
zip and "whiew" of their deadly missiles and the ceaseless crackle of
rifle fire, could this be determined; for with their smokeless powder and
their Indian-like skill in concealment nothing could be seen of their
array. Over to the westward on the placid waters of the bay the huge
Monadnock was driving shell after shell into the dense underbrush across
the abandoned rice fields and the marshy flats that lined the shore. Over
to the east resounding cheers and crashing volleys, punctuated by the
sharp report of field guns, told that the comrade brigade was heavily
engaged and, apparently, driving the enemy before them. To right and left
their volunteer supports were banging into the brush with their heavy
Springfields; and still there seemed no symptom of weakness along the
immediate front, no sign of yielding. If anything the fury of the
Insurgent volleying increased as the sun climbed higher, and all along
the blue-shirted line men grit their teeth and swore as they crouched or
lay full length along the roadside, peering through the filmy veil that
drifted slowly across their front--the smoke from the Springfields of the
volunteers. To lie there longer with the bullets buzzing close overhead
or biting deep into the low embankment, sometimes tearing a stinging path
through human flesh and bone, was adding to the nerve strain of the hours
gone by. To rush headlong across that intervening open space, through
deep and muddy pools and stagnant ditch, and hurl themselves upon the
lurking enemy in the bamboo copse beyond, had been the ardent longing of
the line since daylight came to illumine the field before them. Yet stern
orders withheld: Defend, but do not advance, said the General's message;
and the whisper went along from man to man. "There is trouble in town
behind us, and the chief may need us there."
But, as eight o'clock passed with no word of uprising in the rear, and
the cheering over toward Santa Ana grew loud and louder, the nerve strain
upon the --teenth became well-nigh intolerable. "For God's sake, can't we
be doing something instead of lying here firing into a hornet's nest?"
was the murmur that arose in more than one company along the impatient
line; and the gruff voices of veteran sergeants could be heard ordering
silence, while, moving up and down behind their men, the line officers
cautioned against waste of ammunition and needless exposure. "Lie flat,
men. Keep down!" were the words. "We won't have to stand this forever.
You'll soon get your chance."
And presently it came. The cheering that had died away, far over to the
left beyond the wooded knolls that surrounded Singalon and Block House
12, was suddenly taken up nearer at hand. Then crashing volleys sounded
along the narrow roadway to the east, and a bugle rang out shrill and
clear above the noise of battle; and then closer still, though unseen in
the gloom of the dense thicket in which they lay, the men of the second
battalion, strung along a Filipino trail that led away to the rice
fields, swung their big straw hats and yelled for joy. A young officer,
his eyes flashing, his face flushing with excitement, came bounding out
from the grove at the left of the crouching line and made straight to
where the veteran battalion commander knelt in rear of his center. It was
Billy Gray, adjutant of the third battalion, acting that day as adjutant
to the regimental commander. The bullets whistled by his head as he
darted springingly along; and in their joy at sight of him even old hands
forgot the reserve of the regular service and some man shouted: "Now
we're off!" and the popular query: "What's the matter with Lieutenant
Gray?"
At any other time, under any other circumstances both questioner and
respondents who gleefully shouted "He's all right," would have been
promptly and sternly suppressed. But the senior captain at their head
well knew the excitement tingling in the nerves of that long-suffering
line, and only smiled and nodded sympathy. He saw, too, that Gray was
quivering with pent-up feeling, as the boy halted short, saluted, and,
striving to steady his eager voice, said:
"Captain, the colonel directs that you open sharp fire on the woods in
your front and occupy the enemy there. He is about to charge with the
third battalion and drive them out of the trenches we've located over
yonder;" and Billy pointed eagerly to the left front--the southeast.
The captain's grizzled face took on a look of keen disappointment. "You
mean we've got to stay here, and see you fellows go in?"
"Only for a few minutes, sir. The colonel says that for you to charge
before he's got onto their flank would cost too many men. You'll get the
word as soon as he's got the works."
"Well said, Billy boy! That sounds almost epigrammatic. Hullo! You hit?
Stoop down here, man. Don't try to get perforated."
"My hat only," was the answer, as the boy stooped quickly to hide the
irrepressible twitching about the muscles of his lips. A Remington had
ripped from side to side, tearing a way through the curly hair at the top
of his head and almost scoring the scalp. To save his soul he could not
quite suppress the trembling of his knees; but, steadying himself by a
great effort, he continued: "The colonel says to commence firing by
volley the moment our bugles sound the charge. Now I must get back."
"All right, youngster. Tell the colonel I savey, and we'll do our level
best--only, let us into it as quick as you can."
But Gray heard only the first part of the sentence. He was panting when
he reached his placid, gray-mustached chief, and could only gasp out:
"The captain understands, sir." And then the regimental commander simply
turned to the battalion leader, standing silent at his left in a little
clump of timber--another veteran captain grown gray as himself in long,
long years of service:
"Now's our time, old man! Pitch in! Gray, we'll go with him."
All along the line from right to left there ran the cross-country road
connecting the broader highway, from Malate to San Rafael and Parañaque
on the west, and from West Paco by way of Singalon to Pasay. In front of
the right wing all was swamp, morass or rice fields. In front of the left
wing all was close, dense bamboo and jungle, save where the broad,
straight roadway led on past Block House 13, or the narrower cart track
stretched southward, overarched in places by spreading branches, and
commanded at its narrowest path by the swarm of dusky fighters in Block
House 14. A year before the blue-shirts stormed these forest strongholds
from the south, and took them from the troops of Spain. Now they were
compelled to turn and storm them from the north; for, just as Stanley
Armstrong said at San Francisco, the Filipinos had turned upon their ally
and would-be friend. Aguinaldo had bearded Uncle Sam.
And while the volunteers and regulars to the right could only remain in
support, it fell to the lot of the left wing of this brave brigade to
assault in almost impenetrable position an enemy armed with magazine
rifles or breech-loaders, and entirely at home. The bugles rang the
signal; the officers in silence took their stations, and, stepping into
the narrow pathways through the jungle, crouching along the road-ways or
crashing through the stiff bamboo, the blue-shirts drove ahead. Two,
three minutes, and their purpose seemed undiscovered. Then suddenly Block
House 14 blazed with fire and a storm of bullets swept the road. The
earthworks in the thickets to the right and left seemed to be crowded
with a running flame; and down on their faces fell the foremost soldiers,
their gallant leader shot through and through, plunging headlong, yet in
his dying agony waving his surviving men to get to cover. Vengefully now
the "Krags" opened in reply to Remington and Mauser. The blue-shirts
struggled on inch by inch through the network of bamboo. Still the storm
swept up the roadway, and no man could hope to face it and live. But,
little by little, the low-aimed, steady volleys, driven in by squad and
section through the canebreak, or by company and platoon across the
westward swamps, told on the nerve and discipline of the little brown men
in the bamboo. Their shots flew swift, but wild and higher. Then a daring
lad, in the rough field uniform of a subaltern of infantry, sprang like a
cat into the fire-flashing lane, and, revolver in hand and a squad of
devoted fellows at his heels, dashed straight at the wooden walls ahead.
In frantic haste the occupants blazed shot after shot upon him and his
heroic followers. One after another three went down; but, in another
instant, the lieutenant leading, they reached the block house and darted
through the open doorway, the last of its garrison fleeing in panic
before such unheard-of daring and determination. And then came the rush
of comrades cheering down the lane, tumbling over the earthworks and the
luckless gang that, still crouching there, held to their position, and
all the southward leading road was ours.
But, over along the next lane, a parallel track through the timber, there
had been as stern a check; and the fury of the fire from the trenches in
the thickets forced brave men to cover and dropped others in their
tracks. "By God, we must have it!" almost screamed a tall captain,
pointing with his sword to the flashing block house half hidden in the
trees. "Hear those fellows on the other road? Don't let them beat us.
Come on, lads!" and out he darted into the open, an instant target for a
score of Mausers. Out, too, leaped half a dozen men, one a tall, lithe,
superbly built young athlete, with a face aflame with resolution and rage
of battle. Out leaped Billy Gray from the corner of the cross-road, and,
cheering madly, called on others to follow. Down went the captain, shot
through the knee. Down went the nearmost man, the tall youth who was
first to follow. Down went a brawny sergeant, who had stopped to raise
his fallen captain; but on swept a score of others while the bamboos
blazed with the fierce volleying of the Krags. Forward in scores now,
yelling like Apaches, rushed the regulars; and somehow, he never just
knew how it happened, Gray found himself a moment later straddling an old
field gun in a whirl of dust and dirt and smoke and cheers, was conscious
of something wet and warm streaming down his side, and of being tenderly
lifted from his perch by brawny, blue-sleeved arms, given a sip from a
canteen, and then, half-led, half-supported back to where the surgeon was
already kneeling by the tall young soldier on whose brow the last dew was
settling, on whose fine, clear-cut face the shadow of the death angel's
wings was already traced. The poor fellow's eyes opened wearily as he
sipped the stimulant pressed upon him by eager, sympathetic hands, and
glanced slowly about as though in search of some familiar face; and so
they fell on those of Billy Gray, who, forgetful for the moment of his
own hurt, threw himself by the stranger's side and seized his clammy
hand. A half smile flitted over the pale face, the other hand groped at
the breast of his blue shirt and slowly drew forth a packet, stained and
dripping with the blood that welled slowly from a shothole in the broad
white breast. "Give to--General Drayton--Promise," he gasped, and pushed
it painfully toward Billy Gray. Then the brave eyes closed, the weary
head fell back; and Gray, staring as though in stupefaction into the
placid face, found himself drooping, too, growing dizzy and faint and
reeling, but still holding on to his trust.
"Don't some of you know him?" asked the surgeon. "He's past helping now,
poor lad. Here, you drink this, Billy;" and he placed a little silver cup
at Gray's pallid lips.
"He came a-runnin' from over at Block House 12 with a note from division
headquarters just as we went in," said a veteran sergeant, drawing the
back of a powder-stained hand across his dripping forehead, then
respectfully stepping back as a young officer bent down and glanced at
Gray.
"Much hurt, Billy, old man? No? Thank God for that! Look at who? Where?
Why, God of heaven, it's Pat Latrobe! Oh, Pat! Pat! dear old boy--has it
come to this!"