THE PRIVILEGES OF RANK
“There was two of ’em, captain,” the infantry sergeant exclaimed, in
that purely official calm voice for which the army non-commissioned
officers are noted even under the most trying and hazardous
circumstances, while he pushed away the body from beneath his feet,
after making sure the native was not shamming. “They was messengers,
telling the gugus of the coming of the gunboat, I reckon.”
The small band of soldiers and sailors moved cautiously through the
rank grass and sparse cocoanut palms. The enemy before the town had
been too much occupied to discover the disturbance in their rear.
Phil saw that the fire had grown apace and now the conflagration
threatened the entire town, but the greatest danger was to the church,
for the dawn breeze was carrying the hot, stifling smoke and flame
high on the church walls. It would be but a matter of minutes before
the church itself would be on fire. The sun was slowly approaching the
horizon; Phil saw the broad white band of light stretching across the
eastern sky. Out on the water to the right of the town the lofty spars
and smoke-stack of the “Mindinao” were indistinctly visible; Sydney was
ready to begin his allotted work when the day had broken so that he
could recognize friend from foe.
“If that fellow Tillotson hadn’t funked,” the midshipman whispered
fiercely, his teeth set firmly, “and we could have had his men to the
right of the town, we could have flayed ’em alive. Now they’ll all
escape past the gunboat--unless we let the gunboat open the ball and
drive them all this way.--I’ll do it,” he cried determinedly.
They had now reached the grassy-topped mound, the Colt gun placed in
battery, and the first string of cartridges fed into its steel maw.
“Sergeant,” Phil commanded tersely, “deploy your men to the right and
left, and take shelter. Don’t fire without orders.”
The sergeant saluted and gave a quick, sharp command. The soldiers
melted from sight. This was a new experience for them. Six months in
the islands and the only real fights they had seen were included in
a few shots at the disappearing brown men after they had fired their
volley from ambush, killing and wounding several of their comrades. Now
here were over five hundred yelling natives worked up to the wildest
pitch of savage triumph before their eyes, within range of their trusty
guns, and as yet no orders to fire.
“Stop your grumbling,” O’Neil overheard the sergeant tell one of his
soldiers in language more forceful than polite. “This is something
that your thick skulls can’t savvy. It’s naval strategy. Wait till
the ball opens and every mother’s son of you can prove his claim to a
sharpshooter’s medal.”
When all was ready, Phil could only wait patiently for the sun to give
Sydney enough light for his gunners to see to shoot, but meanwhile
he saw with ever-increasing impatience that the enemy was gradually
closing in about the church and convent. If the dawn were too long
coming! If the terrible, irresistible rush came before Sydney had
opened fire, then their attack would have failed, for the loss of
twenty American soldiers could not be repaid by the death or capture
of the whole insurgent army. It seemed to the awaiting midshipman that
hours must have passed since his men had entrenched themselves on this
small hillock. Surely the sun had stopped in its movement around the
earth! The flames in the town became higher and the smoke arose in
greater volume while the crackling of burning bamboo added its sinister
sound to the discharges of the rifles, ever drawing nearer the besieged
garrison. With heart beating rapidly and youthful indecision stamped on
his face, he gazed anxiously at the “Mindinao.” He breathed a sigh of
partial relief as he saw she was close inshore and was clearly visible.
Surely it was light enough to see, or if not yet the enemy must soon
discover the presence of the unwelcome and much-feared visitor. When
they fled, their retreat would be toward where he and his machine-gun
and sixty-five American rifles were awaiting them.
Moisture stood out on the youngster’s forehead in great beads and his
tongue lay like cotton against the roof of his mouth.
“I couldn’t have stood it another second,” he breathed, as a jet of
flame shot out from the gunboat’s bow and a sharp report followed by
thunderous reverberations awakened for the first time an unknown terror
in the hearts of the savage attackers, and brought courage and joy to
the hopeless men inside the stifling walls of the church.
The little gunboat belched flame from her three-pounders and the eager
and delighted watchers on the mound of earth, clustered about the Colt
gun, gazed with admiration and awe as the high explosive shells tore
great gaps in the earth, scattering the demoralized natives in all
directions. The avenue of escape to the right was closed; the enemy
dared not approach nearer that death-dealing war-ship, and with one
accord, an uncontrolled, terrified mob of human beings, without method
or leaders, they turned and retreated directly toward the mound on
which Phil and his men were impatiently awaiting them.
O’Neil had taken his place at the Colt gun. Seated in the bicycle
saddle, he squinted carefully down the massive rifle barrel, while
the seething mass of brown came ever closer. When the insurgents had
arrived at a distance of two hundred yards, Phil gave the order “Open
fire,” in a voice scarcely recognizable as his own, it trembled so with
excitement.
Bang--bang--bang, faster than one could count, resembling the
explosions in the cylinders of a high power touring car, only
infinitely louder and more sonorous, the Colt gun hurled a solid leaden
stream of bullets into the charging mass.
As coolly as if he were merely steering a boat, O’Neil played the
leaden hose on the startled enemy. They went down like chaff before the
reaper; while from behind urging them onward, the cordite shells of the
gunboat, which had followed them, burst with terrific havoc.
Throwing down their rifles--it did not enter their heads to ask for
the quarter which the Americans would have been only too willing to
give--they turned inland directly toward the burning town.
“Cease firing,” Phil cried out in alarm, as he saw suddenly appear,
almost in the path of the routed natives, the small band of men who
had come so near death at their hands. Rifles in hand, the relieved
soldiers advanced toward the now terrified insurgents and poured a
deadly fire into their already mortally stricken ranks.
“Come on,” yelled Phil, leading the way on a run, followed by his men.
“We can bag them all in that swamp.” But the lad did not realize what
fear can do for a native Filipino. The Colt gun on the left where
O’Neil had advanced it on the run, and the rifles of the threescore
jubilant soldiers lent wings to their enemy’s feet as those finding
themselves miraculously spared from instant death plunged into that
impenetrable mangrove thicket. Volley after volley was fired in the
direction in which they had disappeared, and the crash of the bullets
could be distinctly heard, but no white man could have followed where
they fled.
The sun was now above the horizon and the light of day showed a
gruesome sight to Phil’s eyes. Many hundreds of natives lay dead or in
their death agonies on the sandy soil. The doctor from the garrison
and his assistants attempted to help the sufferers, but after one
hospital man had been maimed for life by a wounded native to whom he
was administering, there could be little more to do. Graves were at
once dug in the little cemetery back of the church and there they were
placed one on top of the other in long rows and then the earth was
thrown on top and covered with rock to keep out the hungry mongrel
dogs, more savage even than their masters.
The fight had hardly terminated before a small boat came quickly ashore
from the gunboat. Phil’s good spirits left him as he saw Lieutenant
Tillotson come swaggering up to the group of soldiers and sailors.
Sergeant Sweeney, who had been in command of the small garrison,
had been excitedly giving Phil the details of the attack, when the
lieutenant’s flushed, angry face brought him to a sudden stop.
“Well, sergeant,” he cried in an insolent harsh voice, “make your
report to me; I am in command here; this man has no standing.”
Phil was so stunned at the words that he didn’t understand or at least
realize its meaning.
Then his righteous anger and loathing welled into his throat.
[Illustration: “_I AM IN COMMAND HERE!_”]
“How dare you talk of me that way before your men?” he cried, his face
pale as death, and his strong fists clinched.
“Well, who are you, anyway?” Tillotson exclaimed swaggeringly. “A
midshipman!--ashore you have no status, so from now on please mind your
own business.”
“Come on, sir,” O’Neil whispered, grasping firmly but respectfully
Phil’s arm. The sailor felt the lad’s muscles standing out like
whip-cords. He foresaw that something was about to happen. “Don’t spoil
all our fun, sir. If you hit him, which he richly deserves, you’ll lose
your ship, and where will Mr. Monroe and Jack O’Neil be then?”
In spite of his anger and mortification the remark of his favorite
brought a faint smile to Phil’s face.
“I guess you’re right, Jack,” he replied, his voice shaking with
emotion, calling him unconsciously by the name which he always used in
his thoughts, and allowed himself to be led away.
The midshipman called his men together and walked quietly toward the
beach, while Lieutenant Tillotson took entire charge of gathering up
the spoils.
“The lieutenant’s compliments, sir,” spoke an orderly at Phil’s side as
he was about to step into his boat to go to the “Mindinao,” where at
least he did have some status. “And he says, he orders you to send your
men to report to him to put things in order.”
Phil turned on the messenger fiercely, and then in time remembered the
soldier was but the innocent bearer of this insolent command.
“Come on, O’Neil,” the lad said with a tone of humiliation in his
voice, leading the way back toward the burning town. “I suppose I must
pocket my pride. I am only a midshipman, after all, and on shore here I
am under his orders.”
After Sydney had anchored the gunboat he hailed a boat from the shore
and soon stood by Phil’s side. The fire was quite beyond their control
and inside of a few hours a great part of the nipa town was in ashes.
By almost superhuman efforts most of the supplies and ammunition of the
garrison were rescued, and piled in the little plaza in front of the
church, where tents were pitched and all preparations made to receive
the soldiers of Captain Baker when they returned from their expedition
to the northward. In interrupted and fragmentary sentences Phil told
Sydney of the insults offered him by the army man. Sydney’s eyes blazed
in anger.
“The dastardly coward,” he exclaimed after the story had been unfurled
before him. “While you were risking your life, he was sitting on the
quarter-deck apparently glad to be in a place of safety, and now he
comes and wants to reap all the reward. I don’t see how he has the face
to appear before his men.”
“He’s not a regular, anyway,” Phil exclaimed in a relieved voice.
“O’Neil says the sergeant told him he was some rich politician’s son,
a black sheep, appointed in a regular regiment. That explains him
somewhat.”
“He’s a yellow dog, that’s what he is,” Sydney exploded, “and I’d like
to tell him so to his face, and I will, the first chance I get.”
“No, you won’t, Syd,” Phil said firmly; “remember ashore here we’re
under his orders. Don’t give him an opportunity to make it unpleasant.
It’s bad enough as it stands.
“There’s where we can be of service,” he suddenly exclaimed as his eye
followed the trailing end of a wire. “The telegraph instruments were
saved and are over there in the grass; we’ll connect up and see if we
can get Palilo.”
After a half hour’s work with the help of the single signal corps
man, the instrument had been remounted inside of a tent and the lads
watched eagerly as the operator endeavored to call up headquarters. The
instrument clicked rhythmically for a fraction of a minute and as it
ceased the receiving relay clicked loudly in return.
“The line’s O. K., sir,” the soldier said as his hand rested on the
sending key, and he looked up for orders. “Shall I tell Palilo that
we’re all right?”
Phil was about to answer when he suddenly remembered the stinging words
of the lieutenant. Pocketing his pride once more he shook his head.
“Report to the lieutenant that the line is through,” he said as the two
lads turned away.
A few moments afterward, while they stood outside the tent they heard
the clicks of the sending key. Each listened intently; not with any
idea of eavesdropping but because on board ship it had been a custom
formed in their Annapolis days to read all signals. In this way they
both had perfected themselves in all forms of signaling and could read
in all codes.
“_To Adjutant-General, Palilo_:
“I attacked insurgents besieging garrison at daylight. Placing the
gunboat on one flank, I sent guard with Colt gun on the other. Attack
was a perfect success. We have captured nearly two hundred rifles. We
have no casualties. Baker still away.
“TILLOTSON.”
The midshipmen read the message, their eyes opening wide with wonder as
the busy little instrument proceeded.
“Well, of all the nerve!” Phil exclaimed as the signature was reached.
“I attacked, I placed the gunboat, I sent guard. But where was he?--he
doesn’t say, does he!”
At noontime the midshipmen found themselves unwilling guests at
Lieutenant Tillotson’s table for the midday meal. Phil had asked
permission to withdraw his men on board ship but the lieutenant had
curtly refused.
Napkins were a luxury not supplied, and after finishing his dinner,
consisting of wholesome army rations, Phil drew out of his pocket his
handkerchief to use in place of the missing square of linen. The letter
taken from the dead native fell at his feet. The excitement and worry
of the last few hours had driven the knowledge of its presence from his
mind.
Tillotson’s keen eye was upon the letter and he stretched out his hand
for it in stony silence. Phil gave it up instantly. The lieutenant
broke the seal and ran his eyes quickly over its contents. His face
showed keen interest as he read; then he put the letter carefully
into his own pocket. The midshipmen regarded him with interest, half
expecting to hear the purport of its contents; but were disappointed,
for in a few minutes he arose and left them without a word.
“The rest of the garrison are returning, captain,” O’Neil announced,
joining the midshipmen after his dinner with the soldiers. “You can see
their dust down the beach.”
The lads watched with ill-concealed delight, much to Tillotson’s
discomfiture, the arrival of Captain Baker and his eighty dust-covered
soldiers. As they swung into the Plaza, apparently for the first time,
they realized that something extraordinary had happened, for they
quickened their pace and Captain Baker, unable to control his anxiety
further, shouted eagerly to ask what had happened.
Tillotson, assurance in his every motion, walked out to meet him.
Phil could not refrain from comparing these two figures--one that of
Captain Baker, alert, muscular, tanned by the sun, his uniform dirty
and stained by travel, with grime on his soldierly countenance, while
the other, slender, his clothes neat and of a dandified cut, seemed
more in place in a drawing-room than in the jungles of the Philippines.
“I saw the gunboat when we struck the beach below there,” Captain Baker
exclaimed, his anxiety relieved after Tillotson had assured him all was
safe, and he advanced hand outstretched, a hearty smile of greeting on
his strong face. “Is this the new captain of the ‘Mindinao’? I am glad
to meet you both,” he said as he shook the hands of the midshipmen in
turn. “I suppose we are once more indebted to the navy.”
Tillotson frowned. “I have fifty men with me,” he exclaimed
protestingly. “Of course the gunboat was useful in bringing us here and
shelling the beach.”
“What’s become of all the town natives?” Captain Baker asked suddenly.
“They all left town yesterday morning,” the sergeant replied. “That’s
how we knew that all was not going just right.”
“The cowardly beggars!” Captain Baker exclaimed. “You’d have thought we
were their best friends. Well, I suppose they’ve got to look out for
themselves. Have you buried all the bodies?” he asked suddenly.
“Yes, sir,” Tillotson replied, “but your sergeant has the names of all
those he recognized; apparently there were some of the town people in
the attack.”
Captain Baker nodded his head, a sorrowful expression on his face. “Who
can we trust among these people?” he said in a low voice as he scanned
the list handed him. “Even my own servant against us. Pedro might have
stuck a knife in me any night he wished.”
“A telegram, sir,” the captain’s orderly announced handing him a sheet
of paper.
“Send gunboat ‘Palilo.’ If desirable retain Tillotson and men.”
Captain Baker read the message aloud, then his soldier eye gazed
intently at the lieutenant. The inspection from the expression on the
captain’s face had not been reassuring; however, in a second he turned
a smiling face to Phil.
“Captain Perry, I am sorry I am not to have the pleasure longer;
however, I am deeply grateful to you and the navy for saving my men.
Tillotson, you can return; I’ll keep your men.”
Lieutenant Tillotson’s face, which had become sorely troubled as the
telegram had been read, suddenly cleared. Phil felt that he would
have died if a soldier of Captain Baker’s standing and reputation
had even hinted at his uselessness, as he had at this hard-skinned,
self-satisfied lieutenant.
After a night’s run the “Mindinao” was again tied up to the dock at
Palilo. On the trip down the lads had left their unpleasant passenger
severely alone, while he had spent his evening writing, filling sheet
after sheet of paper with closely spaced lines.
“Official report of a spectator,” Sydney whispered loud enough
purposely for Tillotson to hear. The latter looked up and scowled.
After breakfast the next morning Phil reported at the general’s office.
Major Marble received him with a grave face.
“For the land’s sake, Perry! What have you done to Tillotson? He
denounces you in scathing terms in his official report to the general;
accuses you of weakening his authority before his men; humiliating him
on your own ship; deliberately shoving off from the ship without him
because he did not approve of the entire plan which you devised without
his concurrence, and lastly reports you for insubordination when under
his orders ashore and treating your superior officer with contempt. In
fact,” Major Marble ended, “he has started at the top and gone to the
bottom of all the military offenses.”
Phil gasped in astonishment. Major Marble stood gazing compassionately
at his young friend, apparently hoping to hear him clear up the
mystery. But Phil was silent. He must have time to think.