A RIVER EXPEDITION
After Phil and his party had gone on their hazardous mission, Sydney
went aboard the gunboat to make ready for the work which had been left
in his hands. He felt it keenly that he could not share this dangerous
expedition, but there was some consolation in the knowledge that O’Neil
was with Phil.
Another detachment, footsore and tired from its forced march from a
distant post, had arrived at the ranch, and the two staff officers were
untiringly arranging all the details for the attack in force.
Sydney, upon his arrival on the gunboat, gave orders that all
obstructions be cleared away from the guns, and directed the placing of
iron sheeting to protect the officers and men who would be, with him,
exposed on the gunboat’s bridge.
The plan of attack was to divide the force of soldiers; the gunboat to
carry as many of the men as her limited deck space would accommodate,
and the remainder were to go by trail, guided by Garcia. A sufficient
force would remain to guard the ranch, to which point supplies were on
their way up the river from Palilo.
General Wilson would command the expedition in person from on board the
gunboat.
At sunrise Sydney was awake, and already the camp ashore was alive
and the lad saw the companies drawn up, their rifles stacked, eating
their morning meal. Hurriedly dressing he was rowed ashore, but before
leaving he had ordered all his boats to be lowered for transporting the
soldiers to the gunboat.
“Major Lukban, one of Rodriguez’s officers, will go with you as a
guide,” Captain Blynn informed the lad as he stepped ashore. “He
was wounded in the attack on the ranch, but he is well enough to go
on the gunboat, and he knows the navigation of the river. He is now
questioning an insurgent officer who was brought in by one of our
companies; they captured him in a village several miles from here.
“Lukban is like a wild beast; they have just told him of Rodriguez’s
murder by Espinosa and Salas, so I suppose we had best keep an eye on
this unfortunate prisoner.”
Captain Blynn led Sydney down to the basement of the ranch house. The
midshipman, when his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, gave an
exclamation of surprised horror as he saw a half-strangled native on
the floor with several others astride his heaving chest. Sydney noticed
the wounded major in a chair, looking down upon his victim, a savage
smile on his face.
“It’s not strictly orthodox,” Captain Blynn whispered as he saw the
horror in Sydney’s eyes, “but it’s effective.”
“A little more,” Major Lukban ordered in a cold voice, after nodding a
welcome to the newcomers.
Sydney saw the native at the prisoner’s head slowly pour the water
which he held in a bamboo cup between the prisoner’s teeth. The
unfortunate man choked, while the veins in his neck stood out like
whip-cords. His eyes turned glassy and staring, while his colorless
face became a sickly blue.
“You’ll kill him,” Sydney cried aghast. “It shouldn’t be allowed,
captain,” he appealed, turning to the army man.
“Don’t you worry, Monroe,” the captain answered calmly, “he knows
within a few drops of how much the man can stand--watch!” he added
quietly, as the natives raised the prone captive to a sitting position
and struck him smartly on the back with their open hands. The native
coughed and sputtered; gradually his color returned and he drew great
gasping breaths.
After the prisoner had returned to a comparatively normal condition,
the inquisitor reached out his hand and struck him smartly across the
cheek. Where his hand had fallen, a white imprint was left, dying out
gradually, as the sluggish blood flowed back again.
“This is the ‘water cure,’” Captain Blynn observed as Major Lukban
fired question after question at the thoroughly cowed and now
tractable prisoner. “He will exact a confession from him which will
give us all the information we need. If you or I did this we would
be court-martialed and maybe dismissed but----” He ended with an
expressive shrug.
Sydney turned sick at the sight of a human being tortured beyond
endurance and a fear rose in his mind as he thought of poor Phil in
Espinosa’s hands. As he watched, the native appeared to hesitate
in answering a question, but a wave of Lukban’s hand, bringing the
attending natives and the water cup nearer, caused him to answer the
question immediately. Once the native refused to answer and then
despite his cries of fear and struggles almost superhuman, he was
forced back upon his back, and his jaws pried rudely open with a stick,
while the bamboo cup was poised menacingly above his open mouth.
The next moment the cup was sent spinning from the native’s hand and
Sydney had jerked the captive to his feet, and stood flushed with anger
and excitement between him and his torturer.
“I shan’t stand by and see any more of this torture,” he exclaimed
forcefully. “It’s a disgrace for us to allow it.”
Captain Blynn shrugged his shoulders, while Lukban glared angrily at
the indignant champion.
“But, señor, I must have that question answered,” he declared. “It
will not injure him, and it may save us many lives.”
“What was the question?” Captain Blynn asked.
“Whether there is a third trail from the stronghold and how it may be
reached,” he answered. “You see, captain, if there is we must guard it,
for otherwise all will escape us.”
Captain Blynn nodded, glancing amusedly at Sydney’s excited face.
“I am afraid, major, that question must remain unanswered,” he said in
a level tone, turning and leading the way out.
Sydney turned the half-drowned prisoner over to one of Captain
Blynn’s soldiers with orders to guard him carefully and to allow no
interference by their native allies.
By nine o’clock two hundred men had been embarked on the gunboat and
five hundred more had started under the command of Captain Blynn along
the trail leading up the river; Garcia as leader was at their head.
In the party on the gunboat were General Wilson, Major Marble and
Major Lukban; the latter, still sullen and angry with Sydney for his
unwarranted presumption in making him discontinue his torture, stood
with his former victim on the bridge of the “Mindinao.”
Sydney headed the vessel into the narrow channel, cautiously picking
his way through the numerous shoals; one minute the gunboat clung
closely to the steep river bank on one side and the next it was
scraping the overhanging trees on the other side.
From the masthead the lookout kept the soldiers on shore in sight,
and Sydney regulated his speed to just keep pace with them. He
thought often and with grave concern of Phil. What luck had he had?
His heartbeats quickened as he vaguely wondered if he were alive! He
realized the terrible cruelty of the Filipino leader, and Espinosa had
reason to hate the young naval man!
The small house, where the midshipmen had unexpectedly met Colonel
Salas, flashed into view as they rounded a bend in the river, and from
the bridge Sydney could discern with his glasses far in the distance
the enemy’s stronghold, Matiginao, “the impregnable.”
As the gunboat swept slowly by close inshore the soldiers waved their
campaign hats in silent salute to their formidable navy ally.
“This, from here on, is unknown river, sir,” Sydney reported to the
general, sitting calmly talking with his adjutant-general.
The general nodded and answered with a smile.
“All right, admiral, I am entirely satisfied to rely upon your
judgment.”
Major Lukban had during the gunboat’s progress up the river stood by
Sydney’s side, showing his appreciation of the lad’s navigation at
intervals by a silent nod, while at the same time he kept one guarding
eye upon his captive, whose crafty, sullen eyes roved incessantly along
the wooded slopes of the narrowing river.
“This is not new to you then, major?” Sydney asked suddenly, as he
directed the ship’s head toward a large dead tree which stood out a
lone sentinel on a rocky point ahead.
“As a boy I was brought up on this river,” the native replied sadly.
“Then many thousand of my people lived in plenty and happiness along
its banks.”
“Where have they all gone?” the lad inquired interestedly, his eyes
gazing about for the signs of a deserted population.
Lukban pointed to the tall mountains ahead of them.
“Time and again the Spaniards have endeavored to drive out the outlaws
from yonder stronghold, and the poor people who made their living
on the river were mercilessly preyed upon by the war parties of the
contending factions, until none were left. Juan Rodriguez alone has
managed to remain, but only by his fearless courage and the devotion of
his followers. Neither side cared to provoke him in his security until
Espinosa coveted his lands and his money and, who can say, maybe his
beautiful daughter.”
“Maria!” Sydney exclaimed.
The native lowered his voice to a whisper.
“Espinosa has had but one ambition all his life; to marry the daughter
of Rodriguez; but she scorned him, and to save her from his persistent
attention, Señorita Maria was sent away to Manila to school. Now he has
robbed her of her father and stolen the treasure which had been hoarded
for her. For many years Espinosa has been the head of the outlaws of
Kapay. Holding positions of trust under Spanish rule, he directed
the rebel movements and prevented their annihilation by the Spanish
columns. This identical work he has attempted under the American rule,
but his treachery has at last been exposed. Until he openly threatened
the life of Rodriguez, none of us dared to thwart him. His murderers
are everywhere, and his society of the Katipunan is far-reaching.
Nowhere in the archipelago is one safe from their vengeance. Maria,
woman as she is, has been marked for the assassin’s knife if she
continues to refuse to become the wife of its leader. Garcia,
Rodriguez’s trusted friend and overseer, was lured by terrible threats
of vengeance and hopes of reward to betray his benefactor. He had been
chosen by the society to commit the repulsive crime of murdering his
friend. He came to the Rodriguez house intending to kill the father and
carry away the daughter into captivity, which would have been for her a
living death. Through the administering of the water and the voluntary
confessions of Garcia, I have found out every motive which has actuated
both Espinosa and Garcia. The would-be murderer entered the room of
his victim, but in the light of the lamp could not bring himself to
murder his lifelong friend. He at least had remaining some of the
kindlier feelings in his heart. Turning out the light he was about to
despatch him with a swift dagger thrust as he lay innocently sleeping;
then hearing a noise on the stairs he withdrew into the darkness of an
adjoining room. It was Señorita Maria and the two Americans who had
remained to protect her. Seeing that to stay would mean discovery,
he escaped by a window, intending to meet Espinosa and his men as
they stole through the uproar of the bolo attack and tell him of the
locality of the treasure. Espinosa is a leader of no mean order. His
attack on the ranch was masterfully executed. Even though wounded, he
came unhindered through the thick of the attack, with his body-guard
of twenty faithful men. These were the ones who entered the house and
carried away the treasure chests.
“When Garcia, escaping, reached the ground, your trusty boatswain’s
mate, O’Neil, was on the spot.”
Major Lukban’s eyes were on his restive captive as he talked in low
tones to Sydney.
“We must keep an eye on him,” he continued. “He has given me so much
information that he would be killed if he fell into Espinosa’s hands.
Knowing the danger he runs, acting as our guide, he may attempt to
escape.”
The “Mindinao” was now where the dapper little colonel had taken his
involuntary bath. The river had become sensibly narrower and the shores
more treacherously rocky.
The captive suddenly turned and excitedly spoke to Major Lukban in the
native language, his gaze meanwhile roving over the cliffs just visible
ahead.
Lukban gave Sydney the man’s words in Spanish:
“He says the gunboat can pass through the cañon, but you must keep
close to the left hand shore to avoid the huge rocks which the
insurgents will hurl from the top of the stronghold.”
Sydney’s heart beat faster. They had not as yet come in sight of the
whirling maelstrom of water as it hurled itself through the narrow
gorge, but the top of the cañon was in plain sight. One huge boulder
dislodged from the heights, striking the deck of the “Mindinao,” could
easily pierce her frail steel shell.
“Will you go through on the gunboat, sir?” Sydney asked the general
eagerly as the “Mindinao” rounded a bend in the river, and the muddy
racing water loomed ahead straight as if nature had laid a ruler along
its path. About a mile away the other end of the cañon appeared, a
white streak of light between the sombre rocks.
The general regarded him in surprise.
“How would you expect me to go?” he asked, a twinkle appearing in his
eyes for a fraction of a second.
“I was thinking of the danger, sir,” the lad added hurriedly in
apology. “They’ll probably throw rocks down on us.”
“The commanding general cannot always be three miles in the rear,” the
veteran replied, now smiling broadly.
Sydney had sent word to the engine room that he desired all speed
possible and despite the current against them, the wooded shores were
passed quickly.
“To your guns,” he called in a clear voice without a note of
excitement. “Major,” he added turning to the adjutant-general, “some of
your best shots might take station to pick off the enemy on the cliffs.
Those on this end I hope will be Phil and his friendly natives.” He
turned suddenly pale as the possibility occurred to him of shelling his
own people.
The gunboat sped swiftly toward the cañon. Through glasses the jagged
rocks at the top could be seen covered with a curious crowd of natives.
Several sharp reports came muffled to his ears. The soft coo of
the alarm concha vibrated above the stillness. He called his three
gun-pointers up on the bridge and cautioned them with painstaking care
of their important duty. “Shoot at the middle and the left; Captain
Perry is on that mountain and I hope at this end. All three will fire
together and I will control from here.”
The men listened gravely and returned to their guns.
“Load,” Sydney ordered harshly. The breech-blocks clicked shut and the
crew stood expectantly alert. The soldiers, unaccustomed to artillery,
unconsciously edged away from the three bow guns.
“Set your sights at 1,500 yards,” Sydney directed, at the same time
giving a signal to the helmsman to hold the ship steady on her course.
“Fire when you’re on, aim at the edge of the rock,” he said in a tense
voice.
The three guns roared almost in unison and three black dots winged
swiftly out toward the frowning cliffs ahead of the gunboat. Three dull
brown splashes suddenly appeared just under the edge of the cliff and
the reverberations died out slowly to an unearthly wail.
“Seventeen hundred,” the lad cried out sharply, for the shots had
fallen short of the mark.
The sight-setters corrected their sights by a swift movement of the
wheel under their hand and the air was again rent by the discharges.
“Fine shots,” the general exclaimed excitedly as he leveled his glass
at the top of the mountain where the three shells had exploded,
scattering the rock and dirt in all directions and causing the
inquisitive insurgents to hurriedly seek shelter.
“Rapid fire,” Sydney ordered calmly and his voice had scarcely died
away when a puff of white smoke belched from the stronghold.
The lad’s heart almost stopped beating. Artillery he did not fear, if
he could return the fire. He was confident that he could take care of
himself with those three unerring guns, but this gun of the enemy was
mounted just where Phil had warned him not to shoot. He sickened at the
thought of disobeying the order, yet there was the menacing screech of
the shell in his ears, as it struck the water only a few hundred yards
ahead of his approaching gunboat.
What else could he do? The gun must be silenced before the “Mindinao”
could proceed, and the gorge was only a thousand yards ahead.