THE “MINDINAO”
Captain Blynn rested his tired soldiers until the cool of the evening
and then the march was begun back to Palilo, carrying with them the
spoils of the fight.
The judge-advocate general, in spite of the complete victory, was
not friendly to the Americans whom he had rescued from a torturing
captivity. The escape of the Filipino leader, Colonel Martinez, was
indeed a severe blow to his pride. Both Sydney and O’Neil, while giving
the officer their gratitude for their deliverance, were hurt at his
stern attitude toward Phil.
“Why did you allow him to escape?” Sydney asked as they were riding
side by side along the back trail which the soldiers had taken the
night before.
Phil looked at his friend, a hurt expression in his eyes.
“He was armed,” Phil said quietly, a catch in his voice which he
could not control, “and I knew he would not be taken alive. I couldn’t
kill him,” he added, “before the girl’s eyes, and there seemed no
other way. Something tells me that there is a strong blood tie between
those two. I can’t explain, Syd,” he cried in confusion. “It may sound
sentimental, but the look in the girl’s eyes when she realized what
might happen made me lower the muzzle of the rifle to the ground.”
Sydney was silent. He believed implicitly in Phil and if opportunity
had offered he was sure that he would have acted the same.
“But why didn’t you give Captain Blynn your reasons for allowing this
insurgent to escape? You must see how he now views the occurrence and a
word from you would have set matters straight.”
A sudden anger came into Phil’s face. “I would have told him all, but
you saw how he cut off my explanation and arraigned me before that
despicable spy Espinosa. After that a mule team couldn’t drag the story
from me. I’ll tell it in good time, but not to Captain Blynn. Syd,”
he added confidingly, “I don’t like that fellow Espinosa’s looks. He
reminds me of a domesticated coyote. He will bite the hands that feed
him some day. You see if he doesn’t!”
“I haven’t any use for these men who are traitors to their own
countrymen,” O’Neil joined in as he rode up alongside of Phil, the
trail having widened to allow three abreast. “The soldiers tell me he
is the white-haired old boy with Captain Blynn. It was he that betrayed
the Tagalos. How he gets his information no one seems to know. Did
you notice,” he asked suddenly, “the expression on his face when I
dragged him away from the insurgent colonel? He wanted that man’s life
the worst kind, and the girl’s too, I guess. We’ve made an enemy, Mr.
Perry,” the sailor added decidedly, “and one who won’t soon forget us.”
Phil gave a mirthless laugh.
“I don’t mind making that sort of an enemy,” he said, “but we shall
have to keep our eyes open hereafter, I suppose, for Señor Espinosa.”
It was broad daylight before the expedition arrived in Palilo and after
a formal parting from the other Americans, which O’Neil described
as “the frozen mit,” the naval men separated from the soldiers and
took the street leading to the water-front. There in front of the
quartermaster’s depot they saw the gunboat “Mindinao” moored snugly to
the stone jetty.
A wave of pride swept through Phil’s body as he took in the trim
outlines of his command, one of which any lad would be proud to be
captain.
A score of curious faces peered at them from the gunboat as they drew
rein at the gangway and dismounted.
An exclamation of surprised inquiry met their ears from the
quarter-deck of the vessel and a second later Ensign Marshall was
wringing their hands warmly.
“Well, if this isn’t luck,” he cried. “I am partly packed and there’s a
steamer for Manila this afternoon. But,” and he stopped, precipitously
gazing with frank astonishment at their soiled and mud-stained
uniforms, “where did you come from? I expected you by boat.”
While the Chinese servants set before their hungry eyes a tempting
breakfast, Phil and Sydney in turn gave Marshall the exciting incidents
of their journey from Manila. O’Neil meanwhile had turned forward and
was at once the centre of an admiring crowd of sailors; his big voice
and hearty laugh sounded distinctly over the quiet water-front.
“If you aren’t the luckiest lambs I’ve ever seen,” Marshall laughed
admiringly; “you’re a regular lodestone, the three of you. Everything
you touch turns to excitement. Now I’ve been here for three months,
most of the time cooling my heels at the dock with no one to talk to
except a lot of hayseed volunteers who haven’t even been to sea, and
now you come along and relieve me and I suppose, ‘presto,’ there’ll be
something doing at once.”
“I hope not until we can get a little sleep,” Phil exclaimed, smiling
at Marshall’s sincerity. “I am sleepy enough to drop off standing up.”
“Well,” Marshall said as he pushed back his chair and arose from the
table, “I’ll be finished packing in an hour, and then you can read your
orders and take command. I don’t want to miss that boat, for she makes
easy connections with the transport for home. Think of it, Perry, home!
Doesn’t it sound fine?” Then, seeing that the name had not stirred
his listeners to a great degree of enthusiasm, he exclaimed, “Well,
if you’d been living by yourself for nearly a year and hadn’t seen
anything but these natives, home would sound good to you, too.”
The lads were soon asleep in steamer chairs under the quarter-deck
awning, while Marshall busied himself with his packing. The Chinese
servants moved about noiselessly and with deft hands quickly filled the
two open trunks. Finally Marshall remade his toilet and appeared spick
and span in a fresh and spotless white uniform.
Refreshed by even this short nap the midshipmen opened their trunks,
which had been carried over nearly sixty miles of rough country on the
shoulders of stalwart native carriers, and in an incredibly short time
appeared on deck as fresh in appearance as if they had both stepped
from the proverbial band-box.
A shrill whistle sounded on the gunboat followed by the call, “Lay aft,
everybody.”
The men filed aft on the miniature quarter-deck, lining themselves
obediently on each side, and there waited.
A smile stole irrepressibly to Phil’s face. Here on board this tiny
ship, scarcely a hundred feet long and of a little over one hundred
tons displacement, the far-reaching navy regulations were being carried
out with as much form and punctiliousness as they would be on the
biggest battle-ship.
In a graceful speech Marshall bade farewell to his small crew and then
he unfolded the paper in his hand signed by no less a personage than
the admiral commanding the Asiatic fleet.
“You are, upon the reporting of your relief, Midshipman Philip Perry,
U. S. Navy, detached from the command of the U. S. S. ‘Mindinao’ and
will proceed immediately to Manila, reporting your arrival, for passage
to your home, to the senior officer present.”
As soon as Marshall’s voice died away, Phil began to read his
own orders, which he had kept safely pinned to the inside of his
breast-pocket during the last few exciting days.
“You are hereby detached from the U. S. S. ‘Phœnix’ and will proceed
to Palilo, Island of Kapay, Philippine Islands, and upon your arrival
assume command of the U. S. S. ‘Mindinao’ as the relief of Ensign
Charles Marshall, U. S. Navy.”
For a moment there was complete silence, broken in an instant by a
hoarse voice.
“Three cheers for Captain Marshall.”
From twenty-five strong chests the cheers were given, while the happy
man honored blushed with pleasurable pride and manly tears welled to
his eyes. And then Phil’s turn came to blush and look confused, and as
he said afterward, foolish, when the same loud voice proposed, “Three
cheers for Captain Perry.”
Immediately the cheering was over the boatswain’s mate’s pipe sounded
shrilly and the men, touching their caps respectfully, returned to
their quarters forward.
The lads saw Marshall sail away on a small island steamer similar to
the one on which they had commenced their journey four days before and
then returned to sit upon the quarter-deck of their gunboat and enjoy
the intense gratification of being their own masters on their own ship.
“Think of it, Syd. If I want to get under way all I have to do is to
tell the machinist to get up steam and off we go. It’s like having
your own yacht,” Phil exclaimed contentedly, leaning back luxuriantly
in his chair and cocking his feet up comfortably on the rail. “Let me
see,” he added banteringly, “I am the captain; you are the executive
officer, navigator, ordnance officer, all the watch officers and the
chief engineer. Don’t you feel heavy with all those titles?”
Sydney smiled happily. “Well, if the ‘old man’ doesn’t expect too much
of a poor midshipman, I’ll do my best to uphold the dignity of them
all,” he replied.
After they had settled themselves in their new homes and had inspected
every foot of the clean, trim little craft, admired the powerful
battery of six long three-pounder guns, with auxiliaries of two
one-pounders and a much sinned-against Colt gun, they started over the
gangway bent upon paying their respects to the general commanding the
troops in the military district of Kapay.
It was with a decided feeling of uneasiness that Phil sent his card by
the orderly to the general. He knew that Captain Blynn had before this
given his superior officer a full account of his expedition and he felt
sure that the escape of Martinez with his consequent blame had not
been forgotten in the telling. However, his high spirits could not be
easily dampened by even these sinister thoughts. His greatest ambition
had been achieved. Was he not the commander of an American man-of-war?
He was not even under the command of that awe-inspiring figure he could
see dimly at the desk, on whose shoulders the direction of an army
rested.
In spite of this feeling of independence the lad’s pulse beat faster as
the orderly beckoned him to enter the general’s office.
A short, sharp-featured officer, whose hair and beard were as white as
his spotless clothes, arose from his chair and gave a welcoming hand to
the visitors in turn, inviting them in silence to be seated.
Phil fidgeted restlessly in his chair, while the general paced slowly
toward the open window and back again to his desk. Phil was on the
point of speaking several times, but each time he waited, seeing in the
army man’s face that he was about to speak.
“Captain Blynn has made his report,” came in metallic tones from the
old campaigner, “and I am deeply distressed to hear that you, Captain
Perry, deliberately allowed a prisoner to escape; one whom above
all I wished to lay my hands on. Blynn is for asking the admiral to
court-martial you at once; but I am sure you must have some good reason
for your action.”
He ended and glanced questioningly at the abashed Phil.
“My reason was,” the lad blurted out, his feelings much hurt at the
severe arraignment, “that in order to capture Colonel Martinez, I would
have had to kill him in cold blood. I couldn’t bring myself to do it
for he had behaved handsomely toward us while we were his prisoners.”
“But,” the general retorted, “Señor Espinosa would have saved you the
trouble if you had not interfered.”
Phil’s wrath blazed forth.
“How did I know that the man who was about to murder Martinez was a
traitor to his own people? I saw the two natives on the ground, one
with a knife upraised to bury it in the body of a man lying helplessly
beneath him, and then when I had separated them with the help of a
sailor, I saw that Martinez was armed, and I knew by a glance at his
face that he could not be taken alive.” The lad stopped suddenly,
the girl’s face coming suddenly before his eye. Did the general know
of her? He remembered that her presence at the scene had not been
mentioned. Had Espinosa failed to discover her presence? If not, why
had he failed to mention her in his report to Captain Blynn?
General Wilson’s parchment-like face betrayed a suspicion of a smile
while he listened patiently to the midshipman’s impetuous defense of
his own actions.
“Captain Perry,” he said slowly, “after you have been fighting these
natives longer your sensibilities will become more blunted. The excuse
of allowing an enemy to escape simply because you did not wish to kill
him would be laughed at by those who have been through these six months
of fighting. But,” he added, “I respect the delicacy of the situation
and shall tell Captain Blynn that I approve of your actions.”
Phil’s gratitude was fully expressed in the look he gave the officer as
he murmured his thanks.
“I do not wish you to believe,” the general added hastily, “that I
approve of useless bloodshed, but in a warfare such as has been forced
upon us the higher instincts of generosity to a fallen foe have but
small place. It is an eye for an eye with us now.”
As the general finished speaking the adjutant-general, Major Marble,
entered and greeted the newcomers warmly. Both the lads had known him
in their Annapolis days.
“Major Marble will give you the situation,” the general said as the
midshipmen shook his hand in parting. “I suppose you are ready to get
under way on summons.”
Phil answered promptly in the affirmative.
The major took the lads to his own comfortable quarters, facing the
Plaza, and then told them briefly of the perplexing conditions under
which the general was struggling.
“The insurgents will only fight,” the major told them earnestly, “when
they can surprise us, and with these untrained volunteers that has been
very frequent of late.”
The midshipmen told him how the American troops had marched
unsuspectingly past Colonel Martinez’s party the day before Captain
Blynn attacked them.
Major Marble shook his head sadly.
“Colonel Bane is not a soldier and never will be. He has blundered into
more traps than any officer in the island.”
A heavy footfall sounded on the stairs. Major Marble stopped talking
suddenly, and walked quickly to the door as Captain Blynn’s stalwart
figure emerged from the stairway. “Come here, Blynn,” he called.
The judge-advocate general approached; upon his face was a good-natured
smile which changed suddenly to an ugly frown as he caught sight of
his brother officer’s guests. He would have turned sullenly away,
but Major Marble put out a restraining hand. The lads had risen to
their feet. Phil felt his own face suffuse with blood as he caught
the glint of annoyance in Captain Blynn’s eyes. The midshipman turned
his back quietly and looked out the window. A moment later he heard
the captain’s heavy tread in the hall and a door slam loudly. When he
turned Major Marble’s face was pale and his blue eyes flashed angrily.
“Blynn’s a boor, sometimes,” he hastened to apologize. “I’ve heard
the story. He’s so absorbed in his work that any one who thwarts him
arouses his dislike. He cannot see the human side. He’s a veritable
bull in a china shop. He and Espinosa are doing splendid service. All
of our success so far has been through their secret service work.
You’ll be friends after you’ve been here a while. Martinez’s escape
hurts his pride just now. Martinez is something like the man with the
iron mask. He comes from Luzon, but no one knows who he is. We have
wired Manila and they answer that they know of no insurgent officer
of that name. Yet he’s here, and from all accounts has been expected.
Most of his party were destroyed by Blynn, but about seventy-five
are believed to have escaped, and Espinosa says that his followers
are landing every day in the neighborhood of Dumaguete. I think the
general’s plan is to have you cruise off there in hopes of intercepting
some of their war parties.”
Phil had composed his ruffled feelings and listened eagerly while Major
Marble was talking. His heart sank within him as there flashed through
his mind thoughts as to whom Martinez might be. Maybe no less a
personage than Aguinaldo himself, or General Rios, had been within his
grasp. Small wonder that Captain Blynn was put out at his escape. Yet
he could not have done otherwise with the girl’s beseeching, pleading
eyes upon him.
After leaving Major Marble’s quarters the lads took a turn around
the small Spanish town, loitering before the many shops and gazing
admiringly up at the great churches, gray with age. They finally hired
a carramata, the native cab, and drove through the city and out on the
military road, begun by the Spaniards years before but, as was the
custom of the country, never finished. As they drove into the Plaza
on their return they came face to face with Señor Espinosa, riding a
blooded horse which was prancing and pawing the earth, and making vain
attempts to unseat its rider. Espinosa drew rein and bowed pointedly
and courteously to the Americans.
“Señores,” he called eagerly, “may I have a word with you?”
Phil ordered his cochero to stop, while Espinosa dismounted, throwing
his reins to a small native gamin near by. The native advanced to the
carriage hat in hand and with as much ceremony as if he were about to
speak to some exalted personage.
“I am extremely mortified at my actions of yesterday,” he exclaimed in
his fluent and grandiloquent Spanish. “I have just seen the general. I
abjectly apologize for my rudeness. May I count upon the friendship of
the señores?” he asked in a suave, appealing voice.
Phil flinched unconsciously. He felt as if some reptile was drawing him
toward him against his will. Espinosa’s eyes were mild and his smile
was urbane; yet he felt that treachery was hidden behind this mask of
friendliness. Espinosa read the struggle in the lad’s eyes and for an
instant the mildness died in his own and a savage gleam took its place,
but Phil’s gaze had wandered, and this vision of the true man was lost.
“I don’t bear you any ill will for that,” Phil replied, his voice
unconsciously accenting the last word. “I suppose you felt you had been
cheated of your victory over Colonel Martinez.” Then the lad stopped
suddenly, a question trembling on his lips. Why should he not ask
it? Wherein was the harm? “Who was the girl with him?” Phil suddenly
questioned.
Espinosa’s face paled and in his eyes fear crept. “The girl,” he
gasped, “was there a girl?”
Phil nodded. “Yes, and her small brother; they came on the steamer with
us.”
“And escaped with Martinez,” Espinosa exclaimed excitedly. “I didn’t
see her; it was too dark. While I was struggling I thought I heard a
woman’s scream, but afterward I saw only Martinez.”
Phil saw the native was unduly agitated. What did it mean? How and why
had the presence of this woman so greatly excited him?
As the midshipmen drove toward their ship this question was still in
Phil’s thoughts.
“Is Espinosa playing a double game?” he asked Sydney suddenly. “Does he
fear detection by his own people? Does he believe that Martinez did not
recognize him and that his identity as a traitor is safe?”
Sydney shook his head over the mystery.