An auxiliary brigade, consisting of one regiment and one battalion of
infantry and a mountain battery of artillery, was formed at Calumpit,
on the Island of Luzon, to ascend the left bank of the Rio Grande,
and to form a junction with Lawton some distance above. This expedition
was accompanied by two gunboats belonging to the "mosquito fleet," and
one launch used to tow the cascoes, or native freight barges, bearing
an extra supply of rations and ammunition. This was in May, 1899.
I was provost-marshal of this expedition. When we first entered a town
or city, after capturing it, it was my duty to find out what buildings
contained valuable property, and immediately place a guard over them,
in order to prevent the place from being looted. Large warehouses
containing immense quantities of rice, sugar, silks, piña cloth,
and other things equally as precious, were frequent finds. They had
to be guarded.
We met with but little resistance on this expedition till we reached
the town of San Luis, about twelve miles up the river from Calumpit.
The heavy fire of our infantry and artillery, ably assisted by the
little "pepper-boxes" afloat, soon put our dusky enemies to flight;
and we marched straight into town, with colors flying, over trenches,
barricades, and other obstructions hastily thrown in our way.
Among the largest stone buildings of San Luis was the "tribunal,"
or public house, something after the style of our town halls, with
the difference that it is always open for strangers, who cook, eat,
and sleep in it. Among other useful apartments, it had a cell, probably
used as a "jug" into which the native policemen ran the over-exuberant
youth who was guilty of imbibing too freely of his cherished "vino,"
or the head of the family for the non-payment of taxes, or allowing
his water buffalo to play in his neighbor's yard.
Previous to the occupation of the town by the Americans, this
dungeon-like cell had been occupied by Spanish prisoners, who were
held by Aguinaldo's army. When I first saw the room, not more than
ten minutes after our arrival, I saw one of as sickening sights as
any person ever beheld.
This dungeon, or cell, was about ten feet high, the same in width, and
about fifteen feet in length. Through one small grated window passed
all the light that ever cheered this ante-chamber of hell. The door
leading into it was in a dark corner, and when one was on the inside,
he scarcely noticed whether it was open or closed.
By the aid of a lighted candle I saw the rock floor scantily covered
with coarse rice straw, flatly mashed by the emaciated bodies of the
Spaniards who had slept upon it. A few articles of Spanish uniforms,
tattered and torn, were strewn about. In the cracks of the walls were
hordes of vermin. Filth was present everywhere in its most germ-bearing
form. In the center of the room were a few live coals and over them
a quart cup about one-third full of boiling rice--probably the entire
meal for the six doomed prisoners whose home had been for weeks that
abode of lurking death.
At the end of the room and opposite the window was a raised platform,
eighteen inches high, made of rough boards. This was covered with dry
blood, and in the center was a large, quivering pool of clotted gore,
which had not more than an hour since coursed through the veins of
its owner.
Above this platform, a little higher than the height of the average
native, was the dangling end of a rope, freshly besmeared with the
life-blood of a recent victim.
On the plain white wall was the newly made print of the murderer's
hand, who had wiped the warm crimson fluid of the sufferer from the
blood-stained hand which held the throat, while the other, with the
deadly bolo, severed the head from the trembling body.
Everywhere were evidences of a recent, horrible murder. A trailing
streak of blood led from the platform toward the door and faded when
the street was reached.
I diligently looked for some last message from the victim or
victims. The walls showed nothing but spots of blood thrown there by
the struggles of the dying, and armies of pests traveling aimlessly
over the cold, bare surface. The plain, rough boards told nothing but
that the life had passed from many a defenseless soul while hanging
over them. But these boards were not nailed down, I turned one over
and looked beneath, but all was darkness. The candle was lowered to
the bottom. Nothing was to be seen but great dried pools of blood that
had leaked through the cracks above. One stone looked as though it had
been recently disturbed. I tried it, it was loose. When raised from
its resting-place, I saw a small roll of paper lying beneath. There
was nothing more.
A further search revealed nothing. The gory board was replaced and
I gladly walked out of this chamber of horrors, bearing with me the
piece of paper.
Reaching the light, I unrolled it. It was dimly written. Evidently a
bullet had been pointed and used as a pencil. The greasy sheet had
been torn from a prayer-book. Just above a chapter of prayers for
Easter Sunday was written in Spanish:
"To the Americanos:
"If my body is here when you make your entrance into the city,
give me a Christian burial. I am to die because I refuse to
fight you. My five companions have taken arms against you in
order that they may not die by the hands of the Tagalos. I
prefer death to fighting in the Filipino Army.
"Francisco Delgado."
The trail of blood showed me that his body had been carried out and
probably thrown into the river.
We could not perform his last request.