LANDED IN CAPTIVITY
Phil was too angry and humiliated to do more than glare at the girl who
had so cleverly thwarted him in his daring plan to strand the steamer.
His companions had started to spring toward the coveted rifles of their
enemy, but now they sank back into their seats and hopelessly looked
into the menacing muzzles of these same rifles in the hands of the four
aroused sentries. The girl had risen to her feet, her face flushed with
excitement; she raised her hand to the natives, motioning them to put
up their weapons.
Phil scrambled to his feet and sheepishly dropped again into his chair.
His breathing was quick and his eyes dilated with suppressed rage and
mortification. At that moment he could have quite forgotten his natural
instinct of gallantry and would have taken pleasure in throttling this
slight girl who had come between them and freedom.
“They would have all been shot,” she said in quick accents of
excitement. “You see I can understand a little English. I could not be
a traitor to my own blood as long as I had power to prevent it.”
For answer Phil gave her a look of loathing.
The girl recoiled under his menacing glance.
“I am sorry for you,” she hastened to add, “for now Colonel Martinez
will have to keep you closer prisoners, unless you give me your word
that you will not again try to prevent the escape of the steamer.”
Phil shook his head savagely, his eyes on the steering quadrant within
easy reach of his hand. The girl waited breathlessly for an answer,
then finding none was forthcoming she gave a sharp command in her
own language and immediately the four sentries closed in around the
Americans, their rifles pointed toward their prisoners.
“For goodness’ sake, Phil,” Sydney exclaimed in an agony of doubt,
“don’t be foolhardy. We are absolutely in their power. See,” he cried
desperately, “the ‘Albany’ has stopped and sheered away. She has given
up the chase.”
Phil realized that Sydney was right--nothing could be gained by giving
in to his rash anger. He saw that O’Neil had dropped the crowbar and
had been led away by two of the natives, going as peacefully as a lamb.
However his pride stood in the way of an outward surrender, and instead
of agreeing to make no attempts to disable the steamer he arose and
moved away from the tempting steering quadrant.
The “Negros” had meanwhile threaded her way among the dangerous shoals
and was now in the river; the cruiser had disappeared behind the land.
A great crowd of natives ashore had witnessed the escape of the steamer
from the war-ship and these lined the banks of the river shouting
joyfully as the “Negros” steamed quietly to the bamboo pier in front of
the village.
As soon as the dock had been reached, the girl dismissed the guards and
the Americans once more gathered about the breakfast table.
A few moments later Colonel Martinez, his face wreathed in smiles, left
the bridge and joined them.
“You are to be given the freedom of the town,” he said as he took a
cup of coffee from the servant’s hands and sipped it gratefully, “but
I warn you if you attempt to escape you will be shot, and even if you
escaped, without guides you would be lost in the jungle and be killed
by ladrones.”
Phil bowed his head in sign of submission. They were certainly
prisoners, without hope of rescue.
“To-morrow morning,” Colonel Martinez added, “we shall leave the
village and march inland. I have already sent to notify our leader that
I have successfully arrived. I think for your own good it would be
wiser for you to remain on board here until we start. I do not trust
the temper of the people. Americans are not just now in favor.” He
finished with an amused smile on his face.
After their captors had left them, the three terribly disappointed men
sat bemoaning their fate.
“We might just as well make the best of it,” Sydney philosophically
assured the others. “There certainly isn’t any way to escape that I
can see. After all, we’ve been in just as tight places and have come
out of them; we don’t make matters any better by crying over spilled
milk.”
“If that girl hadn’t betrayed us,” Phil moaned, “we would have been on
board the ‘Albany’ this minute.”
“Mr. Perry,” O’Neil broke in apologetically, “it ain’t like you
to be unfair to anybody, most of all a woman. These are her own
people--Colonel Martinez must be a friend of hers, or otherwise we
wouldn’t have been living to see the ‘Albany.’ If she had only been an
ordinary native girl, these ladrones wouldn’t have stopped and bowed
and scraped and then given us the freedom of the after deck of the
ship. No, sir, she’s a person of consequence. She saved our lives and
then afterward she saved the lives of Colonel Martinez and his band
of cutthroats, for if they had fallen into the hands of the crew of
the ‘Albany’ they would have all been shot or swung at her yard-arm.
Seizing this merchant ship and killing her captain is piracy.”
“I think O’Neil is right,” Sydney exclaimed patting the sailor on the
back enthusiastically. “The girl’s all right--I’ll take my hat off to
her every time.”
“It was my own stupidity, I suppose,” Phil declared, his face sobering
slightly. “I thought she was too frightened to know what was happening;
in fact I really didn’t believe she would understand what I intended
doing.”
“Who do you suppose she is?” Sydney asked eagerly. “Isn’t it queer she
has never told us her name?”
“It probably wouldn’t aid us if she had,” Phil replied; “she’s probably
the daughter of some rich Filipino, who holds a fat position under our
civil government. By the way she talked when we first met her I thought
she was dead against war, yet she appears to know and welcome these
cutthroat Tagalos with open arms.”
“There you go, Phil,” Sydney admonished, “unfair again. She has so far
shown herself willing to help both sides. In your heart, when you’ve
recovered from your disappointment and humiliation at being handled so
roughly by a girl, you’ll see that she acted in a way that was just to
both the insurgents and ourselves.”
The next morning at daylight the Americans were up and dressed, ready
for the march with their captors.
“Colonel Martinez has secured enough horses for you and your companions
to ride,” the girl told them as a half dozen small Filipino ponies were
led down to the end of the wharf. “Your belongings will be carried
by natives whom he has secured, so I hope you will not be put to too
great hardships. The soldiers are used to marching, but for those
unaccustomed to the country it is very tedious.”
Phil thanked her not ungraciously. He had during many hours of a
sleepless night brooded over the situation and had awakened with much
kindlier thoughts for this girl than he had held the night before.
The Americans, with Colonel Martinez, the girl and her brother
rode at the head of the long file of armed insurgent soldiers. As
the procession passed through the streets of the town the natives
gathered and gave excited and enthusiastic yells of pleasure. Great
curiosity was shown as to the white captives, but Colonel Martinez took
precautions that they should not be disturbed by the evident dislike
of the people. Phil read hatred in many eyes as they wended their
way through the curious crowds, and he quite believed the insurgent
colonel’s words that they would not be safe among them.
The trail which they were following led steadily inland, and constantly
climbed above the level of the sea. After a few miles had been covered
all signs of habitation disappeared, the country was bleak and barren
of cultivation. At first they had passed through groves of cocoanut,
banana and many varieties of tropical fruit trees and afterward the
velvety green of rice fields lay on either hand, but now the earth
was scorched and brown, the high jungle bush lay thick on either side
of the trail. The Americans realized the hardships of a campaign in
such a country against a wild and determined foe. They had marched for
about four hours without a rest when a signal of warning was given from
scouts in front. The leader stopped, giving a low order to a soldier at
his elbow.
“What is it?” Phil breathed, forcing his pony forward eagerly.
“They’ve seen something,” O’Neil whispered; “probably a company of our
soldiers on a ‘hike.’”
The Americans were ordered to dismount, and a dozen riflemen quietly
surrounded them. Colonel Martinez spurred ahead while the entire band
dissolved in the jungle, leaving the trail clear. Scarcely twenty feet
from the trail the Americans were roughly seized, their hands secured
tightly behind their backs and gags were forced into their mouths. They
submitted peaceably. Suddenly, scarcely fifty yards away, a column
of khaki-clad soldiers appeared marching down the trail. Phil caught
a glimpse through a vista in the dense brush of these men, swinging
lightly along, ignorant of the presence, so near them, of over two
hundred armed enemies. His pulse beat fast and his heart seemed ready
to burst within him. Were these Americans walking innocently into an
ambush? He tried to scream a warning, but he emitted no sound save a
faint gurgle, which his guards heard, and for his pains struck him
down with their knees until he lay with his face pressed close to the
prickly earth. He could hear the tramp of shod feet and an occasional
snatch of a song. Once he heard a sharp command in English and at
another time a jest which called forth local laughter. It seemed an
age since he had seen the head of this column appear, and yet the
earth trembled under the tread of a multitude of feet. Finally the
sounds died away. The soldiers had passed, and no attack had been made.
After a long hour of waiting their guards brought out the Americans
and unbound their hands, taking out the cruel gags from their mouths.
Colonel Martinez appeared, still mounted upon his small gray pony.
“I am very sorry,” he said politely, “but I could not run the
risk of detection. That was Colonel Bane with two battalions of
the Seventy-eighth Infantry. I had been warned that he was in the
neighborhood. I was not strong enough to attack him.”
Phil could have cried aloud at the utter uselessness of this warfare.
Their movements heralded far and wide whenever a column moved, in a
country well-nigh impenetrable, how were the Americans ever to put down
this ugly rebellion?
At sunset the band halted and went into camp. Phil saw that the site
selected was a strong one and one that could be easily defended from
attack if the attackers came by trail, and there seemed no other way
through the impenetrable brush.
“We shall remain here until my messenger returns,” Phil overheard
Colonel Martinez say to the girl. “Will you wait until your father
sends for you, or will you accept an escort from me?”
“I shall remain here,” she said; “the morning should bring my own
people.”
Shortly afterward the girl took her brother’s hand and led him away
to the part of the camp that had been set aside for her own use, and
Colonel Martinez joined the disconsolate Americans.
“The señorita,” he said as he sat down on the ground near Phil, “has
told me of the brave conduct of my prisoners, and I wish it were in
my power to set you free. I have known many American navy men before
this war began and my treatment by them has always been courteous and
considerate. I have the power to take your parole, and knowing the
hardships which you must undergo as prisoners among our soldiers I
advise you to give it. To-morrow morning you can be on your way to
Palilo.”
It was certainly a grave temptation, but the midshipmen knew that in
giving their parole all hopes of taking part in the war would vanish;
and then, the insurgents not being recognized as belligerents, the Navy
Department might even see fit to order them to break their parole.
“Thank you, señor,” Phil finally replied. “We shall take our chances
as your prisoners. We shall always remember your considerate treatment
of us, and if by the chances of war the situation is reversed you can
count on us to repay our obligations to a chivalrous enemy.”
“If you and your companions were to remain in my keeping,” the Filipino
answered, a pleased smile on his face at Phil’s subtle compliment, “I
should have no concern, but I must give you over to the mercies of
General Diocno; he is a Tagalo, and has known nothing but war since
his youth; he would never surrender to the Spaniards, and for years a
price has been upon his head; he is said to be cruel to those who fall
into his hands.”
Phil shuddered at the frank words of his captor. He saw in the
earnestness of his face that this gruesome information was being given
for the Americans’ own good.
“Your friends,” the colonel continued, “will doubtless attempt a
rescue, and that will only add to your danger.”
After Colonel Martinez had said good-night Phil told his companions of
the unpleasant and disquieting reports concerning their future captor,
but nothing could shake O’Neil’s good spirits.
“It’s all in the game, Mr. Perry,” he said philosophically. “They can’t
do more than kill us, and as we’ve got to die some day, it might just
as well be in Kapay as any other place. But as long as we’ve got our
senses and our strong arms, there are going to be some little brown men
hurt before I give up my mess number.
“What I’ve been trying to study out,” the sailor continued, seeing the
two lads still silent, “is how all those American soldiers could pass
along that trail and not find out that this band of natives had just
left it. Where are all the old Indian fighters we used to have in the
army?”
Phil and Sydney both raised their heads, a look of surprise in their
faces.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Sydney exclaimed. “Our trail must have been
there; the native soldiers all go barefooted and leave but indistinct
tracks on this hard soil, but our pony tracks must have been in plain
sight.”
“The solution is,” Phil broke in sadly, “those men were volunteers, the
Seventy-eighth Infantry, the colonel said; there probably wasn’t an old
soldier among them. They fight like demons when they see the enemy, but
are as helpless as children against a savage foe skilled in woodcraft.
If that had been a battalion of regulars there’d have been a fight and
we would now be free, or,” he added with an unconscious shiver, “dead
there in the jungle, for the native guarding me would have been only
too happy to stick his bolo into me.”
O’Neil had already rolled himself in his blanket, apparently resigned
to the tricks of fate, and the midshipmen, realizing, after their long
day’s ride in spite of their troubled minds, that they were in need
of rest, were soon comfortably settled on the bundles of dry grass
given them to lie upon. As Phil dropped into a troubled sleep, he was
conscious of the four native guards, pacing to and fro just outside of
ear-shot. These four men were all that stood between them and liberty;
for once they had escaped, he felt confident that O’Neil could be
depended upon to follow the track of those half a thousand soldiers who
had marched past so carelessly only a few hours before.
After what seemed an incredibly short time, although he had slept for
hours, he awakened with a start; sitting bolt upright, he gazed quickly
about him. A faint streak of light in the eastern sky told him the
night had nearly passed. His brain, keenly alive, grasped for a reason;
what had stirred him to wakefulness? All was quiet about the camp. The
guards were no longer on their feet, but he could see their shadowy
forms squatting on the ground, their rifles in their hands. With a
disappointed sigh, for what he did not know, he dropped back upon his
bundle of straw, but he soon found he was too wide awake for more
sleep. He finally arose, stretching himself as though just awakened,
and by an impulse which he was powerless to disobey, walked slowly
toward the guards. As he advanced he saw with surprise that they did
not move. Stealthily he went on until he stood over the nearest one,
squatting naturally, the butt of his rifle between his bare feet. The
guard was sound asleep. Farther on he saw in the dim mysterious light
of early dawn that the other three were also silently sleeping, their
bodies propped up against the trunks of the dwarf pine-trees. Phil’s
heart beat fast. Here was freedom within his grasp. He leaned forward,
seizing the rifle barrel of an unconscious guard, drawing it slowly
from his relaxed fingers. The butt still rested between his feet and as
he slowly, steadily drew the rifle toward him, the sleeping native’s
body settled itself inch by inch upon the ground.
[Illustration: _HERE WAS FREEDOM WITHIN HIS GRASP_]
A twig snapped close by, sending the blood coursing through his veins
while his hand shook from the sudden start. Terrified he cast his
startled eyes into the jungle behind him. The dim shadow of a man
stood scarcely a hundred yards away, silently watching him. In the
dim light the figure seemed of heroic size. He retreated toward it and
back to his sleeping companions, the rifle clasped in his hand. Then
suddenly the silence was broken by a volley of rifle-shots and the hiss
of bullets sounded everywhere about him. Stunned, unable to explain
the meaning of this, he dropped to the ground and lay silent, his face
in the straw of his bed. The next second a line of shouting, excited
khaki-clad men streamed past, firing their rifles as they charged upon
their hidden native foes.