CAPTAIN BLYNN MARCHES
As night fell, Captain Blynn led his battalion of regulars from
their barracks, across the bridge and on to the trail leading to
the northward of Palilo. The American officer rode in the lead, the
Filipino Presidente at his side. The soldiers behind him, eight full
companies, each under its own officer, swung along with the long,
untiring step of the American soldier. They each knew that before the
night was over and the sun had lifted its fiery head above the misty
mountains to the eastward twenty miles of rough trail must be covered,
and then they had been promised to be brought face to face with an
enemy whose shadows they had chased during these many long, tiresome
months.
Espinosa, as he rode in silence by the side of the big American,
chuckled inwardly at the fruitlessness of this expedition. “These
childlike American dogs,” he thought, “they will arrive in time to see
the smouldering fires where our men have cooked their morning rice,
while they will be high in the hills, looking down on them derisively,
and possibly will fire a few shots at long range to show their
contempt.”
Captain Blynn’s restless gaze contemplated his companion from time to
time as the native signaled the right trail. They were now in a narrow
defile between two hills that rose precipitously to a height of over a
thousand feet. Captain Blynn, as he contemplated his surroundings with
a soldier’s eyes, drew his revolver from its holster and laid it gently
across the pommel of his saddle.
“A nice place for an ambush,” he said in a low, insinuating voice. “I
suppose, señor, you are prepared to stand before your Maker.”
The native shuddered. He saw only too clearly the accusation and threat
in this terrible American’s words. If there was to be an ambush, he
knew nothing of it, but if a single hostile shot was fired, he would
pay the penalty with his life.
The Filipino forced an uneasy laugh. “As far as I know, señor capitan,
there are no insurgents this side of Banate.”
“For your sake, I hope you are right,” the American replied. “As you
see, I am taking no chances. You are our guide; if you get us into
trouble, you pay, that’s all.”
Captain Blynn ordered a halt and called a lieutenant from the leading
company.
“Take ten men, Simpson,” he said, “and act as the point. If you are
attacked, retreat and fall back on the main body.”
Lieutenant Simpson picked his men quickly and disappeared quietly
down the trail. Captain Blynn watched them until swallowed up in the
darkness, and then set the long line in motion again. Every soldier
took, instinctively, a tighter grip upon his musket, and loosened the
sharp sword bayonet from its scabbard. Each knew that when “Black Jack”
Blynn took precautions there was reason to scent trouble.
Half-way through the defile a guarded whistle of warning came to
Blynn’s ears from the point. As one man the long column halted; the
soldiers’ heavy breathing was distinctly audible above the tremor
of the metallic rattling of accoutrements. Each soldier sought his
neighbor’s face for a key to the solution of the problem. Blynn,
motioning Espinosa to follow, rode silently forward. In the trail a
hundred paces ahead he saw Lieutenant Simpson bending over a dark
object.
“What is it?” Blynn asked in a harsh whisper.
“A dead native,” Simpson answered shortly. Espinosa was off his horse
instantly; bending down quickly he struck a match, illuminating the
native’s dead face. He started, turning a sickly yellow. His heart
stopped beating, and his knees shook under him, but Captain Blynn
was too much occupied with the silent figure to notice the peculiar
behavior of his guide. They turned the dead man over, revealing the
terrible havoc accomplished in but a few hours by the tropical scourge.
“Poor chap!” Blynn exclaimed. “Only a common ‘Tao’ stricken by cholera
and dead before he knew what had hit him.”
They moved the body off the trail, and again the command was set in
motion.
In the flash of the match Espinosa had recognized his messenger
although his face was horribly disfigured by his last mortal suffering.
He shuddered at the consequences of this man’s death--Martinez would
not get his warning message and would fall into the trap set for him.
He, Espinosa, could never explain his actions. He would doubtless pay
for this treachery with his life. But his cruel mind was instantly made
up as to his future actions. He feared this American too thoroughly
not to take them to the place where the Tagalos under Martinez were
encamped; above all else Captain Blynn must be made to believe that he
was sincere; all depended upon that. Everything must be sacrificed for
his final great ambition. Martinez would not be taken alive. That was
a necessity, he would see to that. Once he was killed his part in the
night’s expedition must remain a secret among the Americans.
Casting from him his first fears he straightened his slight frame and
rode boldly, with head erect, beside the American leader.
One hour before sunrise Captain Blynn disposed his command in a single
circular line about the base of a high hill; its sides were covered
with a dense jungle while a single trail led to the top.
Under the guardianship of Espinosa the command moved forward, straight
up through the high clutching brush; the men were so close to each
other that their neighbors on each side were always in sight. Captain
Blynn and one company marched fearlessly up the trail. A few feet from
where the round top hill had been cleared he halted and waited for the
remainder of his men to join him. His enemy’s camp was silent, but
his keen eyes could discern shadowy forms lying prone on the ground.
He searched for a sentry, but no movement could be seen. Were they
all asleep, believing themselves secure in their surroundings? No!
there directly in front of him he saw a white figure standing upright
beside a dark form on the ground. This must be an officer, for the
native soldiers do not wear white--something familiar in the pose and
cut of the uniform struck him. Could it be possible, was it a navy
uniform? At that instant the soldiers on both sides reached the edge
of the clearing. As yet the enemy were unaware of their presence. Not
a moment must be lost; they must attack at once. Firing his revolver,
Captain Blynn plunged forward, straight toward the white-clad figure.
Several of his men passed him while he stopped to find why the figure
had thrown itself face downward in the grass at the discharge of his
revolver.
The next moment he was shaking hands with three almost tearfully joyful
fellow countrymen.
As soon as Phil realized that they were again free his thoughts were
for the Filipino girl and her little brother. Was she in danger?
With the rifle he had taken from the sentry in his hands, he rushed
anxiously in the direction that he believed she might be found. He
recognized some of her belongings on the ground at his feet, but the
girl had vanished. Fearful at the thought of finding them killed by his
own people, he sought her everywhere, repeatedly risking his life as
the terrified natives, finding themselves trapped, flung at him with
their long, sharp knives or discharged their weapons almost in his
face. He gave them but little heed, not giving a thought to the reason
why he had not been killed, although a faithful sailor at his elbow was
the only tangible cause. A score of times O’Neil had saved his young
officer at the risk of his own life.
A small group of struggling men on the right near the edge of the
jungle suddenly caught his restless eye and desperately he plunged
downward toward them. On the ground two men struggled in a death
embrace, while the girl and her brother stood wild-eyed with fright,
unwilling spectators to the fierce duel. Phil gave a gasp of relief
as he stood beside the girl. The two combatants uttered no sound save
their sharp gasps for breath while they struggled for supremacy. Phil
saw with wonder that the men were both natives and then for the first
time realized that they were alone; no soldier was within a hundred
yards of them. Behind them the soldiers were relentlessly, stubbornly
herding the natives into a mass of flashing, frenzied humanity at the
top of the hill.
“It is Colonel Martinez,” the girl gasped seizing Phil’s arm. “Oh, save
him, señor, he will be murdered.” Phil saw the other native, by an
effort almost superhuman, free his right arm, and in it a bright blade
flashed in the dim light. The girl’s appealing face looked into his for
an instant, and the next moment the lad had thrown himself between the
two men; seizing the hand with the knife he bent it slowly backward,
finally wrenching it from its firm grasp. O’Neil was beside him. The
sailor caught the two natives as if they had been fighting dogs and
held them for a second in his powerful arms clear of the ground.
Espinosa fell limply as the sailor released his hold, and lay breathing
heavily, too exhausted for speech. Colonel Martinez quickly regained
his revolver, and was immediately the man of action. He gazed boldly
at the Americans, his revolver held menacingly, and the while edging
slowly away from his captors. Phil turned his eyes to the figure on
the ground and the angry glare he received disconcerted him; the next
second as he looked about him he saw that Colonel Martinez had gone;
from the gloom of the jungle he heard the rustle of brush and caught a
glimpse of misty forms. He raised his rifle half-way and then lowered
it. In his heart he rejoiced that he had not taken him prisoner.
In the next second Espinosa leaped toward him. Phil was stunned by a
stinging blow; but before it could be repeated O’Neil interposed and
Espinosa had measured his length on the ground.
“Where did Colonel Martinez go?” Phil asked quietly.
“I didn’t see,” O’Neil answered, his face as solemn as that of a judge.
Phil smiled and put out his hand. The two men exchanged clasps. “I
believe he would have done as much for us,” Phil said.
Before the sun had risen above the sea to the eastward, the fight was
over. But few of the enemy had escaped. Asking no quarter, fighting to
the last man, they had died as they had lived. Two hundred rifles were
the spoils of the fight.
Captain Blynn and the midshipmen were seated after their victory on the
bloody battle-field, while the lads gave a hurried account of their
capture.
Suddenly from the grass a horribly disfigured face confronted them.
It was Espinosa. His cunning gave him counsel that he must control his
ungovernable temper. He could gain nothing by accusing these Americans
of wilfully aiding Martinez in his escape. “I am sorry to inform you,
señor captain, that Colonel Martinez escaped. These gentlemen can tell
you the details. I was about to kill him. They doubtless had good
reasons for permitting him to escape.”
Captain Blynn turned quickly to the midshipmen, a surprised look on his
face at the words of his guide.
“Is this true?” he asked angrily.
Phil felt as he had before the court-martial that had tried him for
disobeying orders.
“I alone am to blame, captain,” the lad replied quietly, after an
effort. “I saw these two men on the ground and separated them, seeing
they were both natives. This man attacked me afterward, so of course he
was knocked down.”
“But it was Colonel Martinez! His capture is worth far more than all
these men and rifles,” the captain exclaimed angrily, pointing to the
heaps of slain being laid side by side in the narrow trench dug by the
soldiers.
“He escaped,” Phil said, his throat dry, but his eyes looking
fearlessly into those of the enraged officer.
“You will have to explain this, sir,” Captain Blynn cried hoarsely,
cutting short any explanation. “You are under my command here. If you
have deliberately allowed this man to escape, I shall prosecute you to
the utmost of my power, and you know the articles of war sufficiently
to understand the penalty for such an unauthorized act.”
Phil was stunned; but his conscience had acquitted him of all guilt.