FILIPINO UPRISING
The close of the eventful year of 1898 was near at hand. General Otis
had been made governor-general of the islands. He had received about
15,000 troops from home. These had all been landed and were quartered
in the city of Manila.
Preparations had begun by the American troops for a great day of field
sports to be held on the Luneta--a beautiful narrow park paralleling
Manila bay and extending southward from the walled-city about four
miles--on New Year's day, 1899.
On the afternoon of January I, as planned, the exercises were
begun. The afternoon program consisted of foot races, running high
jumps, wheelbarrow race, fat man's race, running broad jump, high
kicking, fancy club swinging, tumbling, shot-put, sack race, tugs of
war, five boxing contests, base ball, foot ball, and pole vaulting.
Situated on the Luneta, about a mile south of the walled city, and
distant from Manila bay about 100 feet, is a large bandstand. This
served as headquarters for the exercises. The day was perfect--clear,
cool and calm.
About 2:00 P.M. over 40,000 natives, soldiers (including jack-tars
from Dewey's fleet, Spaniards and Americans) and foreign residents
had assembled around this bandstand to hear the Address of Welcome and
to witness the sports. When the speaker arose to deliver the address,
for which he was afterward voted, and presented with, a medal by the
Eight Army Corps, he said in part (verbatim report):
"On behalf of these committeemen who have spared no efforts to make
these Field Day Exercises a success, and this occasion one long to
be remembered by those who have assembled here this afternoon, I bid
you, one and all--officers, soldiers, sailors and civilians of every
nationality--a hearty welcome."
"Again to you, the members of Admiral Dewey's fleet, I feel obligated
to extend a separate and special welcome; for without your chivalrous
devotion to duty last May Day, yon shell-riven wrecks (part of unraised
Spanish fleet visible above the bay) would not bespeak the down-fall
of a sister nation, and we ourselves would not have been permitted
to assemble here this afternoon. There is no braver man on land or
sea than the American marine; and on behalf of the entire American
army of occupation, I bid you a most cordial welcome."
Touching upon the question of territorial expansion, the speaker said:
"This was a war for humanity, not for conquest. But simply because
it suddenly closed and left us in possession of large tracts of
new territory, is no reason why these spoils of war should be given
up. I hold this to be true Americanism: that wherever the old flag
is established through sacrifice of American blood, whether it be on
the barren sands of the desert, at the frigid extremes of the earth,
or on the rich and fertile islands of the sea, there is should remain
triumphant, shedding forth beams of liberty to the oppressed, shouts
of defiance to the oppressor, and furnish protection and enlightenment
to all who come beneath its streaming folds forever!" (applause).
A chubby Filipino maiden, standing near the speaker's stand, and
who had listened intently to every word of the address, because she
now understood the English tongue, quietly elbowed her way through
the dense crowd which was gradually becoming more compressed, until
she reached a car drawn by two Chinese ponies on the old street car
line running south from Manila to Fort Malate and back. Taking the
car she rode up town to the Escolta. Going into the postoffice, she
hastily wrote and mailed to Aguinaldo at Malolos a letter containing
an account of what was said. It follows:
"Manila, P. I., Jan. 1, 1899.
My Dear General:
Those wretched Americans are holding some kind of exercises on the
Luneta this afternoon. I heard one of the speeches. It was awful
bad. The fellow talked loud. He swung his hands in the air and the
crowd seemed to get terribly excited over what he was saying.
He told about that treaty of peace, and he said no power under the
sun would haul down the American flag from over Manila.
It made me angry. I am going right out to the Filipino trenches to
see my Uncle (Colonel Miguel). He'll fix those fellows. I'll bet
he'll haul down their flag before tomorrow morning.
Goodby,
Marie."
The evening program on the Luneta, which followed the afternoon
exercises, was largely literary in its nature. It consisted of music
by the California band, singing by the famous Washington Male Quartet,
fancy dancing, selected recitations, and stump speeches. In addition,
Privates Green and Martin boxed four rounds, much to the satisfaction
of the natives.
The program had just been completed when the Master of Ceremonies
received from the American general in charge a note telling
him to announce the conclusion of the program at once and to
order all soldiers to report immediately at their respective
regimental headquarters;--trouble had been reported at the
out-posts. Reinforcements were hastened to several of the out-post
reserves, and it appeared that the expected insurrection was at hand.
After the out-break by the Filipinos on New Year's night, it was
evident to both sides that it was only a question of a short time when
blood would be spilled in abundance. The Filipinos occupied all of the
block-houses--some seventeen in number--around the city of Manila. This
forced the Americans to stand in the open and do guard duty exposed.
The Filipino troops were saucy. They couldn't understand why men should
be armed with rifles and not be permitted to shoot. They tormented
the American soldiers daily with hideous pranks. They grew bolder,
and pushed their out-posts forward until they stood within a few feet
of the American sentries.
Marie went out and back through the American lines at will. She
secretly kept the Filipino army thoroughly posted on the arrival of
new troops from America. Occasionally she would take the train and
go up to Malolos to see Aguinaldo. She was the best posted person
in the Philippines as to what was going on in each of the hostile
armies. Nobody suspected her. She was respected by the American
troops. Everybody came to know her.
Just before dusk, on the evening of February 4th, 1899, Marie
and her mother left the city of Manila, in a cariole, drawn by a
Chinese pony which they had recently purchased. They had in it all of
their most precious household trinkets. As they passed Colonel John
M. Stotsenberg, commanding the 1st Nebraska volunteers, stationed
on McLeod's hill at the eastern edge of Manila, he recognized them,
and called to Marie, "Where are you going?"
"Out on a little trip," retorted Marie.
"How soon will you be back?" asked he.
"O, I can't tell," responded Marie. "Mother is getting so nervous
that we thought best to go away for awhile."
"Say, Marie," said the colonel, "do you know who the Filipino officer
is in command of all those thousands of troops that are now assembling
in the ravines between the hills along the far side of the river
valley, yonder?"
"No, I do not," she declared with an emphatic swing of her head.
But she was lying. It was Colonel Miguel, her own uncle. She knew about
it. He had secretly informed her that he was preparing to attack the
city and burn it and that he was going to exterminate the American
army of occupation and all foreign residents that fell into the hands
of his mighty army. He told her that he had chosen the east side of
the city as his main point of attack, so that Dewey could not reach
his troops with the shells from his gun boats in case he tried to
assist the American army, without elevating his guns and shooting
completely over the city--a thing wholly impractical within itself,
as Dewey could not determine whether his shells would be falling
among the Filipino or the American troops. It was he who advised her
to take her mother and flee to the hills for refuge.
Colonel Stotsenberg then asked Marie if she knew anything about the
proposed attack on the city by her people. This, she denied also. The
colonel's face flushed. Pulling back the flap of his tent, he said
emphatically: "Do you see that gun, Marie? Tell those fellows over
there when you pass their lines that I said they could have trouble
whenever they want it."
Marie drove on.
Inside the colonel's tent stood a large gun from the Utah battery,
mounted, loaded, ready for action; its threatening nose was
pointed directly at the line of little brown men assembled across
the valley. The Filipinos were smarting for trouble. They wanted it
badly. Wherever and whenever possible they improved every opportunity
to bring it about. The trouble came. Colonel Stotsenberg that night
used the cannon he had pointed out to Marie. A long pile of mangled
forms lying at the base of the river hills on the opposite of the
valley next morning told the results.