The two kept their positions, scarcely daring to breathe lest they be
heard. A plan of operations soon formed in the mind of the resourceful
young officer. He whispered to Holmes to return and have the Sergeant
hold his men in readiness, with magazines filled, for an emergency
should he need them.
Before Holmes had covered half the distance between the Lieutenant and
the men, there was the sound as the cocking of a rifle; a second later
came the flash and sharp report of a Mauser. True to his training,
the soldier fell to the ground and lay motionless.
By the light of the flash Van Osdol saw the black face of the Filipino
sentry who had fired.
Soon began that mumbling, chattering, rattling noise that an alarmed
camp alone produces. The shrill commands of the little officers in
frantic endeavor to steady their men, the patter of many shoeless feet,
the breaking of rifle-stacks, and the clanking of bayonets and swords,
made a medley of camp music that was hideous to hear.
The alarm was soon quieted. The aroused men returned to their sleep,
and soon all was again quiet. The sentry who had fired at Holmes made
loud and emphatic assertions in the twangy language of the Tagalo of
having seen something at which to fire, but he was disbelieved, his
belt removed, deprived of his rifle, and another man put in his place.
This was pleasant for the squatting American officer on the bridge
to behold.
After patiently waiting in deep suspense for more than half an hour,
he noticed the substituted sentry stand his rifle against a tree and
sit down. A moment later his head fell forward and he was asleep.
Determined to learn more of the enemy's position and strength,
"Carabao Bill," inch by inch, silently slipped across the bridge
and to the edge of the trench, a few yards to the left of the
sleeping sentry. Here he made a rapid survey of the insurgent camp
and position. Hundreds of them were lying stretched in sleep behind
the shelter of the earthworks.
His mission accomplished, he slowly turned to the unconscious sentry,
thinking to secure the Mauser rifle as a trophy of the trip; but he
had no more than grabbed it when the man awoke with a start, and,
like a flash, whipped out a shining bolo. Before the native had
time to use his weapon, "Bill" raised the rifle above his head, and,
with a powerful blow that resounded through the midnight air, sent
him reeling over the trench among his slumbering companions. Then,
with a shout that would tend to raise the dead, he began to empty
his revolver into the rapidly awakening rebel soldiers below.
Quick-witted Sergeant Schriner had no sooner heard the blow of the
rifle and the shout of his commanding officer, till he had taken in
the situation.
He gave the order for a charge; and this small band of Uncle Sam's
men rushed like demons, screaming and yelling like maniacs, toward the
little bridge--then over it, and began to pour an awful, close-range
fire into the confused mass of humanity beyond the trench.
The effect was magical. The drowsy enemy, taken unawares, routed and
disorganized, beat a disgraceful retreat. In vain their officers tried
to make them stand; but the thought uppermost in every man's mind
was how to get to a place of security in the quickest possible time.
In less time than it takes to tell it; there were no Filipinos on
the scene of action, excepting the dead and wounded. The number of
these, considering the darkness of the night, did credit to American
marksmanship.
The sound of retreating feet was occasionally broken by the reports
of a poorly directed volley by a few of the bolder characters, who
had the rare nerve to halt and fire at the audacious "Yankees."
The situation was ridiculous. Sixteen men had charged and taken a
well-fortified position held by at least one thousand Tagalog.
The victors sat down on the bank of the river to talk and laugh
over the adventure. Meanwhile, the terror-stricken followers of the
misguided Aguinaldo were being rallied by their officers beyond the
range of fire. They were now aware of the inferiority in numbers of
the Americans.
To capture and hold the enemy's works was not a part of Van Osdo's
instructions. Now realizing this, he decided to return and report. The
men were called together, and the start began for the return.
But the bridge! In their wild advance over that frail structure it had
been so shaken that it had fallen into the river and was washed away.
The stream was full to the banks and too deep to wade. Not a third of
the men could swim it with their arms and accouterments. The rebels
were every minute drawing nearer and intensifying their fire. They
were truly between fire and water. There were no boats to be had nor
could the time be taken to construct a raft of bamboo poles.
On came the howling, revengeful, murderous black devils, frenzied
by their recent defeat by this inferior party. The leaders were
frantically waving their swords over their heads, and shouting words of
encouragement to their men; offering rewards to the first to reënter
the trenches.
Our diminutive army was now on the defensive. They leaped into
the ditch and began to take pot-shots at the more daring of the
rapidly approaching mass, determined, to hold the place or die in
the attempt--indeed, there was no alternative.
They succeeded in arresting the van.
The enemy in turn sought shelter and began a fire that had results,
for two Americans were soon rendered _hors de combat_; the trench
not affording as good shelter from the side from which the insurgents
were approaching as on the other side.
This long-range duel kept up for many minutes. Ammunition grew scarce
and was finally exhausted, Van Osdol alone retaining loads in his
revolver.
From the slackening of the American fire, the rebels soon became
aware of their scarcity of cartridges, and again began a mad rush
for the trenches.
Nothing remained for the bold little band to do but to meet them with
the point of the bayonet and sell their lives at a precious price.
The unhurt members of the detachment rallied around their gallant
leader with bayonets fixed. Now the foremost of the wildly rushing
horde was within a hundred yards.
A brilliant thought struck Sergeant Schriner. He ran forward, grasped
a Mauser near one of the rebels who had fallen when the trenches were
taken, undid the belt of the lifeless owner, buckled it around his own
waist, and returned to his comrades. All followed his example. With
their own arms and ammunition the advance of the blood-thirsty
enemy was again checked. With the newly acquired arms and ammunition
the brave little band inflicted a decided injury to their would-be
slayers. Now every shot was expended with the greatest caution.
Again the American fire slackened, and again the stubborn insurrectos
rushed forward. At last the recently acquired belts were emptied. There
was now no further hope.
With renewed shouting, and rending the air with their hideous screams,
the twice-checked enemy came madly on. Once more the defenders rallied
to meet their death together.
On a sudden the yells seemed a hundred times multiplied, and from the
rear as well as front. Had they been surrounded? To the rear the shouts
were rapidly drawing nearer, but it was not the sharp and broken yell
of the Tagalo--it was the familiar "Yankee yell"; that invincible,
"gugu"-terrorizing "Yankee yell."
Five hundred brave defenders of the stars and stripes had heard the
first firing, when the trenches were taken, and immediately started
to the rescue of their comrades.
Upon his return, "Carabao Bill" reported that he found the enemy.
"PATERNO," THE DISGRACED MASCOT.
Ostracism in Monkey Society.
There is a certain analogy between the Chinaman's pigtail and the
prehensile appendage of that very astute little animal, the monkey, for
the proud possessors of either of these grotesque physical adornments
lose social caste the moment they are bereft of them. That there are
reasons to believe that the tail of the monkey is his credentials
to the polite society of his race the following incident will serve
to substantiate:
One day in May, 1899, when one of our infantry regiments which had been
ascending the Rio Grande, in the Island of Luzon, in pursuit of the
wily and festive Filipino, had halted to rest, it was decided to have
an exhibition of company mascots. Each company had a monkey--an even
dozen of them all told. There were "Pat" and "Mike," who proudly wore
strips of billiard-table cloth about their necks; and "Aguinaldo" and
"Paterno," named respectively for the leader and brains of the Tagalo
insurrection. "Aguinaldo" wore with dignity a little tin sword by his
side that one of the men of his company had made from a salmon can,
while "Paterno" looked gay and world-wise in a ballet skirt ingeniously
contrived by a company tailor from a bit of red mosquito-bar. The
others all had names, most of them for some distinguished military
commander to whom they were supposed to bear some facial resemblance.
The show was a decided success. Every contestant put aside his
work-a-day tricks, and performed those only that were intended for
gala days. "Aguinaldo" was a sure winner from the first, for he
had learned to draw his sword, wave it dramatically over his head,
cheer for a few seconds in monkey talk, then break and dash to the
rear. "Paterno" was an easy candidate for second honors. He gave a
giddy dance and looked coy.
But "pride goeth before a fall." It was decided to let the mascots
have a social gathering. They were brought into a ring formed by
grinning soldiers. All went well for a moment or two. They grinned,
caressed, and made merry. Just in the very heights of the ecstacies,
a playful young monk, that had been exchanging "sheep's eyes" with
"Paterno," in a fit of playfulness made a grab for the latter's
tail, but lo! there was none. The news spread like the incoming of
"amigos" after the capture of a Filipino town. A damper fell upon the
meeting. All scorned the maimed fellow with that frosty bearing that
a reigning belle bestows upon a promising _débutante_, or the monkey
family toward their tailless fellow-monks.
The disgraced animal begged and entreated for further notice, and
a renewal of the general good time that had been so unceremoniously
ended by the recent discovery, but his solicitations were in vain--none
condescended to again notice him.
With "Paterno," patience at last ceased to be a virtue. Knowing that
the playful young monk who had made the discovery caused his downfall,
he looked for a moment at that guileless-appearing creature. The
expression of his face rapidly changed from a look of entreaty to
that of ferociousness. With a vicious bound, he pounced upon his
enemy, clawing, tearing, and biting. The other members of this solemn
gathering simply separated the belligerents, none daring to do harm
to the socially ostracised fellow.
Finally, giving up the struggle, "Paterno" withdrew from the crowd. In
the _mêlée_ he had lost his skirt. He looked long and pitifully at his
fellow-mascots who had so suddenly turned against him. Great teardrops
gathered in his eyes and trickled down his hairy cheeks. Raising his
head, he spied a bamboo thicket in the distance. With a wild yell,
he sprang through the line of sympathetic soldiers and made for
the jungle.
Company E had had their last sight of "Paterno," their tailless
monkey mascot.