AN ADVENTURE ON THE PASIG RIVER
"Hurrah, Luke! I reckon I am going to see a bit of fighting at last."
It was Larry who spoke, as he rushed up to his old friend, Luke
Striker, now one of the gun captains on board the _Olympia_. It was
the day after the young tar had paid the visit to Ben.
"Fighting? where?" demanded the Yankee gunner. "Do you mean to say as
how the _Olympia_ is goin' to do some scoutin' alongshore, lad?"
"No, the ship is going to remain right where she is. But General
Lawton is going to take an expedition up the Pasig River from San
Pedro Macati to the Laguna de Bay, and some of the sailors are going
along to help manage the cascos and other boats. I just applied for a
place, along with Jack Biddle, and we both got in."
"And why can't I get in?" returned Luke, eagerly. "This here
everlastin' sitting still, doin' nuthin', is jest a-killin' of me."
"You might apply, although there are already more volunteers than they
want," answered Larry. He told his old friend how to make the
necessary application, and soon Luke had joined the expedition; and
the three friends hastened ashore and on board a shallow river
transport, which was to take them and a number of others up to San
Pedro Macati.
The brief journey to the latter-named village was without incident.
Here Larry found assembled a body of about thirteen hundred soldiers,
infantry and cavalry, and with them two hundred picked sharpshooters,
and two guns manned by members of the regular artillery. Owing to the
sickness of the commanding general, General Lawton took personal
charge of the expedition.
No man was better fitted for fighting in the Philippines than Major
General Henry W. Lawton, who had but lately arrived in the islands,
and who was destined to die the death of a hero upon the firing line.
Of commanding appearance, being six feet three inches in height and
weighing over two hundred pounds, he was a soldier by nature and a
natural leader among leaders. He had fought all through the great
Civil War with much credit to himself, and it was he who, during the
great Apache Indian uprising, followed the crafty Geronimo through
mountain and over desert for a distance of nearly fourteen hundred
miles, and at last caused him to surrender. For this, it is said, the
Indians called him "Man-who-gets-up-in-the-night-to-fight," and they
respected him as they respected few others.
With the outbreak of the war with Spain General Lawton was in his
element, and when the army of occupation sailed for Santiago he was
with them; and it was this same Lawton who stormed El Caney and
captured it, as related in "A Young Volunteer in Cuba." When General
Shafter wanted to call Lawton away from El Caney, after the troops had
been fighting many hours, Lawton sent him word, "I can't stop--I've
got to fight," and went forward again; and in less than an hour the
Spanish flag at the top of the hill was down, and Old Glory had taken
its place.
General Lawton was addressing several members of his staff when Larry
first saw him at San Pedro Macati. He stood, war map in hand, in front
of the river landing, a conspicuous figure among the half-dozen that
surrounded him.
"He's a fighter--you can see that," whispered Larry to Luke, who stood
beside him. "Just look at that square-set jaw. He won't let up on the
rebels an inch."
"Jest the kind we're a-wantin' out here," responded the Yankee gunner.
"The more they force the fightin' the sooner the war will come to an
end. He's coming toward us," he added, as General Lawton stepped from
out of the circle around him.
"You are from the _Olympia_, I believe?" he said, addressing Luke.
"Yes, general," replied the old gunner, touching his forelock, while
Larry also saluted. "We volunteered for this expedition."
"You look all right, but--" General Lawton turned to Larry. "I'm
afraid you are rather young for this sort of thing, my lad," he went
on.
"I hope not, sir," cried Larry, quickly. "I've seen fighting before."
"He was in the thickest of it when we knocked out Admiral Montojo,
general," interposed Luke. "You can trust him to do his full share,
come what may."
"Oh, if he was in that fight I guess he'll be all right," responded
General Lawton, with a grim sort of a smile. And he turned away to
overlook the shipping of some ammunition on one of the tinclad
gunboats which was to form part of the expedition.
The troops were speedily on the cascos, which were to be towed by
several steam launches and escorted by three tinclads. Although Larry
and his friends did not know it till several hours later, the
destination was Santa Cruz, a pretty town, situated on a slight hill
overlooking the placid waters of the Laguna de Bay. The general's plan
was to reach the lake by nightfall, and steal over the silent waters
in the dark until the vicinity of Santa Cruz was gained, in hopes that
the garrison might be caught "napping," as it is called.
For the time being the sailors were separated one from another, each
being put in charge of a casco, the shallow rowboats being joined
together in strings of four to six each, and pulled along with many a
jerk and twist by the puffing little launches, which at times came
almost to a standstill.
"We won't reach the lake by sunrise, and I know it," remarked one of
the soldiers to Larry, who stood in the bow of the casco with an oar,
ready to do whatever seemed best for the craft. "We've a good many
miles to go yet."
At that instant the casco ahead ran aground in the shallow river, and
Larry had all he could do to keep his craft from running into it. As
the two boats came stem to stern one of the soldiers in the craft
ahead called out to those behind:--
"Say, Idaho, do you know where we are bound?"
"Bound for Santa Cruz, so I heard our captain remark," answered one of
the soldiers in Larry's boat. "Got any tobacco, North Dakota?"
"Nary a pipeful, wuss luck," was the response; and then the line
straightened out as the casco ahead cleared herself from the mud, and
the two boats moved apart once more.
"Are we really going to Santa Cruz?" questioned Larry, as soon as he
got the chance. "I thought we were bound for the north shore of the
lake."
"I can only tell you what I heard the captain say," answered the
soldier, with a shrug of his shoulder. "General Lawton ain't blowing
his plans through a trumpet, you know."
"I hope we do go to Santa Cruz," mused Larry, as he thought of what
had been said of Benedicto Lupez. "And if we take the town I hope we
take that rascal, too."
The best laid plans are often upset by incidents trifling in
themselves. It was the dry season of the year, and the Pasig River,
usually broad and turbulent, was now nothing better than a muddy,
shallow creek, winding and treacherous to the last degree. As night
came on the expedition found itself still in the stream and many miles
from the lake, and here cascos and launches ran aground and a general
mix-up ensued.
"Hullo, what have we run up against now?" growled the lieutenant in
charge of the soldiers in Larry's boat. "Can't you keep out of the
mud, Jackie?"
"I'm doing my best," panted the youth, as he shoved off for at least
the fourth time. "With the lines forward and aft pulling one way and
another it's rather difficult to keep to the channel, especially in
the dark."
"Oh, you're only a boy and don't understand the trick," growled the
lieutenant, who was in a bad humor generally. "I don't see why they
let you come along."
"Our boat is doing about as well as any of them," answered Larry,
bound to defend himself. "Two boats are aground to our left and three
behind us."
"See here, don't talk back to me! You tend to business and keep us out
of the mud," roared the lieutenant, in worse humor than before.
An angry retort arose to Larry's lips, but he checked it. "A quarrel
won't do any good," he thought. "But what a bulldog that fellow is--as
bad as Quartermaster Yarrow, who caused me so much trouble on the trip
out here."
On went the cascos once more, around a tortuous bend and past a bank
fringed with bushes and reeds. The mosquitoes were numerous, likewise
the flies, and everybody began to wish the journey at an end.
"We'd better make a charge on the insects," growled one old soldier.
"They are worse nor the rebels ten times over," and, just then, many
were inclined to agree with him. Tobacco was scarce or smoking would
have been far more plentiful than it was.
Midnight came and went, and found the expedition still some distance
from the lake. A few of the soldiers were sleeping, but the majority
remained wide awake, fighting off the marshland pests, and aiding in
keeping the cascos and launches from running high and dry in the mud.
Had it not been for the tinclads it is doubtful if the Laguna de Bay
would have been gained at all by more than half of the craft composing
the turnout. But they came to the rescue time and again, and so the
expedition crawled along, until, at four o'clock, the clear sheet of
water beyond was sighted.
They were making the last turn before the lake was gained when the
casco ahead of that steered by Larry went aground once more, dragging
Larry's craft behind it. The youth did all he could to back water, but
in vain, and once more they heard the unwelcome slish of mud under
their bottom.
"Now you've done it again!" howled the lieutenant, leaping up from his
seat. "You numskull! give me that oar." And he tried to wrench the
blade from Larry's hand.
"It was not my fault," began the youth, when the officer forced the
blade from him and hurled him back on one of the soldiers. Then the
lieutenant tried to do some poling for himself, and got the oar stuck
so tightly in the mud that he could not loosen it.
Burning with indignation, Larry felt himself go down in a heap, and
at once tried to get up again. At the same time the soldier beneath
him gave him a shove which pitched him several feet forward. He landed
up against the lieutenant with considerable force, and in a twinkle
the officer went overboard, head first, into the water and mud where
the casco had stuck fast.