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Title: A sailor boy with Dewey
or, Afloat in the Philippines
Author: Edward Stratemeyer
Illustrator: W. B. Bridge
Stacy Burch
Release date: October 19, 2025 [eBook #77081]
Language: English
Original publication: New York: Chatterton-Peck Company, 1899
Credits: Aaron Adrignola, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SAILOR BOY WITH DEWEY ***
[Illustration: “YOU MUST BE MORE CAREFUL IN THE FUTURE,” SAID COMMODORE
DEWEY. “WE CAN’T AFFORD TO LOSE ANY MEN JUST NOW.”]
A SAILOR BOY
WITH DEWEY
OR
_AFLOAT IN THE PHILIPPINES_
BY
CAPTAIN RALPH BONEHILL
AUTHOR OF “WHEN SANTIAGO FELL,” “OFF FOR HAWAII,”
“GUN AND SLED,” “RIVAL BICYCLISTS,” “YOUNG
OARSMEN OF LAKEVIEW,” “LEO, THE
CIRCUS BOY,” ETC.
[Illustration]
CHATTERTON-PECK COMPANY
NEW YORK, N. Y.
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
WITH CUSTER IN THE BLACK HILLS;
Or, A Young Scout among the Indians.
BOYS OF THE FORT;
Or, A Young Captain’s Pluck.
THE YOUNG BANDMASTER;
Or, Concert Stage and Battlefield.
WHEN SANTIAGO FELL;
Or, The War Adventures of Two Chums.
A SAILOR BOY WITH DEWEY;
Or, Afloat in the Philippines.
OFF FOR HAWAII;
Or, The Mystery of a Great Volcano.
_12mo, finely illustrated and bound in cloth. Price, per volume, 60
cents._
NEW YORK
CHATTERTON-PECK COMPANY
1905
COPYRIGHT, 1899, BY
THE MERSHON COMPANY
PREFACE.
“A Sailor Boy with Dewey,” while a complete story in itself, forms the
second volume of a line of works issued under the general title of the
“Flag of Freedom Series.”
In writing this tale of adventure I had in mind to acquaint our boys
with something of the strange sights and scenes which come to light
daily in Uncle Sam’s new possessions in the far East, or far West, as
you will. The Philippines are but little understood by the average
reader, and if I have served to make the picture of them a little
clearer my object will have been accomplished.
Some may argue that the adventures introduced in the volume are
overdrawn, but I can assure all that the incidents are underdrawn
rather than otherwise. Many savage and barbarous natives still inhabit
the Philippines, and to bring these people to genuine civilization will
take many years of patient labor and encouragement. In the past Spain
had accomplished something, but not much; what our own nation will do
remains still to be seen. Let us hope for the best.
Again thanking my young friends for the kindness with which they have
perused my stories in the past, I place this book in their hands with
my best wishes for their future welfare.
CAPTAIN RALPH BONEHILL.
_April 15, 1899._
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. OFF FOR MANILA BAY, 1
II. THE COLLISION IN THE HURRICANE, 10
III. IN WHICH DAN AND I BECOME SEPARATED, 19
IV. THE RESCUE OF THE UNWORTHY ONE, 27
V. CAST ASHORE ON LUZON, 34
VI. ADVENTURES IN THE FOREST, 43
VII. THE WRECK ON THE SHORE, 52
VIII. ATTACKED BY THE TAGALS, 59
IX. THE FLIGHT FROM BUMWOGA, 67
X. THE BATTLE AT A DISTANCE, 74
XI. OFF FOR SUBIG BAY, 82
XII. ATTACKED IN THE CANYON, 91
XIII. MY FIRST ADVENTURE IN MANILA, 99
XIV. THE ESCAPE FROM THE PRISON, 107
XV. BACK TO HONG KONG, 115
XVI. THE OPENING OF THE WAR, 123
XVII. I MEET COMMODORE DEWEY, 130
XVIII. THE FIGHTING ENGINEER, 139
XIX. “FIRE!” 147
XX. IN WHICH ONE SPANISH SHIP IS SUNK, 155
XXI. A NEVER-TO-BE-FORGOTTEN CONTEST, 162
XXII. BETWEEN TWO FIRES, 169
XXIII. THE ESCAPE FROM THE INN, 177
XXIV. ONE WAY OF ENTERING A FORTIFIED CITY, 184
XXV. FOUR WOULD-BE PLUNDERERS, 192
XXVI. THE FIGHT IN THE OFFICES, 200
XXVII. A LETTER OF GREAT IMPORTANCE, 208
XXVIII. TREED BY BUFFALO BULLS, 215
XXIX. CAPTAIN KENNY AGAIN, 223
XXX. A FIGHT AT LONG RANGE, 230
XXXI. THE WRECKING OF THE HOWITZER, 237
XXXII. GOOD-BY TO THE PHILIPPINES, 245
A SAILOR BOY WITH DEWEY
CHAPTER I.
OFF FOR MANILA BAY.
“What do you think of this storm, Oliver?”
“I think it is going to be a heavy one, Dan,” I answered. “Just look at
those black clouds rolling up from the southeast. We’ll catch it before
midnight.”
“Just what I think,” answered my chum, Dan Holbrook. “Where is Captain
Kenny?”
“Where he always is, in his cabin, more than half intoxicated. I tell
you, Dan, I would never have taken passage on the _Dart_ had I known
what sort of a man Captain Kenny was. Why, our lives are not safe in
his hands.”
“Humph! I don’t know as they are safe out of his hands, Oliver,”
returned Dan, with a toss of his handsome head. “Since we left China
we’ve struck two heavy hurricanes,--perhaps that coming on will finish
us.”
“Gracious! don’t say that!” I cried, with a shiver. “We don’t want to
be finished--at least, I don’t.”
“Neither do I. But when a storm comes, it comes, that is all there is
to it.”
“True, but we might do something toward meeting it,” I went on,
with a grave shake of my head, for I did not altogether like Dan’s
light-hearted way of looking at things. “In my opinion Captain Kenny
ought to be on deck this instant, watching this storm.”
“Supposing you tell him that?”
“I’ve a good mind to.”
“You’ll get a belaying pin over your head, as Dawson, the mate, got.
Captain Kenny is not a man to be talked to. He is bad enough when he is
sober, and when he isn’t he is simply terrible.”
“But he has no right to imperil the lives of twenty or more people by
his drunkenness,” I rejoined warmly. “If I had my way, I’d put the
captain in irons and place Dawson in command of the _Dart_. He knows
enough to keep sober, and----”
“Ye would do thet, would ye?” roared a hoarse voice at my shoulder, and
turning swiftly I found myself confronted by Captain Kenny. “I’ll teach
ye how to talk ag’in the master o’ this vessel, an’ don’t ye forgit
it!” And he grabbed me by the arm.
Captain Kenny’s face was as red as a beet. Usually it was far from
being handsome, now it was positively hideous. His breath was heavily
laden with the odor of rum, showing that he had been imbibing more than
usual.
* * * * *
I was a boy of sixteen, tall and strong for my age. I was not a poor,
down-trodden lad, knocking about from pillar to post, trying to earn
my living. My father, Samuel Raymond, was a rich merchant of San
Francisco, owning interests in several lines of trade, with offices at
San Francisco, Hong Kong, Manila in the Philippine Islands, and several
other points.
Just six months before I had graduated at a business college in
California. As I was to follow my father into trade, it was not thought
worth while to give me a term at the University, or any similar
institute of learning. Instead, my father called me into his library
and said to me:
“Oliver, I believe you understand that you are to go into business with
me.”
“I do, sir,” had been my reply. “I wish for nothing better.”
“Usually I do not believe in letting boys remain idle after their
school days are over, but in this case I think an exception should be
made. You have worked hard, and come out at the top of your class. You
deserve a good, long holiday. How will you take it?”
To answer this question puzzled me at first, for I knew I had the whole
world before me. I had been as far east as New York and as far south as
St. Louis, and had even taken a trip on Lake Michigan. I concluded that
I had gone eastward far enough.
“If it’s all the same, I’ll go to Hong Kong and get acquainted with
our branch out there,” was my answer, and the use of the words, “our
branch,” made my father laugh.
“That will suit me exactly,” was his return. “You shall go from San
Francisco direct to Hong Kong, and you can return by way of the
Philippines and see how our place of business is doing at Manila. The
place at Manila is running down--the Spaniards are doing their best
to drive us out altogether, and if you can see any way of improving
conditions, now or later on, so much the better.”
In less than two weeks I was ready to start, but I did not leave home
even then as quickly as did my father, who received word which took him
to the east and then to Cuba. What happened to my parent in Cuba has
been excellently told by my friend, Mark Carter, in his story which
has been printed under the title of “When Santiago Fell.” At that
time I did not know Mark at all, but since then we have become very
intimately acquainted, as my readers will soon learn.
The voyage from the Golden Gate to Hong Kong was made without anything
unusual happening. On landing at the Chinese-English port I was
immediately met by Dan Holbrook, whose father was one of my parent’s
partners. Dan had put in two years at Hong Kong and the vicinity, and
he took me around, and talked Chinese for me whenever it was required.
At last came the time when I thought I ought to think of returning
to San Francisco by way of Manila, or at least to run over to the
Philippines and back and then start for home. “If only you could go
to Manila with me!” had been my words to Dan, to whom I was warmly
attached.
“I will go,” had been the ready answer, which surprised me not a
little. Soon I learned that Dan had been talking the matter over with
his father and mother. Mr. Holbrook was as anxious as my father to have
the business connection at Manila improved, and he thought that both of
us ought to be able to do something, even though I was but a boy and
Dan was scarcely a young man.
Manila, the principal city of the Philippines, is located but four
or five days’ sail from Hong Kong and there is a regular service of
steamers between the two ports. But both Dan and I had seen a good deal
of ocean travel on steamers, and we decided to make the trip to Manila
Bay in a sailing craft, and, accordingly, took passage on the _Dart_,
a three-masted schooner, carrying a miscellaneous cargo for Manila,
Iloilo, and other points.
When we secured our berths we did not see Captain Kenny, only the
first and second mates of the vessel. Had we seen the captain with his
tough-looking and bloated face, it is quite likely that we would have
endeavored to secure passage to the Philippines elsewhere.
Yet for several days all went well. The weather was not all that it
should have been, for we were sailing in a portion of our globe where
hurricanes and earthquakes are of frequent occurrence. Our course had
been set directly for Corregidor Island at the entrance to Manila
Bay, but it had begun to blow harder and harder, we drove up in the
direction of Subig Bay.
The weather kept growing fouler and fouler, and with this Captain Kenny
gave himself over to liquor until he was totally unfit to command the
_Dart_. He was a man to allow sails to be set when they should have
been furled, and already had he lost one sheet through his foolishness.
The mate, Tom Dawson, was a first-rate fellow, as kind and considerate
as the captain was rough and brutal. How he had shipped with such a
beast was a mystery, but it did not concern me and I did not bother my
head about it. On three occasions I had seen the captain attack Dawson,
but each time the mate had escaped and refused to take up the quarrel.
In the meantime the second mate and the men grumbled a good deal, but
so far no open rupture had occurred among the forecastle hands.
* * * * *
“You let go of that arm,” I said, as I found Captain Kenny’s harsh face
poked out close to my cheek.
“I’ll let go when I’m done with you, not afore!” he went on, with
increasing wrath. “Call me a drunkard, will ye!” And he gave the arm a
savage twist that hurt not a little. “On board o’ my own ship, too!”
“If I did I only spoke the truth,” I said steadily. “You drink
altogether too much for the good of those on board. We are going to
have a big storm soon, and you ought to have your wits about you, if
you want to save the _Dart_ from going down.”
“I know my business, boy--ye can’t teach it me nohow! Take thet fer
talkin’ to me in this fashion!”
Releasing my arm, he aimed a heavy blow at my head. But I was on the
alert and dodged, and the blow nearly carried the irate skipper off his
feet. Then, as he came on again, I shoved him backward, and down he
went in a heap on the deck.
“By Jove, now you’ve done it!” whispered Dan.
“I don’t care, it serves him right,” I answered. “He had no right to
touch me.”
“That’s true. But you must remember that a captain is king on his own
deck, on the high seas.”
“A brute can never be a king--and make me submit, Dan.”
By this time Captain Kenny was scrambling up, his face full of rage.
Instantly he made for me again.
“I’ll teach ye!” he screamed. “You good-fer-nuthin landlubber! I’ve had
it in fer ye ever since ye took passage. Maybe my ship aint good enough
fer ye! If thet’s so, I’ll pitch ye overboard!” And he tried to grab me
once more.
But now Dan stepped between us. “Captain Kenny, you let Raymond alone,”
he ordered sternly.
“I won’t--he’s called me a drunkard, and--”
“He told the truth. You attend to your business and we’ll attend to
ours.”
“I’ll--I’ll put him in irons. He shan’t talk so afore my crew!” fumed
the captain.
“You shan’t touch him.”
“Shan’t I?” The half-drunken man glared at both of us. Then he backed
away, shaking his fist. “Just wait a minute and I’ll show you a trick
or two--just wait!” And still shaking his fist, he reeled off to the
companion way, almost fell down the stairs, and disappeared into the
cabin.
CHAPTER II.
THE COLLISION IN THE HURRICANE.
“Now, what is he going to do?” I murmured, turning to my companion.
“Something out of the ordinary, that’s certain,” answered Dan. “He has
just enough in him to be thoroughly ugly.”
“I don’t believe he’ll let this matter drop, storm or no storm.”
“Not he, Oliver. I’m afraid we have got ourselves into a scrape. I wish
we were in sight of Manila.”
“So do I. But I haven’t done anything wrong. Somebody ought to tell the
man that he is drinking too much, Dan.”
At that instant Dawson, the mate, came up. He had been standing behind
the mainmast and had heard every word uttered. His face showed plainly
that he was greatly troubled.
“This is too bad,” he observed. “The cap’n bad enough, but you have
made him wuss, ten times over, lads.”
“He hasn’t any right to drink, Dawson.”
“We won’t talk about thet--seein’ as how he’s in command and I’m only
the fust mate. I’m sorry you quarreled, with the end o’ the voyage
almost in sight.”
“What will he do?” put in Dan.
“I dunno. Drink more, I reckon, an’ then come up twict as ugly.”
“What about this storm that is coming up?” I questioned.
“I notified him of that half an hour ago.”
“And he didn’t pay any attention? It’s a shame! I don’t want to go to
the bottom of the China Sea, whether the captain drinks or not.”
“None o’ us want to go to the bottom, lad. But then----” Tom Dawson
ended with a shrug of his shoulders. He realized more than I did what a
responsibility would rest upon him did he dare to issue orders contrary
to Captain Kenny’s wishes.
It was about three o’clock in the afternoon, and the day had been
unusually oppressive, even for this latitude, which, as most of my
readers must know, never boasts of cold weather, but can easily break
the record for scorchers. During the morning, when the sun had shone,
the seams of the deck had run with tar, and no one had exposed himself
more than was absolutely necessary. But now the sun was hidden by
clouds that kept growing darker and darker, and the wind was so strong
it could not be otherwise than refreshing.
Captain Kenny had left positive orders that the main and mizzen courses
be left as they were, fully set, and both sheets were straining and
tugging as though ready to lift the two masts out of their resting
places. The forecourse had been taken in, also the jib, but so far this
had had no effect on the riding of the _Dart_, and she dipped her nose
into every fourth or fifth wave that came along.
“If I was you I’d take in more sail,” remarked Dan, after a pause.
“Even if you don’t lose a mast, you’re running the risk of opening more
than one seam. If we founder----”
He did not finish, for at that moment Captain Kenny’s head reappeared
above the combing of the companion way. He came staggering toward us
with his right hand in his jacket pocket and a sickly grin on his
unshaven face.
“Now we’ll come to terms,” he began, with a hiccough.
“Captain Kenny, how about that mainsail?” interrupted the mate. “The
wind is freshening rapidly, sir.”
“I’ll take care o’ the--hic--mainsail, when I’ll through which
these--hic--young rascals,” was the answer. “Yarson! Carden!” he bawled
out. “Come here, you’re wanted.”
At once two of the sailors, a Swede and an American, came aft and
touched their forelocks.
“Do you know what I’m--hic--going to do?” went on the captain, closing
one eye suggestively. “I’m going to place both of you under arrest
until we arrive at Manila.”
“Arrest!” cried Dan and I simultaneously.
“You shall not arrest me,” I added, and my companion said something
very similar.
“I said--hic--arrest, and I mean it. Throw up your hands, both of you.”
“I refuse to obey the order.”
“Do you know that I am the--hic--commander of this ship?”
“You are when you are sober,” returned Dan.
“I am sober now--I never get--hic--drunk. I place you under arrest.
Yarson, Carden, conduct the two passengers to the--hic--brig and lock
’em in.”
“Keep your hands off!” I exclaimed. “Don’t you dare to touch me!”
“And don’t you dare to touch me,” added Dan.
We had scarcely spoken than Captain Kenny withdrew his right hand from
his pocket and showed us the muzzle of a revolver.
“You’ll--hic--obey or take the consequences,” he hiccoughed. “I’m a
peaceful man until I’m aroused, and then----” Another hiccough ended
the sentence.
I must say that I was both alarmed and disgusted, but my disgust was
greater than my alarm, for I knew I had right on my side and was
willing to wager that in his present condition Captain Kenny could not
hit the broadside of a barn, excepting by accident.
The two sailors advanced, but they came on slowly, evidently having no
relish for the job at hand. When the Swede attempted to take hold of me
I flung him off.
“Stand back!” I said, and at the same time Dan motioned Carden to keep
his distance.
“Are you going to do as I ordered?” fumed the captain.
“I vos reatty to opey orders, captain,” said Yarson.
“So am I, cap’n, if you say it’s all right,” added Carden.
“It is all--hic--right. Arrest ’em--arrest ’em on the spot!”
vociferated the skipper of the _Dart_.
“You keep your distance,” I ordered. “If you don’t it will be the worse
for you.”
“The first man who touches me will get knocked down,” said Dan, and
caught up a marline spike which hung by the mast.
“Captain, I think we really ought to look to those sails,” pleaded
Dawson, taking hold of his chief’s arm. “It won’t do to lose ’em, you
know.”
“Didn’t I say I’d take care of ’em when I’m--hic--through with these
fellows?” was the surly return. “Stand back, Dawson!” and now the
captain rushed forward and leveled his pistol at my head. “You march to
the brig, and be quick about it, or I’ll----”
What Captain Kenny would have done, had I refused to march as ordered,
I never learned, for while he was speaking Dan made a rush forward and
caught the pistol from his hand and sent him flat on his back, in the
bargain. Then my companion stepped to my side, and both of us backed up
toward the companion way.
For fully a minute Captain Kenny lay where he had fallen, nobody caring
to go to his assistance. Then he cried loudly to the sailors to help
him get up, and they did so. In the meantime Tom Dawson stood by,
scratching his head in perplexity.
“Captain, we must attend to the sails,” he began, when there came a
sudden puff of air, and the _Dart_ seemed to fairly stand up on ends. I
had to catch hold of the companion-way rail to keep from falling, and
Dan held on, too. Captain Kenny collapsed and went sliding into the
mainmast, and then toward the lee rail.
“Save me!” he yelled, when he felt that he could not help himself.
“Save me!” And Dawson and the American sailor immediately ran to his
assistance.
It was all I could do now to save myself from being thrown down the
companion way, and for the time being I lost interest in Captain Kenny.
“This is awful!” I said to Dan. “I believe we are in for another
hurricane.”
“The fools ought to take in every rag of canvas,” was the reply. “Tom
Dawson hasn’t any backbone, or he’d take matters in his own hands.”
“Let us go below,” I went on, as a wave swept the deck, drenching us
both. “There is no use of remaining here.”
Dan tumbled down the companion way and into the cabin, and I came after
him, stumbling over an empty rum bottle which was rolling over the
floor. From the cabin we went to our stateroom, to see that the port
was tightly closed.
“I think I’ll keep this pistol until we reach Manila,” observed my
companion. “You know I haven’t any weapon of my own. I wish I had some
extra cartridges.”
“Perhaps the caliber of my pistol is the same as Captain Kenny’s
weapon,” I suggested, and produced my little six-shooter. Both pistols
used the same size of cartridge, and I divided a box of those articles
between us, and shoved my share and my revolver in my pocket.
We now heard a hurried tramping on deck, and soon the creaking of
blocks as the main and mizzen courses came down on the run. Soon every
rag of canvas was furled, this being done by Dawson’s directions, as I
afterward learned, Captain Kenny having been knocked partly unconscious
by his tumble upon the lee rail.
A half hour went by, a time that to Dan and I seemed an age. The _Dart_
tumbled and tossed, and it was all we could do to keep from having our
brains dashed out against the stateroom walls.
“We would have done much better had we taken a steamer to Manila,” I
remarked, when the hurricane seemed to be at its height. “If we get out
of this storm we have still our row with the captain to be settled up.”
“Never mind, Oliver, we ought to reach Manila in a couple of days. If
the captain attempts to arrest us again, I’ll give him warning that
I’ll have him up before the court at the first landing we make.”
“He ought to have his vessel taken away from him. Do you suppose the
owners would keep him in command if they knew of his habits?”
“As it happens he owns a one-fourth interest in the _Dart_, and his
contract says he shall be skipper, so Dawson told me,” answered Dan.
“I’ll wager Dawson will have a story to tell when he comes below. My,
what a sea must be running!” And my companion swung forward and back
with the motion of the schooner. “And see how dark it is getting!”
It was so gloomy we could scarcely see each other. It had now begun to
lighten and thunder, while the rain came down in perfect sheets. We
huddled together, as if feeling instinctively that something out of the
ordinary was about to occur.
And it did occur a moment later. A clap of thunder had just rolled away
when there came a cry from the deck, so appalling that it could be
distinctly heard above the fury of the elements.
“Ship, ahoy! Don’t run us down!”
The cry was followed by a tearing, grinding, sickening crash that I
shall never forget. The crash threw me headlong and I lay at Dan’s feet
for several seconds, completely dazed.
CHAPTER III.
IN WHICH DAN AND I BECOME SEPARATED.
“We are struck, Oliver, get up!”
“Oh, my head!” I groaned, for I had struck the stateroom wall a blow by
no means gentle.
“We must get on deck!” urged my companion. “We have run into another
ship and may be sinking!”
Collecting my scattered senses as best I could, I arose and caught Dan
by the arm. Soon we were mounting the companion-way stairs, two steps
at a time. As we emerged into the open the downpour of rain and flying
spray nearly drowned us.
A vivid flash of lightning lit up the scene, and looking to port we
saw a big Chinese vessel bearing away, with a broken bowsprit and a
big hole in her side, well forward. We also saw that our own deck was
filled with fallen rigging and wooden splinters.
“Sound the pumps!” was the cry, coming from Tom Dawson. “Quigley, see
if you can make out the damage”--the last words to the ship’s carpenter.
“We got it pretty heavily,” gasped Dan, who was about as much winded as
myself. “Pray heaven we may outride the shock and the storm.”
Several sailors had sprung to the pumps and were pumping up sea water
in great quantities. “A foot and four inches,” cried one. “And gaining
rapidly!” he announced, a minute later.
Those last words caused every cheek to blanch. For the time there was
almost a panic. But now Tom Dawson showed what was really in him.
“Keep your wits about you, men!” he called out. “We may yet be able
to stop the leak and pump her out. Keep to the work for all you are
worth!” And the men at the pumps obeyed, while the mate hurried forward
to obtain the carpenter’s report.
It was soon forthcoming. The blow had been so severe that a gaping
hole, four feet in diameter, had been stove in the _Dart’s_ bow. It was
partly above and partly below the water line, but in such a sea the
water was coming in by the hundreds of gallons at every lurch of the
schooner.
“I’ll try to stop it up,” said Quigley, but shook his head as he spoke.
“You had better order the small boats out, and stock ’em with water and
grub,” and he ran off.
By this time Captain Kenny was up once more, but in his condition could
do little but find fault and use language not fit to transcribe to
these pages. Once he tried to take the command from Tom Dawson, but the
mate would not listen.
“We’re sinking, Captain Kenny,” said Dawson. “I must do what I can for
the men and myself.”
“Sinking!” gasped the unreasonable one. “Sinking!”
“Yes, sinking. Keep your wits about you or you’ll go to Davy Jones’
locker,” concluded Tom Dawson. His remarks so frightened the captain
that he ran to the cabin, there to plunder his trunks and lockers in a
drunken and vain effort to stow what he owned of value about his person.
The carpenter was as good as his word, but although he labored manfully
and had all the aid that could be used, the water could not be stopped
from coming in. The shock had opened up half a dozen seams and the
water in the hold had reached four feet and a half.
“She can’t stand that!” cried Dan, as he heard the announcement.
“She’ll go to the bottom inside of a quarter of an hour. Oliver, we are
lost, unless we get into one of the small boats.”
“The life-preservers!” I ejaculated. “Let us each get one of those on,
if nothing else!” and I led the way to where the articles were stored.
While we were adjusting them, the mate passed us.
“That’s right,” he cried. “You two shall go in our boat. We’ll leave
in about five minutes, if we can catch the sea right.” And then he
disappeared from sight once more.
I must confess that my heart was in my throat, and Dan has since told
me that he felt just as awed. “Come down and get what we must have,” he
whispered hoarsely, and once again we tumbled below to our stateroom,
passing Captain Kenny as he tore around his cabin like a man bereft of
his reason.
“You are responsible for this!” he growled. “If it hadn’t been for you
no accident would have happened.” For a wonder, his fright had quite
sobered him, even though he was half crazy as before mentioned.
There was not much to get, for we knew that trunks or even traveling
bags would not be taken into the small boats. I donned a little extra
clothing and was about to get out my money belt, containing some gold
and silver and a draft on a Manila banking institution, when a call
from above reached us.
“To the boats! To the boats!” came the cry from the deck, and a scurry
of footsteps followed. Grabbing each other by the hand we leaped for
the companion way, to find our passage blocked by Captain Kenny.
“Let us up!” cried Dan, and tried to get past the man, but the captain
merely shoved him back.
“I’m the one to go--you can stay here, hang ye!” he hissed.
“Stay here? Not much!” I burst out, and catching him by the legs, I
shot him up on deck as if he had been fired from a spring gun. He tried
to turn and strike me, but I avoided the blow with ease.
The _Dart_ had now settled so much that every wave washed her deck from
stem to stern. “Look out, or you’ll go down!” roared Dan in my ear, but
the caution was not needed, for I was already exercising all the care
possible in making my way to the boat Tom Dawson was to command.
There were four small craft and twenty of us all told. This gave
five persons to a boat, the first being in command of Captain Kenny,
the second in command of Tom Dawson, while the second mate and the
boatswain had the others under their care.
“I reckon you two want to keep together,” said Dawson, as we reached
his side. “I can’t blame you, but----”
“Don’t put those two landlubbers in one boat!” roared Captain Kenny.
“It’s bad enough to have ’em at all. Put one in your boat and one in
Brown’s,” indicating the second mate.
“Oh, can’t we go together?” I whispered to Dawson.
“We ought to have at least four experienced sailors in each boat,” was
the mate’s reply. “Do as the captain commanded, and we’ll see if we
can’t keep the small boats together.”
And with this he shoved Dan into his own boat and turned me back to
join the party under Watt Brown, the second mate.
My heart now beat more painfully than ever. “Good-by, Dan, if we don’t
meet again!” I said huskily.
“Good-by, Oliver,” he answered. “Oh, if only we could go together!” And
then we parted in the darkness, and I scuttled for the boat that was
already awaiting me.
How we ever got over the _Dart’s_ side and away from the settling
schooner I cannot describe to this day. Amid the roar of thunder and
the flashing of lightning, the small boat was swung out. Three sailors
were at the oars, while the mate stood ready with a hatchet to cut the
davit ropes. Down we went, to strike the rolling sea with a resounding
smack that almost pitched me overboard. “Steady now! Pull! pull!” came
the command, and away the sailors pulled, while a bit of rope snapped
down and hit me across the cheek, nearly blinding me. For the next few
minutes I felt as if I was roller-coasting up one mountain side and
down another.
When I was able to look around me another flash of lightning lit up
the scene. Behind us rested the _Dart_, well over on her port side, as
though getting ready to take her final plunge beneath the waves of the
sea. To the left of us was one small boat and to the right the others.
“Are we away all right?” I asked of the second mate.
“Can’t say--yet,” was his laconic answer, and I felt that he did not
wish to be questioned further. I wanted to aid in handling the boat,
but was not allowed to do anything. “Just wait, lad, your time may
come,” said one of the sailors grimly, and I shuddered, for I knew what
he meant--that it might be many a weary day before we would sight land,
if land were sighted at all. Perhaps that very sea upon which we were
riding would prove our open grave.
Five minutes passed in painful suspense and then the lightning lit
up the firmament again. “Look! look!” yelled Watt Brown, and at the
sound of the second mate’s voice all in the boat turned, to see one of
the craft to our starboard founder beneath a curling wave that looked
higher than a six-story office building.
“What boat is that?” I cried.
“Don’t know exactly, but it looked like Tom Dawson’s,” was the answer,
which almost prostrated me. Was it possible that Dan had been lost thus
quickly?
“Won’t you try to pick them up?” I went on, when I could speak. “Surely
you won’t forsake them!”
“We’ll try it,--but it’s wuss nor looking for a pin in a haystack,”
was the second mate’s reply. “To starboard, boys, but don’t get caught
under a capper, or it will be all up with us.” And then our own craft
veered around and moved slowly and painfully over the billows to the
spot where the other small boat had gone down.
CHAPTER IV.
THE RESCUE OF THE UNWORTHY ONE.
I was in a tremble of excitement, and for the moment forgot all about
my own peril. Since coming to the far East, or West, as you will, I
had become greatly attached to Dan Holbrook; indeed he seemed like
a brother to me. If he was lost, what would I do, even if we were
fortunate to reach some part of the Island of Luzon, upon which the
city of Manila is located?
But a treacherous wave, mountain-high, brought me to a sudden
realization of my own condition. “Hold hard!” I heard Watt Brown yell,
and I held to the seat with all of my might, and this was all that
prevented me from being swept overboard.
We had shipped a good deal of water, and I was ordered to bail out the
small craft, while the sailors continued at the oars, assisted by the
second mate. There was a big dipper handy and I think I can truthfully
say that I never worked harder in my life than I did then, meanwhile
continuing to hold on with one hand.
It was fully ten minutes ere we reached the locality where the small
boat had foundered. In the meanwhile flash after flash of lightning
had lit up the scene, showing the _Dart_ far to the northward, driving
rapidly before the fury of the storm. But at last distance and the
steady downpour of rain hid the vessel from view, and we could not tell
if she sunk or not.
“A man!” It was the second mate who uttered the words, and a head
bobbed up just alongside of our bow. At once the mate dropped his oar
and seized the individual by his hair. Then he caught hold of an arm
and in a trice the fellow was on board, where he fell in a heap at the
bottom of our craft. It was Captain Kenny.
“The captain’s boat,” observed Watt Brown, and I breathed a long sigh
of relief, thinking that Dan might yet be safe. “I wonder if Yarson,
Betts, Camar, and Dilwoddy are floating around?”
He referred to the four sailors that had accompanied the captain in the
first boat. Standing up as best he could, he waited for another flash
of lightning and gazed around hurriedly. Not another soul was in sight.
“They are gone, I am afraid,” he murmured. “Keep her head up, lads, and
I’ll take another look.”
“Never mind the others,” growled Captain Kenny, struggling to a seat.
“We must save ourselves. Pull on, or we’ll be swamped.”
“You wretch!” I cried indignantly. “Supposing we had left you to shift
for yourself?”
“Shut up, boy, or----”
“The lad is right, captain,” interrupted Watt Brown. “It was no more
to us to save you than it is to save Betts and the rest. Remember, the
_Dart_ has been abandoned and now one man is as good as another.”
“Do you mean to say I am not still in command?” roared Captain Kenny in
a fury that was positively silly.
“No, you’re not!” spoke up one of the men at the oars. “Sit still,
or I’ll be in for heaving you overboard again,” and this was said so
harshly that the captain sunk back without another word.
The long hours of the night which followed were filled with an anxiety
which words cannot describe. The sailors at the oars could do nothing
but keep the small boat head up to the waves and at times they became
so exhausted, as the sea ran stronger and stronger, that more than one
was ready to drop in a faint. I took an oar for two hours and then had
to relinquish the blade, for fear it would be torn from my grasp and
lost.
It was about five o’clock in the morning when the hurricane abated.
As is usual in this locality, the storm let up as quickly as it had
gathered. The rain stopped and the wind dropped all in a few minutes,
and in less than an hour the sun was shining down upon us from a
cloudless sky. The sea, however, still ran dangerously high.
“Do you see anything?” I asked of the second mate, as he balanced
himself on one of the middle seats and took a careful look about the
horizon.
“Nothing,” was his disheartening answer. “Not a sail or a small boat in
sight.”
“Then the other boats must be lost,” and my heart sank again.
“Perhaps not. The wind during the night may have carried us miles
apart.”
We knew we must be a good distance from land, but we also knew that
we were somewhere to the westward of Luzon, so the only thing to do
was to steer a course due east and trust to sight the shore before our
provisions gave out.
We had on board but two articles, a keg of ship’s biscuits and a keg
of water. Several other things had been put into the small craft, but
these had either been washed overboard or ruined by the salt water
which I had bailed out.
“By close economy we can make the biscuits last three days, and the
water about as long,” announced the second mate. “We ought to make
shore long before that time expires.” And he proceeded to deal out a
breakfast of two biscuits and one cup of water to each person.
“I want more than two biscuits and I am bound to have them!” cried
Captain Kenny and leaped for the biscuit keg. But instantly Watt Brown
and two of the sailors confronted him, one with an upraised oar, and
again he subsided. After that all of the others watched him carefully.
As I have said, the sea still ran high, and we soon learned that to
steer in a due east course was impossible. We had to head to the
northeast and at times almost due north.
“This will take us a good many miles to the north of Manila Bay, even
if we strike shore,” observed Watt Brown to me. “I calkerlate we are
already some miles north of Subig Bay.”
“Well, I hardly care where we land, if only we escape the sea,” I
returned. “I have no desire to fill a watery grave, as Betts and the
others have done.”
“I think we are safe on making shore--providing we don’t strike another
hurricane, Raymond.” Then the second mate leaned close to me. “Watch
out for the captain, he has it in for you,” he whispered. “He’s a bad
man when he’s got a spell on.”
“I’ll be on my guard,” I replied. I almost wished we had saved
somebody else in place of the unreasonable skipper of the _Dart_.
The morning passed away slowly. By eleven o’clock the sun was almost
directly overhead and it was so hot that all craved a shelter that
could not be had. The cup of water dealt out at noon seemed pitiably
small, but nobody but the captain complained, understanding only too
well what the horrors of thirst would be should our supply give out.
Toward night another storm came up, principally of wind. Again the
waves increased in height, sending us up to a very mountain top one
moment and then letting us down into a gigantic hollow which looked
ready to engulf us forever. We still drove northward at a rate of ten
to twelve miles an hour.
Having had no sleep for forty-eight hours I was utterly worn out, and
when the storm let up a bit, sometime after midnight, I sank in a bunch
on my seat and closed my eyes. “It’s all right, catch a nap if you
can,” said the second mate. Soon I was sleeping as soundly as if in my
bed at home, although disturbed by the wildest of dreams.
I awoke with a start, to find a firm hand on my shoulder and Captain
Kenny glaring into my face. “You’re to be number two, lad!” he hissed.
“We’ll save the water and biscuits for a better mouth!” And then he
lifted me up and attempted to hurl me into the sea!
For the fraction of a second my tongue was too paralyzed to utter a
sound; then I let out an ear-splitting yell that brought Watt Brown and
one of the sailors to my immediate aid. “Let go of me!” I cried. “He
wants to heave me overboard!”
“Let him alone!” commanded Brown, and hauled Captain Kenny backward.
The sailor hit him a heavy crack on the head, and down went the captain
on the boat’s bottom unconscious.
“I told ye to be watchful of him,” said the second mate, when it was
all over. “If Captain Kenny is your enemy onct he’s your enemy allers,
don’t forgit that.”
“He said something to me about being number two,” I said. “What did
he--a man is gone!”
I had glanced around hastily, to discover that one of the oar hands was
missing. Watt Brown followed my gaze.
“Garwell!” murmured the second mate. His face grew dark, and in
justifiable indignation he leaped to where Captain Kenny lay and shook
the unconscious man vigorously. “Where is Garwell!” he cried out. “Tell
me, captain, or I’ll pitch ye overboard! Where is Garwell?”
CHAPTER V.
CAST ASHORE ON LUZON.
To Watt Brown’s vigorous questioning Captain Kenny returned not a word.
Either he was still unconscious or he had recovered and come to the
conclusion that he had best remain quiet and answer nothing. The mate
had caught the captain up, now he flung him down on the hard bottom
of the boat as one unworthy of being touched. “I’ll settle with him
later,” he muttered and shut his teeth hard, for the missing man had
been one of his best friends.
“Hadn’t we better stay around here until daylight and look for
Garwell?” asked Sandram, the sailor who had used his fist so
effectually upon Captain Kenny’s skull.
“Yes,” said the second mate. “Poor Garwell! He was a fine fellow.”
“None better, Brown,” put in Vincent, the second sailor. “Captain Kenny
will have a score to settle when this ill-fated cruise comes to an end.”
Slowly the remainder of the night dragged by. With the coming of
daylight we gazed around eagerly for the body of Garwell and for the
other small boats. Nothing came to light but the bluish-green and
never-quiet sea, which rose and fell to the edge of the horizon.
“I want water,” was Captain Kenny’s demand, as he roused up while the
scanty breakfast was being dealt out.
“Not a drop until you account for Garwell,” returned Watt Brown.
“Account for Garwell? What do you mean?”
“You know well enough. You heaved the poor man overboard.”
“I did not,” roared the captain, but his telltale face belied his
words. “This is a put-up job against me. Give me the water.”
A wordy war followed. Captain Kenny would confess nothing, but that
he was guilty there could be no doubt. All that the second mate would
allow him was one biscuit and half a cupful of the water, now so warm
it was scarcely palatable. The captain continued to grumble, but
it availed him nothing, and at last he had to stop, for all of us
threatened to send him forth as food for the fishes.
The second day was coming to an end when far to the eastward we heard a
curious booming sound, not unlike a cannonading at a distance.
“What is that?” I questioned.
“It’s the surf, lad!” cried the second mate. “It’s rolling up on a
shore or over a hidden reef.”
“I hope it’s ashore. Any kind of land in preference to this
never-ending sea,” I said. “Can you see anything?”
I asked the latter question, for Watt Brown was already on his feet.
Now Vincent followed, and both gazed eastward a long time.
“I think I see something,” announced the second mate. “But it looks
like smoke more than anything.”
“It is smoke, blowing from off shore,” put in Vincent. “We must be
about ten miles from land.”
This announcement filled us with hope, and all, even Captain Kenny,
took their turns at the oars with renewed vigor. Inside of an hour the
booming of the surf could be heard quite distinctly, while some of the
smoke the others had noticed floated almost overhead.
“I see land!” was the second mate’s welcome cry presently. “There is a
long, low-lying shore and a mountain behind it. We must be at least a
hundred miles north of Subig Bay.”
We continued to pull until the land could be seen with ease. There was
a wide stretch of sandy beach, backed up by tall rocks and a heavy
tropical growth. In the distance the mountain loomed up, surrounded by
a veil-like mist.
“To port!” cried Watt Brown. “The breakers are too heavy here!” And
we moved up the coast for a quarter of a mile further. Here there was
something of a bay and the breakers came to an end. Nearer and nearer
we crept to land until the first row of stately palms could be seen
with ease. The mate was on the watch, and finally ordered us to port
again, and five minutes later, we shot past a tiny coral reef and into
the bay mentioned. Here the boat ran up upon the sands, and, throwing
down our oars, we all leaped out and hauled her up still further.
“Thank God we’re safe!” murmured Watt Brown, and took off his cap
reverently. I did the same, and offered up a silent prayer for my safe
deliverance from the perils of the deep.
The bay we had entered was pear-shaped and probably five hundred feet
deep by a hundred and fifty feet wide. The sandy beach at either side
was many yards wide, but at the inner end the rocks and trees overhung
the water. From a tropical standpoint it was an ideal spot for a
painter, and I could not help but take in its beauty, even at such a
trying time as this. Captain Kenny, however, “stuck up his nose” at it.
“A regular jungle,” he snorted. “We can’t live here.”
“Then you had better take to the water again,” returned Watt Brown
sharply. “You haven’t got to stay with us, you know.” And this again
silenced the unreasonable man for the time being.
It was decided that Vincent should walk up the shore on the lookout for
the other boats, while Sandram was to skirt the bay and try his luck
in the opposite direction. In the meantime the captain, second mate,
and myself were to do what we could toward building a fire and finding
something to eat beside ship’s biscuits.
“You go find something to eat,” grumbled Captain Kenny to Watt Brown
and me, and threw himself under the nearest tree to rest.
“All right, we’ll go,” answered the second mate. “But remember, Kenny,
if you haven’t got a good fire started for us when we come back, so we
can cook whatever we find, you’ll not partake of our supper.” And with
this pointed remark Brown withdrew and I followed.
“He’s a beast,” I said, when we were out of hearing. “I would rather
have Ah Sid in the crowd.”
Ah Sid had been the _Dart’s_ cook, a little dried-up Chinaman, but a
fellow who had always tried to make himself agreeable.
“If he doesn’t behave himself I’ll bounce him out of camp,” was the
second mate’s answer. “Remember, he is absolutely nothing to us, now
we are on land.”
“Where do you suppose we are?”
“Somewhere north of Subig Bay, or Port Subig, as the English call it.
We were making for Point Capones when that dirty hurricane struck our
ship and sent us into that Chinese junk. I think we must be somewhere
in the neighborhood of Iba, a settlement something like a hundred miles
northwest of Manila. But we may be still further away.”
“And what of the natives around here?”
“They are treacherous people, so I’ve been told. The majority of them
are Tagals, or _Tagaloes_, as the Spanish call ’em. You know all of
these islands belong to Spain.”
“Yes, I know that only too well, for the Spaniards at Manila have
caused our business firm no end of trouble. They want to drive the
Americans out, if they can.”
“They would like to drive all foreigners out, so that they can have the
wealth of the Philippines to themselves,” went on the second mate, who
was, as I soon discovered, a well-read man. “You see the islands pay an
immense sum of money into Spain’s treasury every year.”
“But what of this rebellion here, that I heard of at Hong Kong?”
“Oh, the natives are continually fighting among themselves and against
the Spanish tax-gatherers, who have their offices located everywhere.
You see there is a terribly mixed population, of Tagals, Malays,
Papuan negroes, Chinese, Japanese, and Caucasians, with half- and
quarter-breeds without number. I understand the Spaniards can count
over a hundred different kinds of natives alone, and in the islands
over a hundred and fifty different languages and dialects are spoken.
It’s a great country. But, come, we must rouse up something to eat.”
“I have my pistol and some cartridges,” I said, and showed my weapon.
“Keep your ammunition until you actually need it, lad. We can knock
over something alive, as the natives do, with clubs.”
In such a tropical forest clubs were soon found, and, holding these
ready for use, we tramped on, through thick, dank moss and under masses
of trailing vines.
“There they go!” shouted Watt Brown suddenly, as a whir sounded out
ahead. A dozen or more good-sized birds had arisen and his club brought
down two. Then came another whir to our right, and I let fly and
brought down a beautiful white pigeon that weighed all of two pounds.
Another pigeon was wounded and I managed to catch it alive and wring
its neck. With this haul we returned to the beach.
The second mate’s warning had had its effect upon Captain Kenny, and
a roaring blaze greeted us, which, in the gathering twilight looked
quite homelike. The captain had also kicked up about a bucketful of
shell-fish in the shallow water of the cove.
By the time the fish and other things were cooked, Vincent and Sandram
came back, each having traveled a good mile out and return. Both
brought back with them some nearly ripe plantains, commonly called
bananas in America. All were hungry, and never did a meal taste better
than did that to me, although I have dined at some of our leading
hotels.
“I saw nothing but some driftwood,” reported Sandram. “The wood looked
as if it might have belonged to the _Dart_, but I couldn’t get close
enough to make sure, as it was out on a reef, among the breakers.”
Vincent had seen nothing of boats or crews, but had made a most
grewsome discovery.
“I thought at a distance they might be big cocoanuts, lying upon the
sand,” he said. “But when I came closer I discovered that they were the
heads of seven negroes, all of whom had been buried in a circle in the
sand up to their necks.”
“Negroes’ heads!” I ejaculated. “And were the poor fellows dead?”
“Yes, and had been for some time, for the birds had pecked out their
eyes and carried off parts of their flesh.”
“This is awful, Brown,” I said. “Persons who would do that cannot be
short of--of----”
“Cannibals, eh, lad?” returned the mate. “Well, some savages
around here are cannibals yet, Spanish reports to the contrary
notwithstanding. But I don’t like that ring of heads. It is an old sign
among the Malays, and signifies that one tribe of people have made war
on another tribe.”
“If that’s the case, I hope they don’t make war on us,” put in Sandram.
“So do I,” I added; and there the talk dropped, for at that moment a
sight far out on the ocean thrilled us to the core.
CHAPTER VI.
ADVENTURES IN THE FOREST.
The sight that met our gaze was a small boat dancing far out beyond the
breakers. It contained three men, and as it came in closer, through the
opening by which we had entered, we made out Tom Dawson, Ah Sid, the
Chinese cook, and Matt Gory, an Irish sailor.
“It is Dawson’s craft,” murmured Watt Brown. “But it’s only got three
men aboard instead of five.”
“Dan Holbrook is missing!” I gasped, and once again my heart sank like
a lump of lead within my bosom.
“Boat ahoy!” yelled Vincent and the others, and the cry was speedily
returned. Then Tom Dawson noted where we had run in, and ten minutes
later beached his craft beside our own.
“Glad to see ye!” he cried, as he caught one after another by the hand.
“I was afraid all of the other boats had gone to the bottom.”
“The captain’s boat went down,” answered Watt Brown soberly. “We saved
Captain Kenny, but could see nothing of the rest.”
“And where is Dan Holbrook?” I put in impatiently.
“It’s a sorry tale to tell, lad,” answered the first mate of the
ill-fated _Dart_.
“He was--was drowned?” I could scarcely speak the words.
“He was. You see it was this way. We were running along during the
night and all hands were utterly worn out and half asleep. Suddenly a
wave as big as a church bore down on us and nearly swamped our craft. I
went overboard and so did Dan Holbrook and Casey. All of us went under,
and when I came up and clambered aboard again, Holbrook and Casey were
missing.”
“Yis, poor Casey was missin’, God rist his sowl!” murmured Matt Gory,
who was the missing man’s cousin. He turned to me. “Was you an’ Mister
Holbrook related, me b’y?” he questioned tenderly.
“No, but--but Dan was almost like a brother,” I answered, in a voice
that choked me, and then I had to turn away to hide the tears that
would come.
The only man who seemed to enjoy my sorrow was Captain Kenny, who
leered at me in a manner that made me feel like leaping upon him and
hurling him under my feet to be trampled upon. He was my enemy now,
and I felt he would be my enemy as long as both of us lived.
The only grain of comfort that I could give myself was the fact that
Tom Dawson’s craft had struck the big wave not far from the coast line.
It was barely possible that Dan had kept himself afloat until cast up
on the beach, although, to be sure, this was far from likely.
The night was spent under the palm trees which lined the beach. As
Vincent had made such a ghastly discovery, it was decided that all
hands should take an hour at watching. I was awake from one o’clock to
two on my own watch and also from five to six, when Captain Kenny stood
guard, but nothing happened to disturb the improvised camp.
It was easy to obtain birds, and shell and other fish, and by eight
o’clock an appetizing breakfast was in preparation. While eating we
discussed our situation and decided to remain where we were for one
day more, hoping to learn what had become of the fourth small boat and
those who were still missing.
As I had had such luck in knocking over the two pigeons I was delegated
to go out again to replenish our larder and was accompanied this time
by Tom Dawson and Gory, the Irish sailor, who had visited the island
of Luzon twice before. In the meantime the others made an even longer
tour than before, up and down the shore.
“It’s a great counthry, so it is,” observed Matt Gory, as the three of
us strode into the forest. “They have a mixed-up population, as you was
sayin’, and the foightin’ is worse tin toimes over nor a Donnybrook
Fair. Thim Spaniards be afther thinkin’ they kin control the nagers
an’ other haythins, but they can’t. They are a thavin’, lyin’ set, an’
would be afther stabbin’ yez in the back fer a tin-cint piece.”
“But the Spaniards control Manila and the other large cities.”
“So they do, me b’y. But that’s not a drop in the bucket, so to spake,
wid millions o’ haythins living on a thousand or more islands, some of
which have niver yit been visited by white men. It will take two or
three cinturies to make these nagers half dasent, so it will!” And Matt
Gory shook his head to show that he meant all that he said.
Our talking, and the fire on the beach, had evidently caused an alarm
among the feathered denizens of the forest, for we had to walk a
considerable distance before we roused up any game worth bringing down.
All of us had provided ourselves with clubs and in about an hour we had
secured eight birds and a small squirrel, which I had dislodged from a
hollow tree quite by accident.
“There’s a foin birrud!” cried Gory presently. “Hould back, both of
yez, an’ Oi’ll bring him down!” And he crept off to our left.
He was gone fully three minutes, when we heard the crash of his club
among some tree branches, followed by a yell of wonder and then a
scream of fright. “He has stirred up the wrong hornet!” ejaculated Tom
Dawson. “Come on!” And away he bounded, with I following.
When we reached the Irish sailor he was leaning against a tree, trying
to knock from his shoulder a bat that we afterward found measured three
feet from one wing tip to the other. The bat had clutched him firmly
and was dealing blow after blow, first with one wing and then the other.
“Save me! Hilp! Save me!” gasped Gory, whose wind was almost gone, and
now a blow on his forehead sent him to the foot of the tree.
Tom Dawson threw his club, but missed his mark. While he was running
to secure his weapon once more, I leaped forward and hit the bat over
the head. Instantly he came for me, and I received a crack on the
cheek that left its mark for several hours. But now another blow from
my club finished him, and away he sailed with a half-broken wing.
I was afraid he would return, but he passed out of sight among the
overhanging vines, not to come back.
“Be jabers, that was a birrud I didn’t calculate on!” gasped Matt Gory
when he could speak. “Phat was it--a floyin’ windmill?”
“It was a bat, Gory,” I answered. “A tropical bat--and a whopper.”
“I want no more such birruds,” was the Irishman’s response. “Oi reckon
Oi’ll be more careful of phat Oi tackle in the future,” and he was.
We walked on for half a mile further, for it was a clear day and we
were not likely to miss our way. The undergrowth was thick and we moved
with caution, not caring to rouse up some deadly reptile. On all sides
were stately palm, mahogany, ebony, and other trees of a tropical
nature, and everywhere hung the ponderous vines, some of them hundreds
of feet long and as thick as a man’s wrist.
“A snake!” yelled Tom Dawson, of a sudden, and we all fell back,
while I drew my pistol, not satisfied to trust to a club in such an
emergency. Matt Gory, who had no use for snakes, took to his heels, and
that was the last we saw of him for fully a quarter of an hour.
Our alarm proved of short duration, for I soon saw what the supposed
snake was: the bat we had previously wounded. It was more than half
dead, and a single blow from Dawson’s stick finished it, and then we
yelled for Gory to return.
“The Philippine bats knock ours all to pieces,” observed the first
mate. “We had best take him along.”
“For eating?” I queried.
“Perhaps----” Dawson paused. “You don’t like the idea? Very well, let
him go then,” and he threw the creature into the brush. I have since
heard that among certain of the natives these bats are considered a
great delicacy.
We had begun to ascend a small hill located about a quarter of a mile
in advance of the mountain I have mentioned several times. I now
suggested that we push on to the top.
“We can get a good look around from there,” I continued. “And it may be
that we will see more than the parties that went up and down the shore.”
“Sure an that’s a good idee,” said Matt Gory. “Let us go to the top by
all means.”
The first mate was willing. “If you don’t find it a tougher climb than
ye calculate on,” he cautioned.
The first part of the journey was comparatively easy, but the nearer we
got to the top of the hill the steeper became the side, until we could
only progress by pulling ourselves up on one vine after another. “Sure
an if a feller had to do it, he could be afther makin’ step-ladders of
the voines,” grinned Gory.
Noon found us at the topmost point, at a spot where a bit of table
land was surrounded by a score of stately palms many yards in height.
“We can’t see much after all, not unless we climb a tree,” I observed
disappointedly. “And how we are going to get to the top of one of those
palms is a conundrum to me.”
“I’ll show you a native trick,” answered Tom Dawson, and cast around
for a suitable vine. Soon one was found, and he cut off a piece several
yards long. Throwing this around a tree trunk, he twisted the ends
about his hands and then began to ascend by bracing his feet against
the trunk one after another, at the same time leaning his weight back
so that it was held by the vine, which was slipped up in company with
each footstep.
“Yez ought to introduce that sthoyle in Americky, among the telephone
linemen,” observed Gory, with a twinkle in his eye. “Oi only trust the
vine proves sthrong enough to hold yez until yez reach the top.”
Gory’s hope was fulfilled; indeed the bit of green would have held the
weight of a dozen men, and once the branches of the palm were gained,
the first mate of the _Dart_ found it an easy matter to reach the crown
of the tree. From this point a wide expanse of land and sea came into
view, and he scrutinized every point of the compass with care.
“There is a native village to the northeast of here,” he announced. “I
can see forty or fifty bamboo huts and the smoke from several fires.
There is a road running from the village to a river which winds in
behind the mountain back of us.”
“And what can you see down to the beach?” I called up.
“Nothing to the south of us.” Tom Dawson turned to look up the coast.
“By ginger!” we heard him exclaim, in a low voice.
“Phat now?” queried Matt Gory.
“I see--yes, it is--the wreck of the _Dart_, cast up high and dry on
the shore!”
CHAPTER VII.
THE WRECK ON THE SHORE.
Tom Dawson’s discovery filled us with amazement and satisfaction:
amazement because all of us had thought that the schooner lay at the
bottom of the China Sea and satisfaction for the reason that all
thought we might now have a chance to obtain such of our belongings as
still remained on board of the vessel.
“You are sure it is the _Dart_?” I queried, as the first mate took
another long look.
“Sure, my lad; I know that craft among a thousand,” was the answer.
“It’s great news,” put in Matt Gory. “Oi haven’t much on board, but
phat Oi have Oi want, especially that ould dudeen of mine which same
Oi have smoked these fifteen years.” Since landing he had bewailed the
loss of his pipe a dozen times.
“If the _Dart_ is up to the north of here, the party that went that way
must have discovered her too,” I said, as Tom Dawson descended the tree.
“That’s likely, lad. Still, now we have located her, there is no use in
staying here. We want our things, and I reckon the boat will furnish
us with all we will need to eat until we get back to civilized parts
again.”
“We don’t want to lose a minit,” burst out Gory. “If we do, thim
haythins livin’ in these parts will be afther claimin’ the wreck, an’
thin they won’t lit us touch a thing.”
“Can they do that?” I asked of the first mate.
“They can if they have the power,” was Dawson’s answer. “In this part
of our globe, might is right in nine cases out of ten. We’ll hurry all
we can, and move directly for the wreck instead of going down to the
old camp.”
Apparently this was good advice, but in the end it proved to be just
the opposite. We found that getting down the hill was more difficult
than getting up, and once I took a tumble that landed me directly in
the midst of a clump of nasty thorns. Matt Gory came after me, and both
of us were stuck and scratched in more places than I care to mention.
“Oi’m stabbed!” he moaned. “Hilp me out av here! Ouch, be the powers,
did anywan iver see such a hole as this fer darnin’ nadles, now?”
The first mate helped us both, and after that we proceeded with more
caution. Halfway down the hill we came upon a beautiful spring of water
which was almost as cold as ice, and here drank our fill.
I must confess that I was very anxious to get back to the _Dart_, for,
as will be remembered, I had left my money belt with its precious
contents behind. This belt I had secreted in a hollow between my
stateroom and that next to it, and I felt it would be safe so long as
the elements did not utterly destroy the ship. Besides the belt with my
gold, silver, and the Manila draft, I had left behind a large packet of
business papers of great value to our house. If these were lost, I felt
our firm would have more trouble than ever in the Philippines.
“It’s queer the _Dart_ didn’t sink in the middle of the sea,” I
observed, as we hurried on through the forest skirting the shore. “How
do you account for it?”
“Well, we had a light cargo, for one thing, and it was packed pretty
tightly forward. Maybe some the boxes got jammed in the hole that was
stove in her,” answered Tom Dawson, and later on, this proved to be
correct.
The sun was beating down fiercely and the moment we left the shade of
the trees we felt its full force. But we had now but a short distance
further to go, so we did not slacken our pace.
“Stop!” cried Tom Dawson suddenly, and held me back, while he motioned
to Matt Gory to halt.
“What’s up?” I whispered.
“A dozen natives are in possession of the _Dart_. I can see them
running all over her!”
“That’s too bad, so it is!” groaned the Irish sailor. “To think sech a
noble vessel should become the prize av sech haythins!”
“Will she really be their prize?” I asked.
For reply the first mate shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know what the
law is down here,” he ventured.
“Perhaps you can buy them off for a trifle.”
“Not much! There was a time when natives like these could be bought off
for a string of beads, a roll of calico or a six-inch looking glass,
but that time is past. They know the value of gold and silver, even if
paper money is beyond them.”
“What do you propose to do?”
“Oh, we’ll go ahead and claim the ship. But I want to give you a bit of
advice. Don’t be rash, or it may cost you your life.”
“Thrue fer you,” put in Gory. “Them nagers aint to be thrusted, as I
said before. Go slow, and be on your guard.”
“I will be cautious,” I answered, and as the memory of the circle
of heads on the beach flashed across my mind I shuddered. Certainly
these people, even if they did live but a few miles from the Spanish
settlements, were far from civilized.
Looking to it that my pistol was ready for use, I followed Dawson out
on the wide stretch of beach which separated us from the ill-fated
vessel which we had left but a few days before. The _Dart_ lay high
out of the water, and a brief glance showed that she had lost none of
her masts and but little of her rigging. “I’ll wager that five hundred
dollars will put her into as good a condition as ever,” remarked Tom
Dawson, and Matt Gory agreed with him.
As the first mate had said, there were a number of natives on the
craft’s deck, and now we noted another batch of the negroes on the
shore.
“They are a hard looking-crowd,” I whispered, as I gazed at them. They
were all men, tall, slim, and wearing little but shirts and loin-cloths
and head-coverings made of Manila straw. The crowd on the beach was
chattering away at a lively rate, in a language none of us could
understand, although I soon became convinced that it was not Spanish.
We had covered half the distance to the _Dart_, when one of the natives
discovered us and pointed us out to his companions. At once the whole
party ran forward and surrounded us, asking a dozen questions at once.
[Illustration: “AT ONCE THE WHOLE PARTY RAN FORWARD AND SURROUNDED US,
ASKING A DOZEN QUESTIONS AT ONCE.”]
“Don’t understand you,” shouted Tom Dawson. “Don’t you speak United
States?”
“Don’t you speak English?” I added.
The crowd stared at us and all shook their heads. It is doubtful if
any of them had ever heard the English tongue before, for the majority
of foreigners in the Philippines take up Spanish as the language of
commerce when dealing with the natives.
“Here’s a rum go!” whispered Dawson. Then a happy idea struck him and
he pointed at Gory, me and himself, and then at the _Dart_.
Instead of nodding to show that they understood, the natives scowled
at us. Then, while the others continued to surround us, one ran off to
summon those on the ship’s deck. Soon he returned with a fellow who was
several inches taller than his companions and who showed by his bearing
that he was some sort of a chief.
Again Dawson went through the pantomime previously described, and again
the crowd scowled, the chief harder than any of his followers. At once,
a light burst in upon me.
“I’ll tell you what they are mad about,” I explained to my companions.
“They think we want to take possession of the _Dart_.”
“Well, that’s jest wot we do want,” growled the first mate.
“Let us try to push our way to the ship,” I went on, and endeavored to
break away from the Tagals, for such the natives were.
What followed surprised me beyond measure. The chief rushed up, put out
his foot, gave me a shove, and hurled me flat on the sand. Before I
could arise he had motioned to another native, and this fellow promptly
came and sat on my back, thus holding me down!
I might have stood such treatment, rather than risk bloodshed, but the
attack was more than Matt Gory could stand. His hot Irish blood boiled
instantly, and raising his club he hit the fellow on top of me a blow
that all but knocked him senseless.
“Yez will sit on him, will yez?” he cried. “Take that, an’ look out
that yez don’t git another that’s worse, bedad!” and he stepped back
and stood at bay.
A fierce, blood-curdling yell went up, and almost a score of war clubs
and spears were brandished in the air.
“Now you’ve put your foot into it!” ejaculated Tom Dawson. “Come, let
us retreat, before it is too late!”
By pure good luck, we tore ourselves free from the natives who sought
to hold us back. Dawson was already running for the forest. Gory now
followed, and I came behind. With another yell, twice as loud as
before, the Tagals came after us, launching several spears as they did
so.
CHAPTER VIII.
ATTACKED BY THE TAGALS.
“_Woora camba, woora!_”
Such was the war cry which was raised,--or, at least, that is how it
sounded to me. Then came the spears, and Gory gave a yell.
“Oi’m kilt!” he gasped. “Oi’m a dead mon!”
“No, you’re not!” I answered. “That spear only nipped your ear. Hurry
up, or you will be killed, for certain!” and I grabbed him by the arm.
We had a lead of fifty feet and the Tagals were lessening this
steadily, when, to frighten them, Tom Dawson turned and fired a pistol
shot over their heads.
The effect was instantaneous. All of the natives came to a standstill
and several began to retreat.
“I thought that would fetch ’em,” puffed the first mate. “I reckon they
don’t know much about firearms.”
But Dawson was mistaken, as we found out later. During the past the
natives had known but little of pistols and guns, but now for several
years they had seen them in the hands of both the Spanish soldiers
and those who were in rebellion against the Spanish crown, and had
even stood up in battle, on the side of those who wanted to make the
Philippines free and independent of the rest of the world, be that
movement, under General Aguinaldo, for good or for evil.
The natives had halted and some had sought safety in flight, but
now the chief issued several orders, and they came on again, more
determined than ever. Soon they divided, and entered the forest to the
north and south of us.
The division gave the first mate a good deal of concern. “It’s a
splendid move--for them,” he muttered. “I reckon they know the woods
like a book, too.”
“Can they have made prisoners of the party who came up here this
morning?” I ventured.
“Sure an’ that’s more than loikely,” put in Matt Gory. “If they catch
us I’m afther thinkin’ we’ll be ristin’ in a circle in the sand, too.
Come on.” And he tried to increase his speed.
But our previous climb had made us tired and soon I became so exhausted
I felt ready to drop. Tom Dawson was puffing painfully, his face the
color of a beet.
“I--I can’t keep it up--no use of tryin’!” he gasped.
“Neither can I,” I returned. “But if we are caught----”
“I don’t believe they will dare do much to us.”
“We must go on!” urged Gory. “Thim haythins--listen to that!”
The Irish sailor broke off short, as a cry from the beach reached our
ears. A yell followed, and then came several pistol shots.
“The other party has arrived, or is trying to break away,” I burst out.
“Maybe we had better go back.”
“I think so myself,” answered the first mate. “We count three and if
there are three more that will give us six, and six white men ought to
be able to subdue four times that number of such wretches.”
We turned on our tracks, just as a crashing in the brush to our left
came to our ears. Soon we were making for the beach with all of the
strength left to us.
When we came out into the open we found Watt Brown, Vincent, and
Sandram in a hand-to-hand fight with four natives that had been left
to watch the wreck. So far the contest had been an even one, but more
natives were hurrying in the direction, and soon the second mate and
his men found themselves surrounded. As I came closer I saw Sandram go
down, a spear through his left shoulder.
“Messmates ahoy!” shouted Matt Gory. “Hould th’ fort until we git
there!” and coming closer, he let fly his club, taking one native in
the head and landing him on the sand with a cracked skull.
In another moment we were all mixed up, and each one fighting along as
he saw best. I was struck twice, once on the head, and this blow dazed
me and made me stagger to the edge of the woods and sink down on a
rock. I tried to get up, but found myself too weak to do so and had to
content myself with taking shots at long range with my revolver, until
a Tagal came up and kicked the weapon from my hand and made me a close
prisoner by binding my arms behind me with twisted vines.
In less than a quarter of an hour the fight was over, and two natives
and poor Sandram lay dead on the beach, while several on both sides
were walking around trying to deaden the pain of wounds which were more
or less serious. An ear-splitting whistle from the chief of the Tagals
had brought twenty or thirty others to the scene, and now our party of
five were all made prisoners, Sandram being cast out into the waves
which lapped the _Dart’s_ sides.
“Here’s a pickle, truly!” growled Tom Dawson. “I wonder what they
intend to do with us?”
“Mebbe they’ll eat us, hang ’em!” answered Watt Brown.
“No, they are no longer cannibals,” put in Vincent. “But you can make
up your minds that we won’t sleep on a bed of roses to-night.”
“They have no right to make us prisoners,” went on the first mate. “I
wonder if there is any Spanish officer near here. I know there is one
at Iba.”
“We could find out if only some of them understood English,” said I.
“Let me see. The Spanish name for a Spaniard is _Un Español_. I’ll try
them on that.”
Walking up to the chief, I repeated the words, “_Un Español_,” several
times. At this he gave a sickly grin, then shook his head decidedly.
“If he knows any Spaniard in authority here he is not going to take us
to him,” was Tom Dawson’s comment. “My private opinion is that they
know perfectly well that this ship belongs to us, but they mean to keep
the prize for themselves, and rather than have any trouble with the
Spanish authorities about her, they’ll put us all out of the way.”
“That’s not unlikely,” added Watt Brown. “You must remember that all
of the people in this part of the world used to be nateral-born
pirates--those with Malay blood especially.”
“I don’t believe in giving up the ship, not if it can be helped,” said
I.
“Neither do I!” answered Tom Dawson, and the others nodded in agreement.
“The only question is,” continued Watt Brown, “now that we abandoned
the _Dart_, doesn’t she belong to whoever finds her?”
“What can these nagers do wid a ship like her?” burst out Matt Gory.
“Sure an’ they wouldn’t know how to manage her, even if they sthopped
up the lake in her bow!”
At this point the chief of the natives came forward and motioned for
us to be silent, and when Gory attempted to go on, slapped the Irish
sailor on the cheek. Gory was “boiling mad,” as the saying goes,
but could do nothing with his hands bound behind him; and so the
conversation had to be dropped.
The _Dart_ had stranded at the mouth of a fair-sized stream flowing
into the ocean, or to be more correct, the China Sea, and lay secure
from any ordinary storm which might come up. I wondered how she had
gotten in past the breakers so well, and so did Tom Dawson, as he told
me later. It was easily explained when we learned the truth, which now
was not long in being revealed.
We had been joined in pairs and were now made to march away from the
seacoast and toward the native village of Bumwoga, a collection of
ramshackle bamboo huts, the same we had seen from the top of the hill
at the time the _Dart_ was located. We were in the custody of one-half
of the chief’s guard, the other natives moving off for the vessel, to
loot her of whatever came handy.
At the village we met the first Tagal women, creatures by no means
bad-looking. They were almost as simply dressed as their husbands and
brothers. There were also a great number of little children, who stared
at us with eyes as big as moons and then dove into the huts out of
sight, fearful that the _nooga-nu_, or bogie-men, had come to carry
them away.
The sun still beat down fiercely, and by the time the center of the
village was gained I was ready to drop from exhaustion. Indeed, I did
stagger. Seeing this, Tom Dawson, who had been bound to me, braced me
up, and then we sank on a grassy mound close to a tall mahogany tree.
As we remained quiet, no one, for the time being, disturbed us.
The village of Bumwoga was certainly a curious-looking place, and under
other circumstances I would have viewed all that it contained with
much interest. But just now my interest was centered in myself and my
companions, and I constantly speculated upon the fate which awaited us.
We had been in the village about an hour, and the chief was in earnest
conversation with his followers, when there came several pistol shots
from the direction of the seacoast. “Captain Kenny and the others have
come up,” murmured Tom Dawson. “I hope the natives get the worst of
it.” He was right, the captain had come up, but the natives overcame
him by sheer force of numbers, and he and his men, including the
Chinese cook, were bound and placed on the _Dart_. What this turn of
affairs led to we will see in the later chapters of my tale.
CHAPTER IX.
THE FLIGHT FROM BUMWOGA.
“This is slow, lad.”
“It is trying, Dawson. I wonder how long they expect to keep us here?”
“I’m sure I can’t guess, lad,--perhaps until we die of old age.”
“And what do you suppose they have done with the others?”
“Can’t say as to that either--maybe killed ’em all off and stewed ’em
in the pot,” and with a voluminous sigh the first mate of the _Dart_
turned over and fell into a light doze.
Dawson and I had been confined in one of the bamboo huts. We were tied
fast to a thin palm tree, the top of which waved far above the hut
roof. The place was about twelve feet square and was open at two sides.
The floor was covered with broken palm leaves and refuse of all sorts,
and the whole place was vile-smelling and alive with vermin.
We had been prisoners in the village for three days, and the time
seemed like so many years. Twice a day an ugly old negro woman came in
to give us meals of rice cakes, fish, and native fruits, and to leave
us an earthen jug full of brackish water.
“This is a good place to catch a fever,” I had said to Dawson, the day
before, and since that time he had declared that the fever was slowly
but surely getting into his system.
I had tried to talk to the old woman and to several of the natives that
had dropped in upon us out of curiosity, but nobody understood me and
none were able or willing to give us aid.
The night to follow brought on a heavy storm, almost as severe as that
which had caused us to abandon our ship. About half the men of Bumwoga
were away and the remainder, with the women and children, huddled in
the huts to escape the fury of the elements. The rain came down “by the
bucketful,” and soon the single street of the village was six inches
deep with water, which flowed around the spot where Tom Dawson and I
were held close prisoners.
“If this keeps on, we’ll be drowned,” I remarked dismally. “One thing
is certain, if we want to catch any sleep to-night we’ll have to do it
standing up.”
“Who could sleep with such a racket!” growled Dawson. “Why, just listen
to that!”
“That” was a fearful crack of thunder, which rolled and roared among
the hills and mountains to the east and north of the village. The
thunder was followed by another downpour, and outside all remained
pitch-black.
“I’ll tell you what, Dawson!” I cried, after a pause, for the crash had
taken away my breath. “If we want to get away, to-night is the time to
do it!”
“That’s true, Oliver. But how are we to manage the trick? I’ve turned
and twisted until my wrists are so sore they are ready to run blood.
This vine-rope is as tough as a steel cable.”
“I think I see a way,” I answered. “I was afraid somebody would spot
us if I mentioned it before. When the old woman brought us in that
shell-fish this afternoon, I managed to save a bit of shell and hide it
in my pocket. The edge is sharp, and by sawing on the vines I think I
can cut them. The question is, can we escape even after the vines are
cut? I rather think we’ll run the risk of our lives.”
“Let us try it anyway, lad; anything is better than staying here,” said
Dawson.
I immediately produced the bit of shell and set to work. I could not
reach my own bonds very well, but I could reach those of my companion,
and after fifteen minutes of hard labor, the first mate was liberated.
Then he took the shell and began upon my wrists.
The storm kept up, and of a sudden came a blinding flash of lightning
and an electrical shock that pitched Dawson headlong. The top of the
palm tree had been hit and knocked off, leaving the stump above the hut
burning like a gigantic torch.
I was too dazed for several minutes to speak or move, and my companion
was scarcely less affected. Then, however, Dawson leaped up to finish
his work.
“Free!” I cried, as the vines snapped asunder, and hand in hand we ran
for one of the hut openings. A dozen feet away lay the top of the palm
tree, blazing furiously and spluttering in the never-ending downpour.
By this uncertain light we saw that the village street was deserted.
Where to go? was now the burning question. I looked at the first mate
and he looked at me. Both of us realized only too well what a false
move might mean.
“That’s south--the way we want to go,” he said, throwing out his hand.
“Come on,” and off we set, among the huts and across a patch of low
brush. We were less than a hundred yards off when a savage yell told us
that our escape had been discovered.
“We’ve got to leg it now, my boy!” ejaculated Tom Dawson. “Oh, if only
I had that pistol of mine!”
“And if I only had mine too,” I added. All of our belongings,
excepting our clothing, had been confiscated.
At the further side of the brush we came to a small stream, which we
plunged into ere we had time to draw back.
“Look out, it may be over your head!” shouted Dawson; but the warning
was not needed, as the watercourse proved to be less than a yard deep
at any point. The bottom was of sand and small stones, and both sides
were overhung with brush, moss, and the ever-present vines.
“Hold on,” whispered my companion, as I was about to step out of the
stream. “It may be safer here than anywhere, for water leaves no trail.
Let us keep to the middle of the stream and see where it brings us.”
I thought this was good advice, and we hurried on in silence, but both
on guard for fear of plunging into some deep hole. A hundred feet were
covered and we heard the shout again, but this time closer, showing
that the Tagals were indeed on the trail.
“If it comes to the worst we can sit down in the water and only keep
our mouths and noses out,” remarked Dawson. “I’m not going to be
captured again if I can prevent it--no, sirree!”
We moved along with added caution, for we could now hear the natives
shouting one to another from several different points. The storm still
continued, and both of us were wet to the skin, so a slip to the bottom
of the shallow river would have proved no hardship.
“Stop!” The command came in a soft whisper, and instantly I halted.
Both of us listened intently, and I heard what had caused Dawson to
stop me--a splashing of water ahead.
“Somebody is moving around ahead of us!” he whispered into my ear.
“Those Tagals are regular imps for following a fellow!”
“Their one study is bush and forest life,” I answered. “But what shall
we do--leave the stream?”
“Let us wait a moment and listen.”
We did so, and the splashing came nearer. But now it did not sound
altogether like footsteps, and I told the first mate so.
“I agree with you,” he said. “But it’s something, that’s certain, a
wild beast, or--Great Scott! lad, make for the bank--quick!”
Tom Dawson caught me by the arm and made a furious leap, and I
followed. Both of us floundered down, but were up in a trice, and none
too soon, for even in the gloom we presently beheld the ugly head of a
cayman stuck up close to the river bank.
“An alligator!” I screamed, and ran still further away. Dawson did not
hesitate to follow me, and at the same time screamed as loudly as I
did. Then of a sudden he paused, screamed again and gave a sudden loud
moan and shriek as if in mortal agony.
“Now, don’t make a sound,” he whispered, as the shriek came to an end.
“Ten to one those natives will think the alligators have eaten us.”
“I hope they do,” I answered, understanding his ruse and delighted with
it. “But which way now?”
“We seem to be moving up a hill. Let us keep on until the top is
gained. I am sure that will take us away from the village, and that is
what we want.”
On and on we went, the wet brush slashing in our faces. Often we sank
into muddy holes up to our knees, but each time one would help the
other out. Whenever a flash of lightning lit up the firmament we tried
to look about us, but the forest cut off the view.
“I can’t go much further,” I gasped, at last, when Dawson announced
a big cliff ahead. “We ought to find some sort of shelter there,” he
said, and he was not mistaken. Under a portion of the cliff was a
cave-like opening several yards in depth, and into this we crowded, out
of the fury of the storm. We listened intently, but for the balance of
that night saw or heard no more of the Tagals.
CHAPTER X.
THE BATTLE AT A DISTANCE.
Morning dawned as mornings do in the tropics. There is no gradual
coming on of daylight. The sun came up in all of its fiery splendor,
and day was at hand, hot, oppressive, and enervating. To look around
one would have thought that it had not rained for a week, yet there was
a steam in the air--a steam that by noon gave place to a peculiar vapor
laden with that smell which, once experienced, is not easily forgotten,
the smell of rank vegetation mingled with the delicious odor of spices.
“And how do you feel, Oliver?” asked the first mate, as I sat up and
rubbed my eyes. “Perhaps you forget where you are?”
“No, I don’t forget, but I am tremendously sleepy yet,” I answered, as
I stretched myself. “What time is it, do you think?”
“Not seven yet.”
“Then I haven’t slept very long, after all. I thought by the light it
must be close upon noon.” I paused. “I wish I had something to eat.”
“So do I, lad; but we’ll have to stay our stomachs until we are further
away from those Tagals, I’m thinking. I’ve been looking around and I
don’t think the top of this hill is far off. Let us get to there and
take in the lay of the land.”
As there seemed nothing better to do, I agreed, and we began the
ascent of the cliff, which was composed of lava principally, for the
Philippine Islands are largely of volcanic origin, and have numerous
volcanoes which are in constant operation. The cliff passed, we began
another trudge through the woods.
I had noticed butterflies, small and big, before, but now these
beautiful creatures became more plentiful than ever, until at one point
our way was almost blinded by them.
“It’s like a snow-storm of ’em, aint it?” remarked Dawson, and his
picture was about correct, excepting that, while a portion of them were
milky white, the others were of every shade imaginable.
We had hoped to gain the top of the hill by ten o’clock, but it was
afternoon before we came out on the stretch of tableland that was its
highest point. As before, the tableland was surrounded by palms, so
both Dawson and I had to climb into the trees to get a look around.
We first turned our eyes toward the China Sea, which rolled and
glistened like molten gold in the bright sunlight. Far away two sails
were visible, mere specks upon the horizon. At the beach the breakers
rolled and broke, sending the white spume almost up to the roots of the
palms that fringed the sand. From the point we occupied the mouth of
the river where the _Dart_ lay was concealed from view.
“Nothing of interest in that direction,” observed Dawson, and turned
carefully to take a look inland. Soon he uttered a cry of astonishment.
“What do you see?” I queried.
“What do I see?” he repeated. “Hang me if I don’t see about the biggest
battle on record!”
“A battle?” I cried, and turned among the branches to get a view myself.
“Yes, a battle. Don’t you hear the guns?”
I listened, and sure enough from a great distance I heard the crack and
roll of musketry. At first I could not locate the sounds, but presently
saw the thin white smoke ascending from a valley far to our east, a
valley hedged in between two tall mountains.
“Can you make out who is fighting?” I asked, straining my eyes to the
utmost.
“It looks to me like soldiers on one side and natives on the other,”
answered the first mate. “The soldiers are driving the other fellows
up the valley. There must be about five hundred men fighting on each
side.”
“Can the Tagals be waging war on the Spaniards?”
“I reckon they are rebels under General Aguinaldo, who has been their
acknowledged leader for over a year.”
“And do they expect to win their freedom?”
“I suppose so, although, even if they do throw off the yoke of Spain, I
don’t believe they are capable of governing themselves.”
“They certainly are not, if they are all like the fellows who made us
prisoners.”
“Oh, the better class of Tagals are not like these, lad. Why, I’ve been
told that, in Manila, some of them are quite ladies and gentlemen. They
can read and write, and affect the Spanish fashions.”
The tide of battle had now swept up the valley, and we heard and saw
nothing more of the contest. We gave the surroundings another good
look, and then descended to mother earth.
“I’ve got an idea,” said Dawson. “If we can find one of the small
boats, why not stock her up with provisions and water and then sail
down the coast to the nearest seaport settlement to Manila--say Port
Subig? That will save us a tedious and perhaps dangerous trip overland.”
“That’s a good idea, especially as we don’t want to get mixed up in
this fight between the insurgents and the Spanish. But what of the
_Dart_ and our things on board of her?”
“Ten to one the natives have already looted the ship, Oliver. As it is,
we can do nothing but notify those in Manila who were interested in her
cargo. Perhaps they’ll help us in the matter, for their own sakes.”
“And what of the others who were made prisoners?”
“Alone and without weapons what can we do for them? If we can organize
a party in Manila to come here and straighten out matters we’ll be
doing well.”
Both of us were tremendously hungry, and now we cast about for
something to eat. But little could be found on the hill outside of a
few cocoanuts, and soon we were on our way to the seacoast, taking care
to give the Tagal settlement a wide berth.
We had just stepped out upon the sand when we saw a figure clad in a
flowing frock coming toward us at top speed.
“Ah Sid, as I’m a sinner!” burst out Tom Dawson, as he recognized the
Chinese cook of the _Dart_. “Hi! hi! where are you running to?” he
called out.
At the sound of the first mate’s voice the little Chinaman came to a
dead halt. “Who callee?” he yelled. “Who callee Ah Sid?”
“I called you, you monkey. Come here,” answered Dawson, and now Ah Sid
saw us and reached our side on the double-quick.
“Me gittee away flom bad man,” he puffed. “Hide in tree woods, or him
cochee all flee--lun! lun!” And he lost no time in diving into the
forest, and we came after him.
We had scarcely concealed ourselves when two Tagals burst into view,
skipping along the sands with long spears in their hands, ready to be
launched forth at the first sight of the terror-stricken Celestial.
Ah Sid’s footprints were plainly visible, so they lost no time in
following him into the forest.
“We must down them!” whispered Dawson excitedly, and as one of the
Tagals passed him he leaped out, caught hold of the man’s spear,
and threw him headlong. Seeing this, I threw myself on the second
copper-colored rascal, and a fierce, all-around struggle ensued.
It was little Ah Sid who turned the tide of battle in our favor.
Paralyzed at first with fear, he quickly recovered, and picking up a
big stone, approached and struck first one enemy and then the other on
the head. The blows were well directed and heavy, and each Tagal went
down insensible.
“Good for you, Ah Sid!” cried Tom Dawson. “You can fight, even if you
are a heathen.”
“Shall me finish um?” asked the cook, as he still held the stone which
had done such good work.
“No, no, that would be murder!” I ejaculated in horror. “They are both
pretty badly done for and won’t get over this for an hour or more. Come
on, unless there are more coming.”
“Only dese two, Mlister Raymond. Where you goee?”
“We thought we might find one of the small boats,” answered the mate.
“Little boatee dlis way.” Ah Sid pointed down the beach. “Hurry if
wantee him, or bad man git um.”
Away we went, the Chinaman leading the party. As he ran he managed to
tell us that he had escaped from the Tagals two days before, but had
been unable to get away from the territory. “Watt Brown, Matt Gory, and
um captain gittee away, too,” he concluded. “No knowee where them goee
dough.”
It did not take long to reach the small boat, which lay in the cove
where we had originally landed. The second small boat was gone, the
natives having carried it off.
“Now for a stock of provisions,” I said. “We will have to thresh
around the woods at a lively rate, if we want to get away before night.”
“We won’t hunt for any more than we actually need,” answered Tom
Dawson. “And Ah Sid will help us, I know,” and he explained to the cook
what we proposed to do.
“Me catchee blirds very soon,” answered Ah Sid, and procured a long,
thin switch. With this he entered the forest, and soon brought down
several birds, including three pigeons. He would stir them up from the
grass, and a lightning-like crack of the switch would finish them.
“Hold hard!” cried Tom Dawson, while we were in the midst of our
labors. “Hold hard, somebody is coming!”
We instantly became silent and listened. The first mate was right,
three persons were coming through the forest, and they were heading
directly for the spot where the boat lay.
CHAPTER XI.
OFF FOR SUBIG BAY.
Slowly the footsteps came closer, as though the three persons were
approaching with extreme caution.
“Perhaps they heard us,” I whispered to Tom Dawson, and he nodded. “If
they are natives what shall we do?”
“We’ll have to trust to luck, lad. I would rather fight to the end than
become a prisoner again.”
“So will I fight.”
I had a club which I had been using in knocking over game, and this I
held ready for any emergency which might present itself. Slowly the
three newcomers came closer, then stopped short, and we heard not
another sound.
I must confess that my heart leaped into my throat, as I had a mental
vision of a tall Tagal sneaking up behind me and running me through
with his cruel spear. Were the newcomers trying to surround us?
Five minutes passed,--it was more than an age to me,--and still the
silence continued, broken only by the birds as they fluttered from
tree to brush. From a distance came the incessant hum of millions of
tropical insects, but to this sound I had long since become accustomed.
“Begorra, Oi don’t see nothin at all, at all!” came in a rich Irish
voice not a dozen yards away from me. “If they be haythins, where are
they?”
“Matt Gory!” I burst out. “Matt Gory, is that you?”
“The saints be praised, it’s Oliver Raymond!” came from the delighted
Irishman, and now he rushed forward and literally embraced me. “I was
afther thinkin’ ye was one av thim villainous Tagals!”
Gory was followed by Watt Brown and Captain Kenny. The second mate was
also delighted to see me. Captain Kenny, however, merely scowled, and
then turned to Dawson and Ah Sid.
Our various stories were soon told, and we learned that the newcomers
had also intended to hunt up a small boat. “I intended to cut down a
sapling and hoist some kind of a sail,” said Watt Brown. “Sailing down
to Subig Bay will be far better than to make the journey overland,
especially during these trying times.”
Watt Brown had had one advantage over us. He had met a Spaniard who
could speak a little English, and from this man had learned a good
deal that was decidedly interesting.
“The natives have made war on the Spaniards tooth and nail,” he said.
“Not only the neighborhood around Manila, but the whole of the island
of Luzon is up in arms. General Aguinaldo had under him something like
forty to fifty thousand Tagals, Philippine Spaniards, and others,
and they have declared for independence. They swear they will pay no
further taxes to the Spanish.”
“But all people have to pay taxes,” I ventured.
“Yes, but not as the Filipinos do, my boy. They are taxed for about
everything they eat and everything they drink, and they pay a tax for
doing business. They can’t cut down a tree, or shear a sheep, or pull
down cocoanuts without paying a tax to the government. Besides this,
they have also to pay large sums of money to the Church, and so they
are kept poverty-stricken from year to year. I don’t blame ’em for
revolting, as it is called.”
“Spain is having her hands full just now,” remarked Tom Dawson. “The
war in Cuba is ten times worse than the war here, I’m thinking.”
“That Spaniard I met was very angry against us Americans,” resumed Watt
Brown. “He said Americans are aiding the Cubans, and if we didn’t look
out Spain would punish us for it.”
This caused Dawson to laugh. “Ha! ha! The idea of Spain doing anything
to Uncle Sam,” he said. “I reckon we can take care of ourselves, every
trip.”
How right he was later events proved.
As there were now six of us, we worked with more confidence. Each of us
had a good club, and we provided ourselves with stones that were jagged
of edge, to use in case of sudden attack. Ah Sid also made himself a
sling shot out of a pliable tree branch and showed us what he could do
with this weapon by bringing down a pigeon with a stone at a distance
of fifty yards.
It was nearly nightfall by the time we had brought in our birds,
pigeons, and fish and cooked them. In the meantime Watt Brown had been
as good as his word and had rigged up a small mast and a sail on the
_Mollie_, as he had dubbed the craft. The sky was clear and it promised
to be moonlight, and we decided to leave the coast as soon as we had
eaten supper, which would be our last meal on shore for probably three
or four days, if not a week.
“We must keep our eyes peeled for those Tagals,” remarked Tom Dawson,
as we squatted around the camp-fire. “If we don’t they may surprise us,
and then our cake will be dough.”
The _Mollie_ lay ready for shoving off, so we could leave at the first
sign of danger. As we ate we discussed the situation and what the
future was likely to bring forth.
“I shall demand that the Spanish government give me protection to take
the _Dart_ into a proper harbor,” said Captain Kenny, who was now,
perforce, perfectly sober. “Those Tagals have no legal claim to the
wreck.”
“But they must have some claim,” I answered.
“No claim whatever--and I can prove it,” returned the captain, as he
glared at me.
“How can you prove that, captain?” asked Tom Dawson. “Every man of us
left her--there is no gainsaying that.”
“Never mind; I can prove they have no claim upon her,” was the
captain’s answer, but further than that he would not say.
Our supper was scarcely concluded when the moon came up over the rim of
the sea, as white as new silver. We began our preparations to embark
without further delay. As we worked I saw Captain Kenny eye me in a
strange manner that gave me a cold chill, and I resolved to be more
than ever on my guard against him.
Our provisions and ourselves made as much of a load as the _Mollie_
could safely carry, and at the last moment some cocoanuts had to be
left behind. Water was stored away in the bucket which had been used
for bailing out the craft and in hollow stalks of bamboo, the latter
making first-class receptacles. The cooked things were wrapped in palm
leaves and covered with damp seaweed.
The captain, the two mates, and Matt Gory took the oars, and a few
well-directed strokes took the _Mollie_ out of the cove and well on
toward the opening in the line of breakers. “We’ll have to row and
watch out, too, since the boy can’t do anything,” grumbled Captain
Kenny. I firmly believe, had he had his way, he would have left me
behind.
“Watch for the opening, Oliver,” said Tom Dawson. “You can do that as
well as anyone.” I did as directed, and before long the dangerous line
of coral was passed and we were riding the long stretches of the China
Sea as safely as though crossing the Bay of San Francisco.
Fortunately, not only Captain Kenny, but also Dawson and Brown, could
read the stars with ease, so but little trouble was experienced in
holding to a course which was certain to bring us down to Subig Bay
sooner or later. The wind was favorable, and the sail being hoisted the
oars were shipped, and we took it easy under the pale gleaming of the
Southern Cross.
“We may as well divide up into watches,” suggested Tom Dawson, and
after some talk it was decided that he, Matt Gory, and myself should
stand the first watch of four hours, while the captain, Watt Brown, and
Ah Sid took the second watch of equal length.
In this manner the night passed without incident, for when I slept I
did so between my two friends, so I was safe from any evil designs that
Captain Kenny might have upon me, even had he dared to carry them out
while the second mate was on watch with him.
Sunrise found us still in sight of land, at a point where the mountains
of Luzon ran directly down into the sea. The air was filled with a
bluish mist, and by ten o’clock was oppressive to the last degree.
“It’s a good thing we have the sail,” I remarked. “Nobody could
possibly row in this awful heat.”
“The sail may not do us any good presently,” answered Watt Brown.
“Why not?”
“Don’t you see how the wind is dying down?”
The second mate was right, and presently the sail flapped idly against
the stumpy mast. Tom Dawson looked at the oars, picked up one of the
blades, let it fall again, and shook his head. “Too blasted hot, no use
of talking.”
“I think I would rather lay under the shadow of yonder mountain than
out here all day,” said Brown. “What do you say, boys; shall we pull
for the shore?”
A vote was taken, and it was found that even Captain Kenny preferred
land to that boiling and sizzling sea. But he declined to row. “Let the
boy take a hand,” he said.
I was willing, and I think I can safely say that I made fairly good
progress. “I can run an engine or a steam launch, but I never had much
of a chance at a row- or sail-boat,” I explained.
“By the way, what is taking you to Manila, if I may ask?” questioned
the second mate curiously.
“It’s partly business and partly pleasure. You know my father is a
member of the firm of Raymond, Holbrook & Smith, manufacturers of
engines and sugar-making machinery. I wanted a vacation and was sent to
Hong Kong and Manila, to get the fresh air and learn the business at
the same time.”
“You say you can run an engine?”
“Oh, yes, I can run almost anything that goes by steam,” I laughed. “I
take to it naturally, although I don’t intend to become an engineer.
Now if the _Dart_ had only carried a steam or naphtha launch, we would
have been all right,” and here this talk came to an end.
Finding a landing at the mountain side was not easy, for the waves ran
up strongly against those rocks, which, in some places, were a hundred
feet in height. But we discovered a small canyon, or split, and ran
into this, a delightful locality, as shady as it was cool and inviting.
Again the boat was beached, and we hopped ashore, I, however, never
dreaming that that was to be my last trip in the little craft.
CHAPTER XII.
ATTACKED IN THE CANYON.
A good sleep during the night had rested me thoroughly; so, while the
others sat around, talking or smoking “home-made” cigars, made out of
some native tobacco which Matt Gory had secured during his wanderings,
I started up the canyon on a short tour of exploration.
“I’ve heard that there is gold on this island,” I laughed, when Tom
Dawson asked me where I was bound. “I’m going to strike a bonanza.”
“Look out that you don’t stir up some wild animal big enough to chew
you up,” he yelled after me.
The canyon was filled with brushwood and vines, with here and there
heavy clusters of tropical flowers, so odoriferous that they were
positively sickening. Some of these flowers, I afterward learned, can
readily put one to sleep if you sit by them long enough.
I found an easy path to the top of the canyon, at a point where the
walls were fifty to sixty feet high and three times as far apart. At
the top was a patch of smooth ground, back of which began the upward
slope of the mountain.
I kept my eyes open for wild animals, but nothing of size presented
itself, although I detected something moving near the mountain top,
probably some Philippine goats. There were countless birds, and in a
dark corner of the canyon I roused up half a dozen bats, none of which,
however, offered to molest me.
Coming to a truly beautiful spot, where a tiny mountain stream formed
a waterfall that leaped and danced in the sunshine striking through
some flowered brushwood, I threw myself down and gave myself up to
reflection.
What a variety of adventures had I passed through since leaving home!
In Hong Kong the days had not passed without incident, and now here I
was, cast away on the island of Luzon, minus my money and the documents
I had been intrusted to deliver, and in a land that was practically in
a state of war.
And yet I knew absolutely nothing of the important events which were
transpiring in what might be called the outer world. I did not know
that the war between Spain and the inhabitants of Cuba had reached
its height and that the relations between Spain and the United States
had culminated in the total destruction of the battleship _Maine_ in
Havana harbor, and that we were on the verge of war with the Spaniards
in consequence. Nor did I know how my father was suffering in Cuban
wilds, as related in “When Santiago Fell.” Perhaps it is a good thing
that I did not know about my parent’s condition, for I would have
worried a good deal, and worrying would have done no good.
From day-dreaming over the present I began to speculate on the past,
on my schoolboy days, and on the great interest I had taken for
several years in steam engines, machinery of all sorts, and in big
guns. Guns, such as were used in the forts on our Pacific seacoast,
had particularly interested me, and I had studied them in all of their
details, never once dreaming how useful this knowledge was to be to me.
From day-dreaming I fell into a light doze, from which I awoke with a
start to find the form of a man leaning over me. The man had clutched
my arm and this had aroused me. One glance showed that the man was
Captain Kenny.
“Now I’ve got the chance I’ll serve you as I served Holbrook!” he
hissed into my ear, and hurled me over the edge of the canyon down to
where the mountain torrent struck the rocks far below.
“Don’t!” I managed to gasp; but that was all. I felt myself dropping
through space, made a vain clutch at some brush which scraped my
cheek, and then struck heavily on the rocks--and knew no more. When I
recovered my senses it was pitch-dark around me and a light rain was
falling. At first I could not collect myself and did not attempt to
stir. Where was I, and what had happened?
The flowing of water over one arm aroused me, and, making examination,
I found that I was lying half in and half out of the mountain torrent.
Had I fallen into a little different position I must surely have
drowned. As a matter of fact my hair showed that I had fallen head
first into the water, but had by some unconscious movement saved myself
from a watery grave.
It was fully a quarter of an hour before I felt able to sit up, much
less stand on my feet. I ached in every joint, and my head was in such
a whirl that I could scarcely see.
“Oh, what a villain Captain Kenny is!” were the first words that
crossed my lips. “I’ll get square with him as soon as I can join the
others again!” Alas! little did I then realize that my companions had
hunted for me in vain, and that a band of Tagals had made it necessary
for them to set off in their boat without me, taking with them the
guilty captain, who had never opened his lips concerning his perfidy.
By the darkness I knew it was night, but what part of the night I could
not determine. Yet I thought it could not be late, and that I must try
to get back to the shore, no matter how much pain it cost me.
I arose to my feet to make a disheartening discovery. My left ankle
was badly wrenched and much swollen, and to walk on it was out of the
question. Here was a new difficulty, and I must confess that I could
scarcely hold back the tears as I felt my helplessness. Perhaps this
may seem childish to some of my readers, but they must remember that it
is no fun to be cast away in a savage land, away from your friends, and
in the condition in which I found myself.
Not without considerable pain and exertion, I dragged myself to a place
of shelter beneath the overhanging rocks of the canyon. Here it was
dry, and the winds had swept in a quantity of dried leaves which made
a fairly comfortable couch. The exertion necessary to reach this place
caused me to swoon.
When I was again myself, it was daylight, but still raining--a fine
drizzle that was little more than a mist. Looking at my ankle I saw
that the swelling had gone down a bit, and I presently found that I
could stand upon it, although the operation was far from a pleasure.
The rain had collected in a hollow close at hand, and here I got a
drink and bathed my bruised head and lower extremity. I might have
eaten some light food, but nothing was at hand, excepting some berries
which were strange to me, and which I did not dare to touch for fear
they might prove poisonous.
Slowly the hours came and went and still I remained under the cliff, a
prey to many disturbing thoughts. What were my companions doing? Would
they come up the canyon in search of me, or would they sail off and
leave me to my fate?
Toward nightfall several shots in the distance disturbed me. They
did not come from the shore, but from still further up the canyon. I
listened intently, but nothing but silence succeeded the discharge of
firearms.
The night which followed proved a long one. For several hours I could
not get to sleep for thinking of my position, but finally I fell into a
deep slumber that lasted far into the next day.
The sun was now shining brightly and the birds and insects had again
taken up their songs and hummings. I arose and stretched myself, and
was pleased to note that I could walk fairly well and that my brain was
clear, even though my head still felt sore.
I directed my footsteps down the canyon to the seashore, coming out
at the spot where I had left Dawson and the others encamped. Nothing
remained but the charred embers of a camp-fire, which had been built to
cook some fish.
I say nothing remained. There was something else there that filled me
with horror. It was a long Tagal spear, and its barb was covered with
blood. The sands were filled with countless tracks of bare feet.
“There has been a fight here,” I murmured, and ran to the water’s edge.
The _Mollie_ was gone, but whether taken by friends or the enemy there
was no telling.
For a long while I stood on the sands speculating upon the new turn of
affairs. I was now left utterly alone, that was clear. What should I do?
Without a boat a journey by water was out of the question. If I tried
to gain Manila by a trip overland I felt that I would either become
lost in the mountains or else fall into the hands of the warlike Tagals.
“I’ll follow the shore to Subig Bay,” I concluded, and in an hour was
on my slow and painful way, after a morning meal of half-ripe plantains
which were far from palatable.
By noon I concluded that I had covered four or five miles, having had
considerable difficulty in getting past the mountain which cut off the
beach for the space of two or three furlongs. It was now growing so hot
I was compelled to seek shelter in the forest, and here put in the time
by bringing down half a dozen birds, which afforded me nearly as many
meals.
The next four days were very much alike. I continued on my way, past
Iba and several other settlements. At the place named, I almost ran
into the lines of the native rebels and saw a pitched battle from afar,
in which, as I afterward ascertained, ten insurgents and six Spaniards
were killed and twice that many were wounded.
The end of the fourth day found me at the entrance to Subig Bay, and
here I rested for several hours. Lying on the north shore I saw half a
dozen ships at anchor, one of which, a two-masted schooner, flew the
Stars and Stripes.
“If I can get to that craft I’ll be safe,” I said to myself. “I’ll
watch her and see if anybody comes ashore.”
On the following morning I saw the schooner move slowly for the
entrance to Subig Bay. Running with all speed for the point of land
between the bay and the China Sea, I waved my hands frantically and
was at last gratified to see that somebody on board had noticed me.
Presently the schooner came to anchor again, and a small boat put out
for the beach.
As the boat came closer I uttered a cry of amazement and delight, for
at one of the oars sat a person I had not expected to see for many days
to come. It was Tom Dawson.
CHAPTER XIII.
MY FIRST ADVENTURE IN MANILA.
“Oliver Raymond, is it possible!” exclaimed the first mate of the
_Dart_, as he leaped ashore and almost embraced me.
“Tom Dawson!” I ejaculated, and wrung his hand over and over again.
“And how did you get on that craft out there?”
“It’s a long story, lad. But where have you been these five or six
days? You don’t mean to say you left our party on purpose? Or did those
rascally natives capture you?”
“Neither, Tom. After I left you I walked up the canyon to where there
was a high cliff, and there Captain Kenny tried to do me to death.” I
gave him a few of the particulars. “Where is the captain now? If he’s
on that vessel I’ll soon have him up before the court at the first
civilized seaport comes to hand.”
“I reckon Captain Kenny has got his deserts, Oliver. After you left us
the Tagals made an unexpected attack, and Captain Kenny, Watt Brown,
and Ah Sid were captured, while I and Matt Gory escaped to the boat. We
didn’t make any more landings until we reached this port and rowed to
the _Starlight_.”
“Was Watt Brown killed or injured?”
“He was wounded, but how badly I can’t say. Captain Kenny gave himself
up instead of fighting, and so did that Chinaman.”
“I wish it had been Captain Kenny who had been wounded,” I said bluntly.
“So does somebody else,” went on Dawson, and a smile flitted over his
face. “Come on board, and you’ll find a surprise awaiting you.”
I gladly accepted the offer to come on board of the _Starlight_, which
was seconded by Captain Mason, who was in charge of the jolly-boat. The
row was a short one, and I was just mounting the rope ladder to the
deck when a voice as from the grave hailed me.
“Is it possible that it is you, Oliver?”
“Dan!” I gasped, and stumbled over the rail. “I--I thought you were
dead--drowned!”
The next moment I was in Dan Holbrook’s arms and we were hugging each
other like a couple of schoolgirls, while Tom Dawson and Matt Gory
looked on, well pleased. The Irishman soon after shook hands.
“But, Dan, how came you here?” I questioned, when I could recover from
my amazement. “Weren’t you lost overboard from that small boat?”
“To be sure I was, and I came pretty close to drowning, too,” answered
Dan. “But I floated around and a high wave landed me right back on
board of the _Dart_ and there I remained, satisfied that it was as good
a place as any so long as the schooner floated.”
“And were you on her when the _Dart_ was carried ashore?”
“I was, and what is more I did what I could toward steering her into
the river mouth, where she now lies. The steering gear was all right,
and I thought I might be able to save her from becoming a total wreck.”
“But--but, didn’t Captain Kenny attack you?”
“Did he? Indeed he did and tried to kill me by throwing me into the
sea. But a Tagal saved me and made me a prisoner. I was kept in custody
two days, when the Tagals had a fight with some Spanish soldiers,
and I escaped in the confusion and struck out for Manila. I thought
I was completely lost, when I ran across a scouting party from the
_Starlight_ and was taken on board by them. I had some little tropical
fever, and I’m not very well yet.”
This was the outline of Dan’s story, which he later on told in all of
its details. The story proved two things: that Captain Kenny was even a
worse villain than I had supposed him to be, and that affairs in the
Philippines were more than interesting.
“The excitement at Manila is growing every day,” said the captain of
the _Starlight_. “I feel certain there will be a bloody war there
before many months are over. I don’t see how you can do any business
there at present.”
“I must look to some matters,” I answered, and Dan said the same.
The _Starlight_ was bound for Manila with a mixed cargo consigned to
a Spanish firm, so Captain Mason considered himself fairly safe for
the time being, as the Spaniards were strong in the town and had thus
far kept the insurgents at bay. He readily agreed to take us with him,
knowing the firm to which my father belonged very well.
We soon learned that both Tom Dawson and Matt Gory had shipped
temporarily on the schooner, the captain being somewhat short of hands,
several being sick with scurvy. An hour after I was on board the
_Starlight_ was moving down the coast to Manila Bay, and I was taking
it easy in a hammock, satisfied that, for a few days, at least, my
troubles were at an end.
The run to Manila proved without incident worthy of mention. The
weather was ideal and two days after leaving Subig Bay we sailed past
the grim fortress on Corregidor Island, through the narrow channel
up to the strip of land upon which is built Fort Cavité, and dropped
anchor before Manila proper.
We had hardly taken our place in the shipping before a Spanish revenue
cutter came dashing up, and a dark-skinned Castilian came aboard and
examined our papers and made a tour of inspection about the schooner.
Then we received passes to visit the city.
“Not much of a town,” remarked Dan to me, as he surveyed the long line
of tumble-down wharves which met our eyes, but as we got closer we
beheld a good-sized city back of the wharves.
We had anchored near the mouth of the Pasig River, which divides Manila
into two parts. To the south side of the river is the old town, now
almost abandoned, saving for some Spanish government buildings and the
like.
To the north side of the river are two districts called Binondo and
Tondo, and here is where the business is done and where all of the best
homes and clubs are located.
My father’s firm had its offices on Escolta Street, one of the main
thoroughfares of Manila, and to this we now directed our footsteps.
Our walk took us past many quaint shops, not unlike those I had seen
in Hong Kong and in the Chinatown districts of San Francisco, some
of which were so small that the trading had to be done out on the
sidewalk. Many of the shopkeepers were Spanish, but there were a fair
sprinkling of Germans and Englishmen, intermixed with a large number of
Chinese and Japanese and native Filipinos. At this time the city had a
population of something less than a hundred thousand, and of these less
than five thousand were Europeans and less than five hundred Americans.
The streets were filled with Spanish soldiers who eyed us sharply as we
passed them.
“It doesn’t look peaceful-like, does it?” remarked Dan, as we hurried
along.
“Not much!” I returned. “It looks as if everybody was waiting for
somebody else to knock the chip off of his shoulder, so to speak.”
“If the natives were thoroughly organized in this rebellion they could
wipe the Spaniards out in no time, to my way of thinking,” I said. “I
reckon they don’t know their power.”
“You are right, Oliver, the Tagals can whip the Spaniards, I am sure of
that. And I think they ought to be free.”
“So do I. The islands belong to them.”
“Yes, and----” Dan broke off short. “Hurry up, it looks as if it was
going to rain,” and he caught me by the arm.
I understood perfectly well why he had so quickly changed the
subject. Both of us had noted that a villainous-looking Spaniard was
following us and drinking in every word we said. His face showed that
he understood English and now he clung to us closer than ever, as
we turned a corner and came to the long, low building in which were
situated the offices of Raymond, Holbrook & Smith.
“Dan Holbrook, how do you do!” cried a tall young man as he rushed
forward and caught my companion by the hand. “Why, I thought you had
gone down with the wreck of the _Dart_.”
The clerk of our firm, for such he proved to be, was named Harry
Longley, and I was speedily introduced to him, and both Dan and I
told our stories. Longley had heard of the wrecking of the _Dart_
twenty-four hours before.
“It’s too bad you lost your money and those documents,” he said to
me. “We ought to have those papers, they will settle a case over some
land which has been in litigation here for two years. You see, these
Spaniards are trying to squeeze us out if they possibly can.”
“But what of this rebellion here?” I questioned.
“We haven’t felt much of it so far, but I expect we will before
long. All of our time has been taken up in our difficulties with the
Spaniards, who are trying to force us out of business. They are taxing
us in a way that is outrageous.”
“But where is Mr. Cass?” asked Dan, referring to the manager at Manila.
“He has gone to one of the other islands on business.”
Our talk on business and other matters lasted for fully an hour. My
main concern was for the papers and money left on board of the _Dart_,
but Harry Longley could give me no advice as to how I might get them
back.
“The Spaniards cannot control the natives up the coast,” he said. “And
the only thing I can see is for Captain Kenny to organize a large body
of men and take the vessel away by force.”
At that instant the door to the office opened, and the Spaniard who had
followed us up from the wharf came in, followed by four soldiers.
“There they are,” he said in Spanish, pointing to Dan and me. “Arrest
them as rebel sympathizers!”
And then the four soldiers advanced upon my companion and me to make us
prisoners.
[Illustration: “THERE THEY ARE,” HE SAID IN SPANISH, POINTING TO DAN
AND ME, “ARREST THEM AS REBEL SYMPATHIZERS.”]
CHAPTER XIV.
THE ESCAPE FROM THE PRISON.
“What does this mean?” demanded Dan, who understood what was said, even
though I did not.
“What is up, Dan?” I queried.
“They want to arrest us as rebel sympathizers.”
“Great Caesar’s ghost! Why, we----”
“We talked too much on the street. Don’t you remember?”
By this time the four soldiers had advanced upon us until we were
penned in one corner of the office.
In vain Harry Longley expostulated. The Spanish spy who had followed us
would not listen and demanded our immediate arrest.
I must confess that the sudden turn of affairs confused me. I had yet
to learn the real blessings of “free speech,” as we understand it in
the United States.
“You are in a pickle, truly,” said the clerk. “I hope they can’t prove
anything against you.”
“I suppose we did talk a little too much,” I answered bitterly. “What
will they do with us?”
“They’ll do what they please, from fining you a dollar or two to
shooting you over in the Lunetta,” answered Longley. The Lunetta is a
public park, and here more than one rebel had already been executed.
“Supposing I decline to be arrested?” I went on.
“You’ll run the risk of being shot on the spot.”
By this time two of the soldiers had caught me by the arms. The other
two made Dan their prisoner.
We tried to argue, but all to no purpose, the Spaniard who had made the
charge stating that we could do our talking when brought up before the
court.
“We may as well march along,” said Dan helplessly. “These fellows
evidently mean business.”
“I’m not going to prison if I can help it,” I answered desperately.
“We will see about zat!” cried the Spanish spy. “March, or I order ze
men to shoot!”
“I shall escape the first chance I get,” I whispered to Dan.
“So will I,” answered my companion, and a look passed between us which
each understood thoroughly.
“I’ll help you if I can,” whispered Harry Longley.
He was permitted to say no more, indeed, it was hardly safe to say
anything, the Spanish spy being half of a mind to arrest the clerk, too.
We were marched from the office by a back way and across a narrow
street lined with warehouses. Here we came in contact with a number of
native and Chinese laborers, who eyed us curiously, but said nothing.
As a matter of fact, arrests of foreigners were becoming frequent in
Manila.
Ten minutes of walking brought us to a fine building--at least fine in
comparison to those which surrounded it. This was the jail in which we
were to be confined until brought up for a hearing.
We entered the jail yard through a gate to a tall iron fence. Beyond
was a wide, gloomy corridor, the lower floor of the jail being on a
level with the street. A guard passed us after hearing what the spy had
to say, and we were conducted to a room in the rear.
“What a horrible place,” were my first words to Dan, as I gazed
around at our surroundings. The room was filled with the smoke of
the ever-present cigarette, for it must be remembered that in the
Philippines women as well as men smoke. To this smell of tobacco was
added that of cooking with garlic, for garlic is the one vegetable that
is never missing from the pot.
A dozen prisoners stood and sat around, some in deep anger and others
in sullen silence. One, an Englishman, was nearly crazy.
“Hi’ll show them who Hi am!” he bawled. “Hi’ll sue them for a ’undred
thousand punds damages, so Hi will!”
“What did they arrest you for?” I asked.
“What for? Nothing, young man, absolutely nothing. Hi said it was a
beastly country, not fit for a ’og to live in, and then they collared
me. But Hi’ll show them, blast me hif Hi don’t!” and he began to
pace the floor at a ten-mile-an-hour gait. Soon a guard came in and
threatened him with a club, and he collapsed in a corner.
There were no seats vacant, and Dan and I took up our places near
a window, which was barred with half a dozen rusty-looking iron
sticks set in mortar which was decidedly crumbly. As we stood there I
tried one of the bars and found I could wrench it loose with ease. I
mentioned the fact to Dan.
“Look out of the window and tell me what you see,” he returned, and I
looked.
“I see a guard at the corner of the jail and another near the fence.”
“Exactly, and both armed with Mauser rifles, eh?”
“They are certainly armed.”
“Then what chance would we stand to escape, even if we pulled those
bars from the window?”
“A good chance--at night, when they couldn’t see us.”
“By Jove, Oliver, that’s an idea worth remembering. But we must be
careful, or----”
Dan did not finish, for he had noticed that a fellow prisoner was
listening intently to all which was said.
“He may not be a prisoner at all,” he said later on. “He may be another
Spanish spy. My idea is that the woods are full of them.”
“I’ve no doubt but that you are right,” I returned.
The day passed slowly and so did that which followed. We had expected
an immediate hearing, but it did not come.
“I don’t like this,” growled my companion. “Every prisoner is entitled
to appear before the court. I shall demand a hearing at once, or appeal
to the American consul for aid.”
Accordingly he notified the jailer that we wanted to see somebody in
authority without delay.
For reply the Spaniard grinned meaningly and shrugged his shoulders.
“Señor must wait,” he said, in broken English. “All de court verra
busy; no can hear you till next week.”
“But I demand a hearing,” insisted Dan. “If I don’t get it I shall
write to our American consul about it.”
“Write to consul, eh? Who carry de lettair, señor? Not me surely,” and
with another grin the jailer walked away and left us to ourselves. We
now realized how it was--we were in the hands of enemies who would do
with us just as they saw fit.
The next day it began to rain and by nightfall it was pouring down
steadily. There was neither thunder nor lightning and the firmament
was, to use an old simile, as black as ink. Supper was served to us at
seven o’clock, a beef, rice, and garlic stew that neither of us could
touch. “I’ll rather starve,” was Dan’s comment.
By ten o’clock the majority of the prisoners were sound asleep, the
Englishman snoring loudly and several others keeping in chorus with
him. “Let them snore,” said I, “it will help drown any noise we may
make.”
Dan and I had secured our places directly beneath the window previously
mentioned, and now, standing on tiptoes, we worked at the bars with an
old fork and a rusty spoon we had managed to secrete from our jailer.
Ten minutes of twisting and turning and I had one iron bar loose, and
using this as a pry we soon forced three others, and then the opening
thus afforded was large enough to admit the passage of a man’s body.
“Now out we go!” I whispered. “I’ll drop first and, if the coast is
clear, I’ll whisper to you and you come, but wake the others first, so
that they can have a chance to escape. The more get away the better it
will be for us to escape recapture.”
I leaped to the window sill, turned and dropped outside. All was
deserted around the window and I gave a soft whistle. Instantly Dan
followed me, after kicking half a dozen in their sides to wake them up.
“Out of the window, all of you!” I heard him cry, and then he landed
beside me, and both of us ran for the high iron fence I have previously
described.
“_Halte!_” came the sudden command, in Spanish, and from out of the
gloom emerged a guard, with pointed gun. He must have seen Dan, for he
ran full tilt at my companion.
Seeing this I made a circle and came up in his rear. With a quick
leap I was on him, placed my hands over his mouth and bore him to the
ground. Then Dan leaped in and we tore his gun from his grasp.
“Silence, on your life!” said Dan, and the fellow must have understood,
for he did not utter a sound. Then we continued to the fence, and, not
without some trouble, leaped over.
By this time the alarm had broken out in the jail and several lights
flared up. The other prisoners must have tried to escape, for we heard
a wild yelling and half a dozen shots. The latter aroused the entire
neighborhood, and citizens and soldiers came running in from all
directions.
“We’ve got to leg it now!” I cried. “Come, on, Dan.”
“But in what direction?” he gasped, for climbing the tall fence had
deprived him of his wind.
“Any direction is better than staying here. Come,” and I caught him by
the hand. By this time we heard several soldiers making after us, and
away we went at the best speed at our command.
CHAPTER XV.
BACK TO HONG KONG.
The main streets of Manila are but few in number. There are two
devoted largely to business, and three or four that have some handsome
residences and public buildings upon them. But all of the other
highways, so-styled, are simply what in a United States city would be
styled alleyways, the sidewalks being but two or three feet wide and
the wagon way just about broad enough for two hand carts to pass each
other. On each side, the ramshackle dwellings project over the walks,
cutting off light and air that are absolutely essential to health and
cleanliness.
Dan and I had to cross one of the main streets, but this passed, we
lost no time in diving into an alleyway that was as dark as Erebus. On
and on we went until we brought up plump against the broadside of a
warehouse.
“We can’t go any further,” I exclaimed.
“Can it be possible that we’ve got into a blind pocket?” queried Dan.
“Come over here.”
I did as requested, and soon learned that we had indeed entered what
the French call a _cul-de-sac_. On all sides were warehouses, and the
only opening to the narrow highway was that by which we had entered.
“The soldiers are coming!” I whispered, after listening. “Can’t you
hear their footsteps?”
“I can, Oliver. Hang me if I know what to do. I wish I had that gun,”
Dan went on, for he had thrown the Mauser rifle away.
I ran up to the warehouse and felt of the boards. Soon I came to the
casement of an upper doorway, an opening used for hoisting goods in and
out of the warehouse. I snatched at the lower edge, pulled myself up,
and soon stood in the frame, which was five or six inches deep.
“Come up here,” I whispered to Dan, and helped him to a position beside
me. Once we were in the doorway, we pressed as far back as possible and
waited.
Soon three soldiers came up, one carrying a lantern and all armed with
rifles. All talked excitedly in Spanish, but it was in a Luzon dialect
and even Dan could not understand them.
The soldiers searched around the alleyway for fully ten minutes, and
once almost flashed the lantern rays up into our faces. But we remained
undiscovered, and presently they ran out of the _cul-de-sac_, thinking
they had not tracked us aright.
“Gosh, that was a narrow escape!” I murmured, when they had departed.
“Don’t crow, Oliver; we are not yet out of the woods. Those fellows may
be waiting for us up there,” and Dan pointed to the alley’s entrance.
“I wonder what sort of a building this is,” I went on, and turning
around began an examination of the door. Presently my hand touched
a rude wooden latch and the door fell back, sending us flying onto
a floor white with flour and dirty with a dozen other kinds of
merchandise.
Shutting the door behind us, we pushed our way among numerous boxes and
barrels until we came to the front of the warehouse. Here there was a
long, low shed, extending to a dock fronting the Pasig River. The shed
was also filled with merchandise, and at the end of the dock lay half
a dozen lighters such as the Filipinos use in carrying goods from the
river docks to the large vessels lying in Manila harbor.
“We are on the Pasig,” announced Dan. He read the inscriptions on
several of the boxes. “This warehouse belongs to an English firm named
Carley & Stewart, and these goods are consigned by them to Hong Kong,
per steamer _Cardigan_.”
“The _Cardigan_!” I exclaimed. “Why, she sails to-morrow. I saw the
announcement on a card down at the office.”
“If that’s the case it will be a good chance to get back to Hong Kong,
Oliver.”
“I don’t want to go to Hong Kong yet, Dan. I want to get my rights.”
“So do I, but----”
“But what?”
“You know how we fared at the prison. Supposing we are caught again?
That spy will swear we are rebel sympathizers, and then it will go hard
with us, you may be certain of that.”
We talked the matter over for fully an hour, sitting on a couple of
boxes in the long shed. Then both of us grew sleepy and resolved to
remain where we were and let the morrow take care of itself.
At daylight several workmen put in appearance, among them an Englishman
who looked as if he would prove friendly. Watching our opportunity we
called him to one side, and made a clean breast of the situation.
“My advice is to get on board of the _Cardigan_ by all means,” he said.
“Don’t you know that you Americans are going to have a lot of trouble
with these Spaniards now the _Maine_ has been blown up?”
This was the first we had heard of the destruction of the _Maine_, and
we asked him for particulars. The Englishman knew but little, yet he
said that the Americans held to it that the Spaniards had done the
dastardly deed.
“And I shouldn’t wonder but that may mean war for your country,” he
added.
“If war come, Spain will get whipped badly,” returned Dan.
The young Englishman brought us some breakfast, and we at last decided
to go on board of the _Cardigan_. “But don’t tell the captain you
escaped from prison,” he said. “If you do, he won’t dare take you off.
Secure your passages and then turn up missing when the revenue officers
come on board.”
This we considered excellent advice and followed it out. A lighter,
loaded with hemp bales, took us to the steamer, an ocean “tramp” of
2000 tons’ burden, and we lost no time in presenting ourselves to
Captain Montgomery.
“Want passage to Hong Kong, eh?” he said. “Why don’t you go on the
regular mail steamers?”
“We have some private reasons,” answered Dan. “What will the passage
money be?”
Captain Montgomery studied our faces for a moment.
“Aren’t criminals, are you?” he said sharply.
“Do we look like criminals?” I demanded.
“Can’t go by looks nowaday, lad. Last year I had a man beat me out of
twenty pounds and he looked like a parson, he did indeed.”
“We are not criminals,” answered Dan. “We want to get out of Manila for
political reasons, if you must know.”
“Americans, eh?”
“Yes, sir--and not ashamed to own it.”
Captain Montgomery held out his hands.
“I’ll see you through, boys. I’ve got a bit of American blood in me,
too, on my mother’s side. Twelve pounds apiece takes you straight to
our dock in Hong Kong,--and no more questions asked.”
As we were out of funds we had to consider what would be best to
do about paying the twenty-four pounds. I solved the difficulty by
addressing a note to Harry Longley asking an advance of thirty pounds,
to be put in Captain Montgomery’s care. This would leave Dan and me
three pounds each--about fifteen dollars--until we were safe in Hong
Kong once more. The message was carried by an under-officer of the
_Cardigan_, and the money was obtained from our Manila representative
without trouble, Longley being glad to learn of our escape.
The _Cardigan_ was to leave her anchorage in front of Manila at four
o’clock in the afternoon, and an hour before that time hatches were
closed and the Spanish revenue officers came on board for a look
around. There was an Englishman, his wife, and three children on the
deck.
“Who are those?” asked the leading revenue officer.
“They are to be passengers,” answered Captain Montgomery. “Unless you
say they can’t go.”
“Who are they?”
The officer was told and the Englishman was brought up for inspection.
Apparently it was all right, and after a tour of the steamer, the
Spaniards left.
Dan and I had meanwhile waited in the cabin in much anxiety. We
remained below for the balance of the day, and when we came up late in
the evening, the lights of Corregidor Island shone far behind and we
were standing out boldly into the China Sea.
“Good-by to Luzon!” I cried. “My stay on that island was short and
bitter.”
“I wonder if we will ever see the Philippines again?” mused Dan.
“Perhaps so, Dan. I don’t much care. But I would like to get my things
from the _Dart_.”
“So would I, Oliver. But even such a loss is preferable to a long term
spent in a Spanish prison.”
“True, but----” I drew a long breath. “I want to get square with those
Dons, as they call them, and with Captain Kenny.”
The weather was of the finest, and day after day passed quickly, as the
_Cardigan_ skimmed over the sea on her northwest course. As we sat on
the deck in our camp-chairs I wondered what would happen when we got
to Hong Kong, and if trouble would really come between Spain and the
United States because of the destruction of the _Maine_ and the war in
Cuba. Little did I dream of all the fierce fighting that was so close
at hand, and of the parts Dan and I were to play in the coming contest.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE OPENING OF THE WAR.
“Here we are at last, Oliver! I declare the place looks like home to
me, after being away so long!”
It was Dan who spoke, as the _Cardigan_ steamed up to her wharf at
the Chinese-English port for which she had been bound. The voyage had
proved without incident, and we stepped from the ship feeling in the
best of health, despite the many adventures through which we had passed.
“It certainly looks more friendly than Manila did,” I returned, as I
gazed at the long line of shipping. “I wonder what your folks will say
when they hear our story.”
“Perhaps Harry Longley has succeeded in getting a cablegram through,”
was the answer. “The Spaniards are cute, but, you know, we have a
secret code.”
Leaving the _Cardigan_, we walked up the broad wharf and on the street.
Not far away was a booth at which foreign periodicals were sold.
Around this booth a number of men were congregated, talking excitedly.
“War has been declared between the United States and Spain!” were the
first words which reached my ears.
“Can that be true?” I burst out.
Dan did not answer, but pushed his way to the stand, and bought a copy
of the latest paper to be had.
“Yes, the war is practically on,” he said, scanning the sheet. “Here is
a dispatch from Washington. Havana, Cuba, is about to be blockaded.”
“And the army is to be called out,” I said, looking over his shoulder.
“Oh, Dan, what about Manila now,--and our business?”
“Let us hurry to my father’s office,” answered my chum, and thrusting
the paper in his pocket he stalked down the street and I after him.
The office of Raymond, Holbrook & Smith was a pretentious one of stone,
located on a main corner of Hong Kong. Entering, we found Mr. Holbrook
deep in some accounts.
“Dan!” he cried, and caught his son by both hands. “I was afraid you
were dead,--that you had gone down with the _Dart_.”
“Then you have heard of the foundering, father?”
“Yes, a cablegram came in a few days ago. And you, Oliver, too! I am
thankful to Heaven that you both are safe!” and he shook hands.
“We had a good many adventures,” said the son, as we seated ourselves.
“No doubt. Tell me your story.”
What we had to say occupied the best part of an hour, and then it was
lunch time and the three of us went to eat. Mr. Holbrook was very much
perplexed.
“This war will upset everything,” he said. “We are already cut off from
Manila.”
“By cablegram?” I queried.
“Yes, and by mail, too. A message I offered yesterday was refused, and
I was given to understand that no letter to an American firm would be
delivered.”
“Is the war to be carried on away out here?” I cried, struck with a
sudden idea.
“It will be carried on wherever the armies and navies of Spain and
America may meet,” was the serious reply. “This war is to be no child’s
play.”
“Well, we can’t do much out here,” said Dan. “We have no soldiers
closer than those at San Francisco.”
“We have a number of warships in these waters, my son--I looked into
that matter last night.”
“American men-o’-war?” I put in, with interest.
“Yes, five or six of them, commanded by Commodore Dewey.”
“Where are the ships?”
“Here at Hong Kong, presumably awaiting orders from Washington.”
“And have the Spaniards any war vessels about the Philippines?” asked
Dan.
“Yes, they have a fleet under the command of a certain Admiral Montojo.”
“And what if these two fleets meet?”
“There will be a big fight, my boy, and who will come off victorious
there is no telling.”
“We’ll win!” I cried. “I don’t believe those Spaniards can whip us.”
“We mustn’t be over-confident, Oliver, even if we hope for the best.
But this war is a bad thing for our house, and the loss of those
documents you were carrying makes matters still worse.” Mr. Holbrook
scratched his head in perplexity. “I am afraid our Manila connection
will become a total loss to us.”
“Have we much money invested there?”
“Something like forty or forty-five thousand dollars. The Spanish sugar
planters who have bought machinery of us won’t pay a dollar now.”
“Unless we come out ahead in this war--and we will come out ahead,”
put in Dan. “Hang it all, but I feel like fighting myself!”
“So do I!” I cried. “I wish we had some soldiers out here, I would join
them, and sail for Manila and demand our rights.”
At this outburst Mr. Holbrook smiled. “You are very enthusiastic.
Soldiering is not such a holiday-making as you may imagine.”
“We couldn’t have any worse experience than we have had among those
dirty Tagals,” I answered. “I want to get back there, and get square
with those Spaniards, and with that villainous Captain Kenny.”
The conversation continued for the best part of the afternoon, but
without definite results. As it drew toward evening, Dan and I
accompanied Mr. Holbrook to the latter’s home, where we were warmly
received by Mrs. Holbrook and the other members of the family.
Mr. Holbrook had expected to go out in the evening, on a matter of
business, but was not feeling well, and presently asked Dan if he would
like to carry a note to a friend’s house for him.
“Why, certainly I’ll go,” answered the son, and I said I would
accompany him.
The letter was soon written and handed over, and we started out, down
the broad street and then through half a dozen narrow and crooked
thoroughfares belonging to the ancient portion of Hong Kong. The
friend lived the best part of a mile away, and we did not reach his
residence until after nine o’clock.
The message delivered, we started on our return. It had been dark and
threatening a storm, but instead of rain a heavy mist crept up from the
China Sea, through which the scattered street lights shone like tiny
yellow candles.
“It’s beastly,” remarked Dan, as he buttoned up his coat around his
neck. “I shall be glad when we are safe home and in bed. My, how good
it will feel to get back into my own bed again!”
“It will beat sleeping in a dirty Tagal hut, won’t it?” I laughed.
“Indeed it will, Oliver. That experience was--” Dan broke off short.
“What’s that?”
A loud cry came from behind, a man’s voice.
“Help, help! Murder! help!”
“Somebody is in trouble!” I ejaculated.
“What had we best do?”
The question remained unanswered in words, but both of us broke into a
run, heading as closely as we could for the spot from whence the cry
came.
The mist confused us not a little, and as the cries ceased we paused in
perplexity.
“Where are you?” I yelled.
“What’s up?” added Dan.
“This way! Help!” came more feebly. “The heathens are trying to murder
me!”
The words came from the entrance to a narrow alleyway, along which were
situated several Chinese gambling houses. As we sped along, I caught
up a stone that lay handy, and Dan pulled out a pistol he had procured
before starting out, for in Hong Kong it is a common thing to go armed.
We were but a few feet from the scene of the encounter when a Chinaman
plumped into me, sending me headlong. But as I went down I caught the
Celestial by the foot, and he fell.
The shock dazed me for an instant, and before I could recover the
Chinaman had me by the throat.
“Let--let up!” I gasped, and as he did not I grabbed him by the ear, at
which he let out a scream of pain. Then, in a twinkling, a dagger was
flashed before my eyes, and I felt as if my last moment on earth had
come.
CHAPTER XVII.
I MEET COMMODORE DEWEY.
“Help!”
That was but the single word I uttered as the sharp blade dangled
before my eyes and burnt itself on my brain. I felt that I was about to
die--that an unknown Chinese assassin was about to slay me.
But in a twinkling the scene changed. Dan heard me go down, stopped,
and turned back.
“Let him alone or I will shoot!” he cried, in Chinese, for he had
picked up a good deal of the language while living in Hong Kong. His
pistol came out, and the muzzle was thrust upon the Celestial’s yellow
neck.
The touch of the cold barrel of steel seemed to paralyze the Chinaman,
and he fell back. “No shoot!” he mumbled. “No shoot!” And picking
himself up, he sped away in the gloom as if a demon was after him.
“The cowardly sneak!” cried my chum. “If he--come!”
Another cry ahead had rung out, and away he went, with me behind him.
My heart was in a flutter, not knowing what was coming next.
But soon the whole cause of the trouble was revealed. An American
naval officer had been waylaid by three Chinese footpads. One had run
away--the fellow I had encountered--but the others remained, and they
had the officer on his back and were going through his pockets.
“Let up, or I will shoot!” said Dan, and flourished his pistol. At the
same moment I stumbled over the officer’s sword and picked it up.
“Shoot them! the villains!” moaned the officer. He had received a heavy
cut over the temple from which the blood flowed profusely.
“Stop, I say,” commanded Dan, and now the two Celestials turned. One
aimed a blow at Dan, but I cut him short with the sword. Then my chum
fired, and the rascal dropped his club, and of a sudden both took to
their heels and disappeared in the darkness and mist.
We followed the Chinamen for a distance of fifty feet, then returned to
the officer, to find that he had sunk down beside a wall in a heap. His
eyes were closed and he did not move.
“He looks as if he was dead,” said Dan soberly. “He’s got an awful cut
over the eye.”
“Perhaps he has only fainted,” I returned. “Let us bind his head up
without delay.”
We took our handkerchiefs and strips from the linings of our coats and
set to work instantly, meanwhile laying the officer down on a patch of
soft dirt close to the wall. We had just finished binding up the wound,
when the sufferer stirred.
“Help!” he murmured. “Oh, my poor head!”
“You are safe, sir,” I said. “The Chinamen have fled.”
“Is that true? Thank God! They wanted to kill me for the few pounds I
have in my pocket.”
“Are you wounded otherwise than in the head?” asked Dan.
“I--yes--one of them hit me in the leg, the left one,--it pains a good
deal. Oh, my head!” And the officer fell back once more.
I proceeded to make him as comfortable as possible, while Dan scurried
around for some water. In the meantime the houses and shops in the
neighborhood remained closed, having been shut up at the first signs
of an encounter. In Hong Kong, if anything goes wrong, the native
inhabitants always pretend to know nothing about it.
When the officer felt strong enough to talk connectedly he told us that
he was Clare Todd, belonging to the cruiser _Olympia_, of Commodore
Dewey’s squadron.
“I am a lieutenant of marines,” he explained. “I am on shore leave,
stopping with my aunt, Mrs. Nelson, on Queen Street. Why these footpads
attacked me I do not know.”
“One of us had best call a carriage,” said Dan. “You can’t walk to your
aunt’s home.”
“I do not wish to go back to my aunt’s. I must report for duty on the
flagship without delay, for our squadron has orders to leave Hong Kong
as soon as possible, on account of the war, and this being a neutral
port.”
“More of the war,” smiled Dan grimly. “Well, supposing we have you
taken to the dock?”
“That will suit very well. But who are you who have done me such a
great service?”
“My friend can tell you that, while I hunt up the carriage,” said Dan.
“Look out for more footpads,” he added, and hurried away.
I soon introduced myself and told Lieutenant Todd about Dan. He had
often heard of the firm of Raymond, Holbrook & Smith, and had met Mr.
Holbrook once, in San Francisco.
“I shall always remember you for what you have done for me,” he said
warmly. “It was brave.”
Soon Dan came with the carriage, a curious turnout, which, however,
need not be described here. As the lieutenant was in no condition to
travel alone, we agreed to accompany him to the dock at which he said
one of the small boats belonging to the _Olympia_ was in waiting, not
only for him, but for half a dozen others.
The drive was a short one through the dark and almost deserted streets.
When the dock was gained, we found that a steam launch was there, in
command of an under-officer and three men.
“Well, well, Todd, you’ve had quite an adventure!” exclaimed the
officer of the launch, who seemed to be a personal friend of the
marine. “It’s a lucky thing these Yankee lads came to the rescue.”
“That is true, Porter. They are as brave as lions.”
“Then they had better enlist with us,” was the laughing reply. “We need
that sort of backbone, now.”
“I’d like to enlist with you first-rate!” I burst out. “Especially if
you sail for Manila to wake the Spaniards up there.”
“I reckon we’ll hunt up old Montojo, wherever he is, young man. As soon
as he gets sailing orders, Commodore Dewey won’t give him one bit of
rest.”
So the talk ran on for several minutes, and then several other officers
arrived, among them Commodore Dewey himself, a well-built gentleman of
about sixty, of fine naval bearing. He looked greatly surprised to see
Clare Todd with his head tied up.
“You want to be careful in the future,” he said, when the lieutenant of
marines had told his story. “We can’t afford to lose any men just now.
So these lads assisted you?”
“They did, Commodore, and they are as plucky lads as I ever met.”
“Oh, our American lads are always plucky!” smiled the commodore, who,
as I afterward learned, was one of the most warm-hearted of commanders.
“Commodore Dewey, I hope you are going to Manila to settle the
Spaniards there!” I burst out impulsively.
“Are you particularly interested in having me go to Manila?” was the
somewhat quick question put in return.
“I am, sir,” and in a few words I explained why.
“Well, there is no telling where we may get before this war is over,
Raymond,” he said, when I had finished. “I shall certainly do all in
my power to protect American interests, wherever they may be. But we
must be off now.” He turned to the under-officer in charge of the steam
launch. “Cast off from shore!”
“Good-by!” shouted Clare Todd, and we said good-by in return, and
leaped to the wharf. There we stood still to watch the departure of the
launch, but the craft did not budge.
“What’s the matter?” demanded the commodore, as he saw the engineer
working over the miniature engine.
“The valve is out of order, sir,” was the answer. “We ought to have a
new one.”
“Can’t you run the launch back to the ship?”
“I’ll try my best, sir.”
I listened to this bit of conversation with interest, for, as I
mentioned before, I was deeply interested in engines. As the engineer
continued to work over the parts I came closer.
“Excuse me, but won’t you let me take a look at that engine?” I said.
“I know how these things are built.”
“Certainly you can look at it,” answered the commodore, and once more I
leaped on board.
“Can’t do anything with a split part,” growled the engineer, a fellow
named Graves. “A boy like you----” He did not finish, but looked a good
deal disgusted.
I took the lantern and got down on my knees. The cap over the valve
was split, as he had said, and something had shifted below. It was
certainly a “teasing” breakdown, but, luckily, I had seen such a
fracture remedied before.
“A clamp over the plate will do the business,” I said.
“Yes, but there is no clamp on board,” was the answer.
“Have you a couple of wrenches?”
“We have one wrench.”
“And a coil of wire?”
“Yes, there is wire.”
“Then that will do. Here, we will clamp up this end first, and bind it
with wire. Then we’ll clamp this end up, and leave the wrench on, and
I’ll wager you can carry a half pressure of steam easily.”
“I don’t think,” began Graves, when the commodore silenced him.
“Try the boy’s scheme,” he said, for he had studied a little of steam
engineering himself, at Annapolis, years before.
It did not take long to put my plan into operation, I looking to it
that the wire was wound just as I wanted it, and the wrench set in
exactly the right place. Steam was all ready, and when I had concluded,
the engine carried a few pounds over half pressure without a sign of
giving way.
“She’s all right now,” I said. “Only watch that wrench and see that it
doesn’t slip.”
“I declare, you’re quite a genius!” laughed the commodore. “I think I
had better take you with me.”
“All right; I’ll go!” I answered, half in jest and half in earnest. “I
know something about guns as well as about engines.”
“You are certainly the kind we want,” was the pleasant response.
“Good-night, and good-by until we meet again!” And as the steam launch
moved away, the commodore waved his hand pleasantly, and Dan and I
took off our hats to him in return. Soon the darkness swallowed up the
little craft.
“Dan, I wish I was going with him!” I burst out impulsively. “A cruise
on a man-o’-war, especially in war times, would just suit me.”
“So say I, Oliver,” answered my chum. “Hurrah for the American Navy!”
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE FIGHTING ENGINEER.
That night I slept but little. Strange as it may seem, I could not get
Commodore Dewey’s face out of my mind. I thought of him continually,
with his trim naval uniform and well-polished sword and scabbard. He
was certainly a splendid specimen of an American naval gentleman.
“Why don’t you go to sleep,” asked Dan, who roomed with me at his home.
“You’ve been tumbling and tossing for a couple of hours. Was that
encounter with the Chinamen too much for you.”
“No, I was thinking of Commodore Dewey, Dan.”
“What! Why, I was thinking of him myself. Say, do you know, Oliver,
that his flagship, the _Olympia_, is one of the finest cruisers in our
navy?”
“I have never seen her.”
“I saw her once, a few months ago. She is immense; and so are the other
ships under his command, especially the _Boston_.”
“That’s only an aggravation--if a fellow can’t board her.”
“Do you really and truly want to enlist?”
“If we are going to have war I would like to see some of it. My
grandfather fought in the Mexican War and my uncle was killed at
Lookout Mountain, in our Civil War. So, you see, I’ve got fighting
blood in me. Besides, if Commodore Dewey goes to the Philippines----”
“We may get a chance to retrieve our fallen fortunes?”
“Exactly, Dan. I wouldn’t like any better fun than to give those Manila
Spaniards what they deserve for placing us under arrest.”
“I am with you there, Oliver. But”--Dan gave a deep yawn--“let’s go to
sleep now,” and in a minute more he was in the land of dreams, while I
was dreaming in another way, of a proud-looking warship, with myself
behind a long gun, in a cloud of smoke, fighting as I had never fought
before, for the honor of the glorious Stars and Stripes.
The next day was a busy one for Dan and an idle one for myself. In the
afternoon I met several American sailors from the _Boston_, another of
Commodore Dewey’s squadron, and being in a talkative mood they filled
me up with tales of gallantry on shipboard, and sent me back to Mr.
Holbrook’s place more determined than ever to enlist on the _Olympia_
or the _Boston_.
That evening Mr. Holbrook, Dan, and I held a long talk, lasting until
midnight. It was on the subject of our being able to join those on
board of the American squadron, provided that squadron sailed for
the Philippines. Mr. Holbrook did not care greatly to let us go, but
thought that perhaps it would do no harm to let each get a taste of
life in the navy.
“I will take you out to the squadron myself and see if I can gain a
personal interview with either the commodore or the captain,” he said,
and so it was decided.
My heart bounded wildly over the prospect. Somehow I felt it “in my
bones” that I would join the navy, and so it turned out, to cut a long
story short. We went over in a small boat which Mr. Holbrook hired,
and were accorded a long interview by both the commodore and the
kind-hearted Captain Wildes of the _Boston_.
As Lieutenant Todd had said, the Asiatic Squadron had orders to leave
Hong Kong, and was bound for Mirs Bay; so, if we were to go along, no
time was to be lost in preparing for our departure. We accordingly
hurried back to Dan’s house with all speed, packed our valises, and
came back by nightfall.
I had been on a warship before, but the _Boston_, on which we were
placed, with her steel decks, heavy military masts, and long guns
interested me greatly. We soon made ourselves at home, and before we
left Mirs Bay, on that never-to-be-forgotten trip to Manila Bay, both
of us knew the craft from stem to stern.
We found the crew truly American--“to the backbone”--as Dan expressed
it. One old gunner, named Roundstock, took a great interest in us, and
told us a great deal about the squadron.
“We’ve got four cruisers and three gunboats,” he said. “They are as
fine as you’ll find ’em anywhere, although, to be sure, we are turning
out ships better and better every day. If we meet those Spaniards we’ll
give ’em a tough tussle, and don’t you forget it!” And he shook his
head to show that he meant what he said.
As we were not exactly enlisted for the cruise, we had not to attend
the numerous drills on board, although we trained at the guns and with
small-arms, and I took many a trip below to the engine rooms. In the
engine rooms I met Bill Graves again, he having been transferred from
the flagship. He scowled at me silently, and when I attempted to talk
to him, turned his back and walked away.
“That fellow has no use for you,” observed Dan, when I told him about
Graves.
“I believe you there. But it is silly for him to get mad simply
because I showed him how to fix up the launch engine.”
“He is jealous of you, especially as Commodore Dewey complimented you
on your work, Oliver.”
The second night on board of the man-o’-war proved a nasty one, and
it looked as if we would have to pull up anchors and move out of the
bay, for fear of having a sudden wind send us ashore. Yet Commodore
Dewey hated to get too far from shore, for he was awaiting final orders
before sailing in quest of the Spanish fleet.
“This is enough to make one sick,” I observed to Dan. “I would rather
sleep on shore to-night.”
Bill Graves was passing us at the time, and a sneer showed itself on
his lip.
“You’re a fine landlubber to be on one of Uncle Sam’s men-o’-war,” he
sniffed.
The remark nettled me, and I swung around quickly and caught him by the
shoulder.
“See here, Graves,” I said. “I have no quarrel with you, but if you
want to act nasty let me tell you that you had better take care.”
“Humph! Do you think I am afraid of you?” he blustered.
“I’ll let you know that you can’t bully me, that’s all. I want you to
keep your remarks to yourself.”
“I’ll say what I please.”
“Not about me.”
“Won’t I? Who will stop me?”
“I will.”
“Go and blab, I suppose?”
“No; I’m not of the blabbing kind.”
“Do you mean to say you’ll fight?”
“Perhaps I will.”
“You whipper-snapper!” he cried in a rage. “Take that for a lesson!”
He struck out heavily, and had I not been on the alert I would have
caught his fist on my nose and gone down. But I leaped to one side and
his hand merely grazed my shoulder.
By this time my blood was up, and, leaping in, I landed one blow
on his chest and another on his mouth, which latter drew blood and
loosened two of his teeth. I had taken several lessons in the art of
self-defense and these now stood me in good stead. My blows sent him
staggering up against a gun, where he stood gazing at me in bewildered
astonishment.
“Wha--what did you do that for?” he spluttered, spitting out some blood.
“I warned you to take care,” I answered coolly.
“A mill! A mill!” cried half a dozen jack tars standing by, while Dan
came running up to learn what the row was about.
“Don’t fight, Oliver,” said my chum, in a low voice. “They’ll lock you
up in the brig, if you do.”
“He began it, Dan. I only defended myself. If he----”
I had no time to say more, for, watching his chance, Bill Graves leaped
in again, this time hitting me on the cheek, a blow that almost floored
me.
“Take that!” he hissed. “I’ll teach you!”
“A man against a boy! That aint fair!” was the cry from several sailors
and gunners. “Let up, Graves.”
“I won’t let up. He’s too fresh, and I’m going to teach him his place.”
By this time I had recovered and was standing my ground once more.
Again the engineer came on, but as he struck out I parried the blow and
let drive first with my right fist and then my left. Both blows landed
on his chin, and over he went like a ten-pin struck down on an alley.
“Graves is down!”
“Those were two neat blows, eh?”
“That boy knows how to take care of himself, I take it.”
Such were some of the remarks which passed around. Half stunned, Bill
Graves arose slowly to his feet and looked around sheepishly. Without
giving him time to get his second wind I confronted him.
“Have you had enough, or do you want more?” I demanded.
“I--I--don’t you hit me again,” he stammered.
“Have you had enough?”
“I don’t want to fight--it’s against the rules of the ship.”
“Then what did you want to start it for?”
“I didn’t start it; you started it yourself,” he muttered, and before
I could say more hurried away and out of sight in the direction of the
engine rooms.
CHAPTER XIX.
“FIRE!”
“Oliver, you went at him in great style,” observed Dan, when the
excitement was over and we found ourselves alone. “After this you’ll be
the cock of the walk.”
“I don’t want to be cock of the walk, Dan. I simply want to be left
alone.”
“But you pitched into him like a prizefighter. It was--well, simply
immense, it was indeed.”
“I am glad I can use my fists when it becomes necessary. I hope he’ll
let me alone in the future.”
“Let you alone? I’ll wager he won’t come within a hundred feet of you
unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“He’s a fool to be angry with me. If he had taken things in good part
at first there would have been no trouble.”
“Oh, there are lots of pig-headed men just like him, Oliver. But I
reckon you’ll have no further trouble with him.”
There was no room for us at the guns, so both Dan and I were placed,
for convenience’ sake, among the sailors. But on such a steam vessel
as the _Boston_ there is little or nothing for sailors to do, and our
time was, as before, our own.
We lay in Mirs Bay for several days longer. But early one day some
special dispatches were received, and half an hour later the _Olympia_
flew the signal: “Up anchors and follow the flagship,” and all hands
knew we were off at last.
The three cruisers, _Olympia_, _Baltimore_, and _Boston_, were the
first to steam away, and they were shortly followed by the gunboats
_Concord_, _Petrel_, and _McCulloch_, and two colliers, the latter
loaded to the rail with coal for the six warships.
“What a splendid sight!” I said to Dan, as we stood on deck watching
the column of vessels sweeping out swiftly to sea. “If we meet those
Dons there will be fun.”
“Pretty serious fun, Oliver, to my way of thinking. Killing
fellow-beings isn’t much play.”
“That’s right, Dan; but if we have got to have war I hope we come out
on top.”
“Oh, so do I!”
The day was an ideal one, and we remained on deck until the intense
heat drove us below. Here we found a great state of confusion, for
orders had been passed around to “clear ship for action,” and all hands
were tearing down unnecessary woodwork, preparatory to heaving it
overboard.
“It won’t do to have splinters around, you see,” explained Bob
Roundstock, the gunner. “We want everything clear for action, just as
the order says.”
The woodwork disposed of, ammunition was passed around and fire tubs
were filled with water. Then the great guns, fore and aft, were loaded,
and kept in readiness for instant use.
Several days passed without anything unusual happening. The weather
remained fair, although the wind blew so strongly that the colliers
were in danger of being swamped, so heavily were they loaded. We might
have run at a greater rate of speed, but the colliers and the _Petrel_
could not keep up, and Commodore Dewey thought it advisable, now we
were in the enemy’s waters, to keep his squadron and supply boats
together.
“I wonder where we will find this Admiral Montojo?” I said one evening,
as Dan and I lounged on deck. “Was he at Manila when we were there?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure. He must be somewhere among the Philippine
Islands.”
“That’s saying a good deal, when the islands number over a thousand.”
“Oh, he must be near one or another of the principal cities, Oliver. At
a second-rate place he would have nothing to protect but a collection
of bamboo huts.”
“Has he much of a fleet?”
“Supposed to have eight or nine vessels, so Roundstock told me. He is
one of Spain’s best admirals, too, I was told.”
“Then we won’t have a walk-over. If we--hark!”
A sudden cry from below reached our ears. Both of us listened intently,
but could make out only a confusion of voices.
“Something is wrong,” cried Dan. “Let us see what it is,” and he ran
for the stairs.
We met half a dozen gunners coming up. “Fire! fire!” yelled one of the
number. “There is a fire between decks!”
“A fire!” The cry was instantly taken up on all sides. “Whereabouts?”
“Near Jackson’s gun. It caught from some straw that was in a crockery
barrel Gumpers was emptying. It’s close to a lot of ammunition!”
“Man the fire hose!” put in an officer. “Lively, boys, or we’ll have an
explosion!”
The cry of fire had by this time aroused the entire ship, and men came
hurrying to the scene from all directions.
At first all was confusion, but soon discipline reigned supreme, and
the fire drill was put into execution.
Would they subdue the flames before it reached the loose ammunition
which had just been sent up from below?
This was the all-important question that I asked myself as I stood by,
watching what was going on.
I wanted to help and so did Dan, but we could do nothing.
Presently a dull explosion was heard, followed by another.
“The ammunition is going up!”
“Are the steel covers to the magazines closed?”
Several other cries rang out. In the meantime the firemen continued to
pour two heavy streams of sea water on the flames.
Thick volumes of smoke rolled up the companion ways, and I felt that
those below were in danger of being choked to death.
“This is awful!” murmured Dan. “I hope we don’t blow up, as did the
_Maine_.”
“We won’t, for she blew up from the outside, not the inside,” I
answered grimly.
“Well, one way would be just as bad as the other, Oliver.”
“I suppose that is so, as far as we are concerned.”
The work continued and all watched the labor nervously.
At last the fire captain came up, blinking his eyes and shaking the
water from his clothing. He looked as black as a negro.
“It’s out, sir,” he reported, saluting the officer of the deck.
“All out?”
“Yes, sir, although we had better watch for sparks when the half-burned
stuff is removed.”
“Yes, be very careful. We’ll pitch it overboard at once.”
Extra men were sent below, and they soon came up, carrying the burned
and wet straw in their arms. In ten minutes all was cleared away, and
then followed such a scrubbing and cleaning up as I had never seen
before.
“The carpenter will have a day’s work here,” observed Dan, as we
surveyed the scene of the fire. “But we can thank God that it was no
worse.”
“So say I,” was my answer. “I don’t want any more sunken ships in mine.
The _Dart_ was sufficient.”
The day to follow was uneventful. It was clear and hot, so hot in fact
that, during the noon-day hours, nobody could remain on deck. In the
turrets and conning tower it was suffocating.
“I feel as if I was half baked,” said Dan, as we lay in a shady corner
on the third day out. “I wonder how far we are from Luzon?”
“I heard an officer say that we would sight land to-morrow or the day
after.”
“Did he say where?”
“He said we were steering for Subig Bay. They think Admiral Montojo may
be found there with his fleet.”
“I hope they do find him, and give him a good thrashing.”
“You say they, Dan. Don’t you expect to take a hand in fighting?”
“To be sure. But then we are not regular sailors you know.”
“Well, I consider myself a sailor boy,” I answered warmly.
“Do you? All right, then. Here’s to the sailor boy under Dewey!” cried
my chum, and drank my health in what was left of a glass of lemonade he
had brought up with him. Lemons were plentiful, and in those hot days
everybody spent a good deal of time in making something palatable to
drink.
In the afternoon, when the sun was low, the squadron was called
together and was put through a number of naval maneuvers by the
commodore. This was both an interesting and instructive sight, and I
watched it from start to finish.
I had just retired for the night when I heard the sounds of numerous
footsteps on the gun deck. I aroused myself and sat up in my hammock.
“What’s up?” I asked of Dan.
“I don’t know,” was his answer. “But something is the matter, that’s
certain.”
“Let us go and see,” I went on, and hopped to the floor. We soon had
our clothing on, and then we hurried to where Bob Roundstock was
getting his gun crew into order to man the eight-inch monster under his
command.
CHAPTER XX.
IN WHICH ONE SPANISH SHIP IS SUNK.
“What is it, Roundstock?”
“What is it?” repeated the old gunner. “We’ve sighted a Spanish
man-o’-war, that’s what it is!”
“A man-o’-war!” cried Dan. “Where is she?”
“Dead ahead, and running away as fast as her steam can carry her.”
“Can we catch her?”
“Can’t say as to that, lad. We hope to do it.”
Dan and I waited to hear no more, but, rushing to the stairs, made our
way to the spar deck.
It was a cloudy moonlight night and just now too dark to see anything
with the naked eye.
But presently the moon came out brightly, and then, far ahead, we made
out a dim form, moving along over the ocean like a phantom.
“Is that the Spanish ship?” I asked of a sailor standing near.
“So the officers think, lad.”
“Why don’t they give her a shot to make her heave to?” asked Dan.
He had scarcely spoken when one of the guns from the _Olympia_ boomed
threateningly, sending a shot to the starboard of the flying craft.
All expected to see her heave to, but she kept on, and now a dense mass
of clouds covered the moon and all became dark once more.
The clouds were as long as they were heavy, and it took them all of
twenty minutes to drift over the face of the moon and let that orb
shine out again. How impatiently officers and men waited, my readers
can well imagine.
“She’s gone!” Such was the cry which rang from a hundred throats, and
it was true. The strange vessel had disappeared from view.
In a few minutes more the moon was again hidden, and further pursuit of
the flying one was out of the question.
Everybody was disappointed, and none more so than Bob Roundstock.
“I’m just achin’ to get a shot at ’em,” he observed. “Oh, if only that
ship had turned to engage us!”
“I reckon those on board saw we were six to one and didn’t dare to risk
it,” said Dan. “Now if we had been one to one----”
“Those Dons would have run anyway!” finished Roundstock. He was a
thorough Yankee tar and felt certain that nothing could stand up
against our ships and guns. And he was more than half right, as later
events proved.
The following day brought us in sight of Subig Bay, and, while we lay
at a distance, several of the smaller war vessels went inside to survey
the situation.
“I wish we were going in,” observed Dan. “There must be lots of Spanish
vessels there.”
“We are not making war on the merchantmen, Dan,” I answered. “We are
after warships.”
“That’s true, but we ought to take some prizes, just for the prize
money.”
“I only want what is coming to me,--my money and those documents left
on board of the _Dart_,--and I want to bring Captain Kenny to justice.”
“And give a helping hand to Tom Dawson and the others, if we can,” he
finished, and I nodded.
Soon the small ships which had been sent into the harbor returned, and
then some of the captains went over to the _Olympia_ to confer with the
commodore.
“Something is up now, you can bet on that,” said Dan, as the squadron
set sail once more.
“We are bound southward,” I replied. “That means Manila Bay, I presume.”
Orders came around to “clear ship for action,” and a busy half hour
followed.
“Commodore Dewey knows we are getting close to the enemy,” said
Roundstock. “Orders are to keep at the guns.”
“There isn’t a sail in sight.”
“No; but how long would it take a heavy steam vessel, under a full head
of steam, to come out from one of yonder headlands and open fire, lad?
Not more than ten or fifteen minutes, if as long.”
“How far will our heavy guns carry?”
“Six to eight miles--and more, on a pinch.”
“A good deal further than a fellow can see, even with an ordinary
glass,” put in Dan.
“Our telescopes are the finest in the world.”
The loss of sleep the night before had tired me out, and I soon
retired, and Dan followed.
But I was not to sleep long, as I soon discovered.
As I had supposed, the squadron was running for Manila Bay. Commodore
Dewey wanted to get past Corregidor Island unnoticed, if such a thing
was possible.
But it was not to be, and presently we received half a dozen heavy
shots from the land batteries, one or two of which struck the ships
behind the _Olympia_ and _Boston_.
Then rockets flared up in the air, and a small-sized engagement was on.
“This is war and no mistake!” I cried to Roundstock, but he merely
tossed his head.
“Only children’s play, lad,” he replied. “See, we are already safely
past.”
The engagement lasted ten minutes, and then the batteries were passed
and we hauled out into Manila Bay proper.
It was almost full moon, but the clouds made it dark. Far away could be
seen the twinkling lights of Manila city and other places.
A strange silence prevailed throughout the ships. It was the calm
before the storm.
The night seemed long, but for all on board sleep was out of the
question.
The men lay at their guns or on the deck, while the officers paced
about or held long whispering conversations.
“I’ll wager we have a fight to-morrow,” I said to Dan. “Even if the
Spanish ships are not here I think Commodore Dewey will capture the
city, so as to have a new base of supplies.”
“If he does that a good deal of our troubles will be over, Oliver.”
“He won’t touch anything until he has ferreted out old
Monto-what’s-his-name,” broke in Roundstock.
“Montojo,” corrected Dan. “Well, we’ll have to take what comes, that’s
all.”
“Correct, lad.”
At early dawn our squadron crept closer to Manila city. We could now
see the numerous ships in front of the river mouth, but no warships
were among them.
Below Manila is situated a long peninsula, upon which was located Fort
Cavité, the principal Spanish arsenal along the bay.
Back of the arsenal was a town of some four thousand inhabitants, and
to one side of the fort was a long, low-lying land battery.
As the sun came up six warships, flying the Spanish flag, were
discovered lying between Manila and Cavité. Several other warships were
to the rear, half hidden by the arsenal just mentioned.
“There they are!” was the cry which swept from ship to ship. “Now for a
fight to the death!”
The words had scarcely been uttered when the flagship opened fire. A
second later the _Boston_ belched forth with her forward guns.
The shock nearly threw me off my feet, and the noise fairly deafened me.
“My gracious, Dan, what a racket!”
“This is war, Oliver!”
“It sounds more like a hundred thunderstorms rolled into one.”
All of the warships had now trained their guns on the enemy, and round
after round of gigantic steel projectiles was hurled forth, to deal
death and destruction.
Soon both sides were enveloped in smoke and but little could be seen,
excepting at close range.
The _Boston_ was hit several times, but the shots merely passed through
our upper works, doing but little damage.
For half an hour the battle kept on, and during that time both Dan and
myself helped where we could, resolved to do our duty as Americans even
though we were not duly enlisted.
“She’s on fire!” came presently. The cry referred to one of the leading
Spanish ships, and proved correct. One of our shells had burst into
a magazine, and a dull explosion was followed by a wild scattering
of burning embers. Soon the ship began to sink, and there followed a
frantic struggle on the part of the Spanish sailors to save their lives.
“Poor wretches!” I said. “I can’t help but pity them.”
“War is war, lad,” said Roundstock, who was working like a beaver over
his gun, which was red-hot. “If we didn’t sink them they would sink
us; and since one of us must go down, I’d rather it would be the other
fellow.”
And I could not help but agree with him.
CHAPTER XXI.
A NEVER-TO-BE-FORGOTTEN CONTEST.
In this tale of adventures in and around the Island of Luzon it is not
my intention to play the part of a historian and go into all of the
details of the battle of Manila Bay, or, more properly, the battle off
Cavité.
To be really truthful, but little of the whole battle could be seen
by any one spectator, for the ships were several miles apart, and the
heavy smoke hung everywhere over the bay like a murky pall. Near Cavité
the fire burst up through the smoke at half a dozen points, and these
marked the spots where the enemy’s ships were slowly but surely going
to pieces.
For the victory was Commodore Dewey’s from the start, and a few hours
sufficed to teach Spain a lesson which she is not likely to forget for
years to come.
Our gallant commodore had come to Manila with six fighting ships,
including one which was very small, and but indifferently armed. Off
Cavité he engaged eight Spanish warships, and these had the strong
support of the fort and the land battery.
And yet, when it was all over, what was the result? The Spanish ships
lay along the shore, riddled with shot and shell and burning fiercely.
Hundreds of Spanish sailors had been either shot or drowned, and those
who had escaped to land were hurrying, panic-stricken, toward Manila
and the mountains. More than this, Cavité itself had surrendered, and
the arms and ammunition at the arsenal were our own.
We had pulled out once from the fight, to learn how matters were faring
with the other ships. Commodore Dewey was afraid that one or another
had been lost, and his delight was without measure when he found that
not a single ship had sustained any serious injury. “Good, boys!” he
said. “Go in and finish them up!” And they went in, with the vigor that
only the Anglo-Saxon race knows.
Dan had been hurt by a splinter flying from some of the rigging, and I
carried him into the wardroom, where the surgeons waited in readiness
for any demand that might be made upon them.
He was unconscious, and I looked on anxiously as a surgeon made an
examination.
“Is it serious?” I asked.
“Not very; but he must remain quiet for a while,” was the answer. “I
will plaster up the wound and bind it.”
The battle had started early in the morning. By the middle of the
afternoon it was over and a regular jubilee among the jack tars
followed. They yelled, cheered, sang, and danced, while eating and
drinking went on until nightfall.
Some of the ships had been sent to other places, but we lay close to
Cavité. We could have taken a great number of prisoners, but Commodore
Dewey had no place to put them.
“Let them go, poor fellows; they have suffered enough,” said more than
one officer, and in my mind I agreed with them.
“Didn’t I tell you!” cried Roundstock, coming up. “Nothing can stand up
against the Stars and Stripes, our glorious flag of freedom.”
“What’s to do, now, Roundstock?” I questioned.
“That’s for the commodore and our captain to say. As for myself, I feel
as if I could sleep for a week.”
“Won’t we go in and take Manila?”
“I suppose we will--later on.”
“I would like to go in right away. I want to learn how my friends there
are faring.”
“You’ll have to be patient.”
Roundstock strode off, and I turned again to Dan, who was moaning. I
found his face very hot, as if he was in a fever.
The hours of the night passed slowly, and in the morning I was much
gratified to learn that my chum was better. We now received definite
word from the other warships. All were in good condition and not a
single man had been killed. Some were to move in close to Cavité, while
others were to go down and take possession of Corregidor Island, at the
bay’s entrance.
By good fortune I managed to get permission to go ashore at the
arsenal, and Dan insisted upon going along. Just before we left the
_Boston_ we had a parting word with the captain.
“Be careful, boys,” he said. “Those Spaniards will shoot you down if
you give them the least chance.”
I started to say something about getting into Manila again, but
thought better of it and remained silent. Perhaps it might have been
much better had I spoken and had the kind-hearted commander prevented
the movement. But we do not know things beforehand as we know them
afterward.
It had been supposed by the Spaniards that Commodore Dewey would demand
the immediate surrender of the capital, but no demand came, for the
reason that the commodore was awaiting instructions from Washington,
and because he had no armed force sufficiently large to hold Manila
against our enemies, and against the insurgents, who were gathering
about, ready to rush in and plunder at the first opportunity.
We went ashore in one of the small boats, manned by eight jack tars,
and landing close to the arsenal, made our way to a deserted church,
which the sailors on shore had turned into a temporary barracks.
On every hand were the signs of the fierce conflict which had raged but
a few short hours. The bay about Cavité was dotted with the half-burned
wrecks of the Spanish warships, and fort and batteries were torn up as
only a hail of shot and shell can do the work.
“This is awful,” remarked Dan, as he walked around. “How these poor
wretches must have suffered during the fight!”
“I reckon they were glad enough to run for it, Dan,” I answered
soberly. “But see, there are some Spanish soldiers approaching!”
The men referred to were a score in number. They were without arms,
almost without shoes, and their clothing was torn in countless places
by their wild rushes through the brush and cane fields. They came up to
a body of volunteers encamped near the church.
“They have surrendered and want protection from the insurgents,” said
Dan, after listening to what was said by the Spanish leader. “He states
that the rebels here are worse than wild beasts, and he would rather
go to an American prison than fall into their hands.”
“I believe him--after my own experience, Dan.”
“So do I. I’ll tell you, Oliver, the fighting here isn’t half over.
Dewey may try to make friends of the insurgents; but, if so, he will be
sorry for it.”
We watched the Spaniards and saw that they were starving by the manner
in which they disposed of the food furnished to them by our own
volunteers. I really believe that some of them would have jumped at the
chance of joining our troops had they had the chance. None of them had
received a dollar of pay from Spain for months, and one told Dan that
even their own officers treated them like dogs. “If only I was back in
beautiful Spain again!” he sighed. “Or with my uncle at his tobacco
works in Key West, Florida, in your own nice country!” He was sick of
war.
As I have said, Cavité lay about eight miles south of Manila. Between
the two places was a low, sandy beach, back of which was a rude
highway, low-lying hills, covered with rice and other plantations, and
thick forests. There were several settlements, but none of especial
importance.
By careful inquiry we learned that the country between us and Manila
had been almost deserted, but was now filling up with insurgents, who
were awaiting the arrival of their principal leader, General Aguinaldo,
who had gone to Hong Kong on business. If we wanted to get into the
capital, therefore, we must first pass the insurgents’ camps and then
the Spanish pickets at the city walls.
“It’s a risky thing to do, Oliver,” said Dan. “We don’t want to get
shot.”
“That is true. But I want to know how Longley is faring and how the
business is faring.”
“Yes, that is true. And I would like to know if Captain Kenny has shown
up at Manila, too. But still----”
“You haven’t got to go if you don’t want to, Dan. But I’m going.”
“Then I’ll go, and that settles it.”
And it did settle it. But neither of us dreamed of the many dangers in
store for us.
CHAPTER XXII.
BETWEEN TWO FIRES.
“I don’t know much about this part of the country,” said Dan, as we
drew away from the American camp with great caution. “I wish we could
pick up a native guide. He might save us from a lot of trouble.”
“There are natives enough around, if only they can be trusted. Let us
strike the first man we meet and see what he has to say.”
Leaving camp was an easy matter, for as yet military rule was rather
lax. We took a small side trail, that presently brought us in sight of
a collection of rude bamboo huts, one burning and all deserted. Back of
the huts we found a tall negro sitting on a tree stump, his lean chin
resting in the palm of an equally lean hand.
Dan called to him in Spanish, but the man did not stir until my chum
walked up and shook him by the shoulder. Then he stared at us from eyes
buried deeply in their sockets.
His tale was soon told. His wife had been shot down in a skirmish
around the bamboo huts on the day that the Spanish soldiers had
retreated from Cavité to Manila, and his only child had been trampled
under the feet of a runaway buffalo cow, a beast quite common in
certain parts of the Philippines. His home was that now being reduced
to ashes.
“Your lot is certainly a hard one, my man,” said Dan to him soothingly.
“But it will do you no good to sit here and mourn. What is your name?”
“Wamba, señor.”
“Would you like to become our guide, Wamba? We will pay you well?”
At this the eyes of the native brightened somewhat, for he was of the
poorest class.
“You will pay me well?” he asked slowly.
“We will.”
“You will not pay me in _chit_?” went on Wamba. In Manila many large
bills are paid in _chit_, instead of coin, a _chit_ being merely a
personal note. These _chits_ are issued by nearly everyone, and float
around from person to person before being presented to the issuer for
redemption.
“No, you shall have coin--gold and silver,” and Dan showed the contents
of his purse, which contained several Mexican silver dollars, and some
Spanish gold and copper coins.
“And where shall I guide you?”
“We want to go into Manila secretly.”
“You are soldier spies?”
“No, we are private citizens and want to learn something of business
matters. Our fathers belong to the firm of Raymond, Holbrook & Smith,
of Manila, Hong Kong, San Francisco, and other cities.”
“I know the name, señor,” and Wamba nodded. “But the business must be
ruined now,” and he gave a deep sigh.
“That is what we want to see. Will you undertake to get us into Manila?
Remember, I will pay you well.”
“I will do what I can, but it will be a dangerous undertaking.”
The talk between the native and Dan continued for some time, and then
we hurried on, leaving the trail and passing over the wet ground of a
rice field recently flooded.
It was again hot, and after half an hour of traveling I was glad enough
to cast myself in a shady spot to rest. While Dan did the same Wamba
went off in search of cool water from a nearby spring.
“I suppose things in Manila are in a state of high excitement,”
observed my chum, as he lay back against a tree. “The Spaniards are in
a box--with the American fleet in front and the rebels behind.”
“I think they would rather surrender to us than to the rebels, Dan.”
“I’ve no doubt they would. But they’ll surrender to nobody until forced
to do it. They are as high-minded as ever, if I know anything about it.”
“Business must be at a complete standstill. Perhaps the Spanish
authorities have confiscated everything at the offices.”
“I wonder what has become of Tom Dawson, Matt Gory, and the
_Starlight_? I didn’t see anything of the craft while on the _Boston_,
did you?”
“No. She probably lost no time in slipping past Corregidor Island when
it was known that a fight was in prospect.”
“And what do you suppose has become of Captain Kenny, Watt Brown, and
Ah Sid, who were captured?”
“That is for time to tell, if we are ever to know at all.”
Wamba came back with the water, into which we stirred some sugar-cane
ends to make it more palatable, and we arose to continue our journey.
“What’s that?” cried Dan, as the crack of a rifle broke the
semitropical stillness. “Some sort of a battle is on, that’s certain!”
The single report was followed by several others, and then came two
heavy volleys in rapid succession.
“I’ll wager it is a fight between the insurgents and the Spanish
outposts!” I cried. “Hark, they seem to be coming this way. Wamba,
what had we best do?”
The native looked at me in perplexity, and Dan repeated the question in
Spanish. Then Wamba pointed off to the woods back of us. “We hide in
hollow,” he said, in his native tongue.
We lost no time in following him, for the sound of firearms came
closer, and soon a bullet clipped through the leaves over our heads. As
we descended into the hollow to which the guide led us we heard a wild
shouting, and at a distance a hundred or more Tagals burst into sight.
The natives were armed with rifles secured at Cavité and in Manila,
and were endeavoring to turn the right flank of a company of Spanish
soldiers, who soon came into view on the opposite side of the hollow.
The firing was now incessant, and all three of our party were glad
enough to drop down out of sight in the dense bushes.
“We are caught between two fires!” announced Dan grimly. “Here’s a
state of things, to say the least. Oliver, how do you like it?”
“We had better remain quiet, Dan. I have no desire to get a Mauser
bullet through my head.”
“Nor I. I only hope both sides move off to some other locality.”
The hollow was of indefinite length and about a hundred feet wide and
ten to twenty feet deep. The Tagals were close to the south bank, while
the Spaniards held a position a hundred and fifty to two hundred yards
away. In fifteen minutes the volley firing ceased, but a steady pop-pop
from one direction or another took its place.
“Each side is throwing out skirmishers,” said Dan. “If any of them come
down here I don’t know what we had best do!”
“If it comes to the worst we’ll have to throw our fortunes in with the
rebels,” I answered. “But I have no liking for either side.”
We were armed with pistols, fine six-shooters, and we held these in
readiness for use, should occasion require. Wamba acted as if he wanted
to leave us, but doubtless the hope of getting money out of us made him
remain.
As I have said, the natives were closer than the Spanish, and
presently a dozen of them slipped down into the hollow. They were
determined-looking fellows, much superior to the Tagals I had met up at
the locality where the _Dart_ lay stranded.
“They are coming this way!” whispered Dan. “I’m afraid, if they spot
us, they will fire before we can explain who we are.”
“We had better--” I began, when pop! went a rifle, and a bullet grazed
my temple, causing me to tumble over my chum and go crashing in the
brush back of him.
“Oliver! you are hit!” he gasped. “Oh, this is too bad!” and he caught
me up in his arms.
“I--I guess it’s not much,” I faltered, putting my hand up and
withdrawing it covered with blood. Getting out a large linen
handkerchief, I bound it over the wound, which was but a scratch, even
though fully as deep as was desirable.
The crash in the brush had attracted the attention of the Spanish
soldiers, and now they saw the Tagals and heavy firing recommenced. We
were in the very midst of this, and several bullets sang alarmingly
close to our ears. We wished that a better shelter than the brush was
at hand, but nothing was in sight and we had to make the best of it.
Inside of a quarter of an hour it looked as if the rebels would get the
best of the fight, but suddenly some Spanish re-enforcements came up,
and in a twinkling the Tagals were sent flying toward the hills to the
eastward, leaving a score of dead and wounded behind them.
“They are leaving us!” muttered Dan, when without warning several
Spanish soldiers appeared, running directly toward us. Each had his gun
up ready to shoot, so resistance would have been foolhardy.
“_Halte!_” came the useless command, since we were not moving. “Throw
down your arms or we will fire,” followed, also in Spanish.
Dan looked at me and I at him, and then both of us dropped our pistols.
Seeing this, Wamba uttered a grunt of dissatisfaction, turned, and
crawled like a snake out of sight into the bushes. In a moment more the
Spanish soldiers had surrounded us.
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE ESCAPE FROM THE INN.
The soldiers who had made us prisoners were dark, determined-looking
fellows belonging to the Manila Home Guard, a body distinct from the
troops sent to the islands from Spain.
They were seven in number, including a lieutenant, who, as I afterward
learned, rejoiced in the unique name of Carlos Remondenanez.
“_Americanos!_” muttered the lieutenant, as he surveyed us. “Where you
come from?” he demanded, in by no means bad English.
“We came from Cavité,” I answered, glad to know that he would
understand me.
“Sailors from the American warships?”
“We are private citizens, on our way to Ma----” Dan checked himself.
“Ha! private citizens! Bah! You _Americanos_ are all out for a fight,
like a wild bull! But we will show you, here in Luzon and at Cuba, too!
When it is over the pigs will be sorry they took up arms against the
sons of my country,” and he slapped his chest.
Had the situation been less serious I would have been tempted to laugh
at his pomposity. But as that might have brought on my sudden death, I
resisted the temptation even to smile.
“Yes, it is too bad to have war with anybody,” I said calmly. “Do you
consider us your prisoners?”
“And why not, boy, why not? To be sure you are not old enough to be a
regular soldier, but your finger on the trigger of a gun may do as much
damage as the finger of a man of forty. Search them, men!” he added, to
his command, in Spanish.
Two of the party immediately advanced, and relieved us of the pistols
we had thrown down and also two daggers Dan had brought along from
Hong Kong. I think Lieutenant Remondenanez was strongly tempted to
confiscate our purses also, but did not dare on account of one of the
soldiers, who watched him closely. This man was a new recruit, so
Dan found out later, and was too high-minded to countenance such a
proceeding, even on the part of his officer, without reporting it at
headquarters.
Having been searched, we were marched out of the hollow to the trail
running down to the highway. Here we were placed in charge of three
soldiers, one of whom marched at either side of us and the other to the
rear.
Our course was along a series of dense palm trees which sheltered us
somewhat from the sun. Yet the walk was a hot one, and soon the wound I
had received gave me a violent headache.
“I must rest,” I said to Dan, and sank down almost exhausted.
“No rest for you!” shouted the corporal in charge of the detail, and
poked me with his bayonet, and sick as I was I had to get up and go on
my way.
But soon luck stood me in good stead. We arrived at a sort of wayside
inn, where there were two companies of Spanish soldiers, and here we
halted for further orders.
It was decided to keep us at the place over night, and we were
conducted to a rude stable in the rear, built of bamboo and palm leaves.
Inside were half a dozen small native ponies, belonging to as many
Spanish officers. It was a foul-smelling resort, and it made me feel
more sick than ever.
The place was already being used as a prison and outside four guards,
with ready guns, patrolled the sides of the stable at a distance of ten
paces.
“What a hole!” cried Dan, as we were shoved through the doorway and the
guard left us. “I’ll wager the stable is full of vermin!”
“Who is that as spakes!” came from the semi-darkness. “Sure an’ th’
voice sounds remarkably loik that of a friend, so it does!”
“Matt Gory!” burst out Dan and I simultaneously.
“An’ it’s Oliver an’ Dan, so it is!” ejaculated the Irish sailor,
rushing to us and catching our hands warmly. “Sure an’ it’s a sorry
place for a mating, aint it now?”
“How did you get here, Gory?” I asked. “I thought you were on the
_Starlight_?”
“Sure an thim haythins o’ Spaniards confiscated the ship, so they did.
Oi an’ Tom Dawson thried to escape, an’ here Oi am, as ye can behold if
yez have sharp eyes.”
“And what of Dawson?” asked Dan.
“Oi don’t know where he is. He started to join Commodore Dewey’s
marines at Cavité.”
“When did all this happen?”
“We lift the _Starlight_ a week ago, but Oi was captured yesterday. Phy
have yez yer head toied up?” he went on, to me.
I told him of our adventures in the hollow, and Dan related what had
occurred since we had left the _Starlight_. Matt Gory had arranged a
resting place of the cleanest straw to be found, in a corner, and here
I dropped, completely fagged out.
All told, the stable contained nine prisoners; the others being
Spaniards who sympathized with the insurgents. They were a motley
collection, and filled the already foul air with the noxious fumes of
their ever-present cigarettes.
While I rested, Dan spoke to one and another of them, and learned
considerable concerning the present situation in Manila. As we had
surmised, all business was at a standstill, the shops were closed, and
the streets were guarded by Spanish soldiers, the native policemen
not being trusted to do the duty. All was in a state of suppressed
excitement, and it was expected that Dewey would shell the city at
his pleasure. Provisions were scarce and there was much suffering,
especially among the poorer classes.
Strange as it may seem I rested well that night, and Dan also slept
soundly. We were stirring at sunrise, and with us Matt Gory, who had
suffered no injury and was willing at any moment to fight for his
liberty.
“Oi’ll not go to any dirthy Spanish prison if Oi can hilp it,--an’ Oi
think I can,” were his words.
“I am with you,” I answered. “But I don’t want to bite my nose off to
spite my face.”
At seven o’clock we were ordered out into the open air, and we were not
sorry, for the smell in the stable during the night had grown worse
instead of better. All were formed into single file and told to march
to the rear door of the inn and our breakfast would be dealt out to us.
“Like a lot of tramps getting a hand-out,” laughed Dan, when a Spanish
officer struck him with his sword and ordered him to keep silent.
Breakfast consisted of some stale bread, a chunk of meat that had been
stewed in rice, and water. We had to eat and drink standing up or let
it alone, and I hardly touched a mouthful.
The breakfast over, we were about to leave the inn, when without
warning a volley of shots came from a woods behind the hostelry and a
Spanish officer and two privates dropped dead within a dozen feet of
us. Before the Spaniards could recover from their astonishment a second
volley was delivered, and four others went down, including one of the
prisoners, who was struck by accident in the leg. Then came a wild yell
and about fifty Spanish rebels from Manila burst into view.
The scene that followed beggars my pen to describe. For some minutes
pandemonium reigned supreme, and Spanish officers and privates alike
knew not what to do. Some rushed into the inn and some out, and a
number took to their heels with all the speed of which their legs were
capable. Then a _capitan_ called them to order, and they formed into a
hollow square on the defensive.
“This is our chance!” yelled Matt Gory, as he seized Dan and me by the
arms. “Come on!”
“I am with you!” I answered.
“Let us make for the stable,” said Dan.
“Aint the woods betther?” queried the Irishman.
“The ponies!” I interrupted, understanding what my chum meant. “Just
the thing!”
And away we went for the stable. A Spanish guard tried to block our
way, but we tripped him over and tore his gun from him.
Dan was the first inside of the structure and he speedily untied three
of the small, but strong, animals and led them to a rear door. Then up
we leaped into the high, uncomfortable Spanish saddles (for the poor
beasts stood there with all their trappings) and off we sped down the
highway, leaving Spaniards, rebels, and the other prisoners to take
care of themselves.
Of course we did not escape unnoticed, and Spaniards and rebels both
fired on us. But their aim was poor, and the leaden messengers flew
wide of the mark. Soon we were out of sight around a bend, and then
we speedily took to a side trail that looked as if it might afford at
least temporary security.
CHAPTER XXIV.
ONE WAY OF ENTERING A FORTIFIED CITY.
“Now where?” asked Dan, after we had halted and listened with all our
ears to learn if we were being followed.
“To Manila, as was our original idea,” I answered. “But you may not
want to go that way,” I added, to Matt Gory.
“Sure an’ Oi’ll go wid youse b’ys,” answered the son of Erin, with a
grin. “Oi’m afther makin’ a soldier of forchune av meself,” and he made
a mocking bow at which both Dan and I laughed.
“We may be very useful to Longley in Manila,” I continued. “He may be
having more than his hands full to protect the firm’s interests. He
said he had about six thousand dollars in the big safe that he did not
care to place in the Spanish bank, and----”
“You are right, Oliver, we must get into Manila somehow, to help
Longley, if for no other purpose. The thing of it is, which is the best
way to do it?”
“Let us get as close to the city walls as we can first and then
arrange our plans,” I suggested, and this was speedily agreed to, for
there was no telling what might happen before we came in sight of the
capital city of Luzon.
From a distance came a constant firing, which told us that the rebels
and the Spaniards were having a full-fledged fight. But presently, as
we moved along, this died away in the distance.
Pony riding just suited Dan and me, but it went hard with Matt Gory,
who had never ridden before. “Sure, an’ the hard saddle will be afther
cuttin’ me in two,” he groaned. “An’ the baste prances so he’ll have me
insoides turned out before we come to a halt this avenin’!”
“Move with the pony,” I suggested, and gave him a practical
illustration, but he was not cut out for saddle riding and made a sorry
figure even when doing his best.
It had threatened a shower and soon it was raining in torrents. We kept
to the road for half an hour longer, when it grew so deep with water
and mud that we had to draw off to one side.
“I see a shelter beyond,” said Dan, pointing it out. “And not a soul is
in sight. Come on,” and he led the way.
It was an open shelter, built of long poles thatched with palm. There
had been a house close by, but this was tumbled down into decay. We
rode our ponies under the shelter and, dismounting, tethered them to
some trees which acted as corner posts.
The rain continued throughout the noon hour and for some time after,
and it was not until nightfall that we continued our journey. In the
meantime we had refreshed ourselves with some plantains found in the
vicinity, and allowed the ponies to feed upon whatever was to be found
in the neighborhood.
Nightfall found us close to the Spanish lines, and we resolved to
abandon our steeds, so turned them loose, feeling that they would soon
find new masters.
We were moving along in the gathering darkness when we heard the
creaking of a water buffalo cart, heavy, awkward-looking things common
to all parts of the Philippines. Soon the cart came in sight, drawn
by two buffalo cows, hitched up tandem. On the seat of the turnout
sat a sleepy-looking native, wearing only a shirt, trousers, and
broad-brimmed straw hat. The cart was partly filled with straw, and on
top rested a pile of yams and other vegetables, and a bag of cocoanuts.
“I’ll wager he’s bound for Manila!” whispered Dan. “I wonder if he
can’t smuggle us in!”
“Let us stop him and see,” I returned. “I believe all of these natives
are against the Spaniards, even though they may not like the idea of
American rule.”
We leaped forward, and while Matt Gory held the leading cow, Dan and
I hurried to the seat of the cart. Roused up, the native was taken
completely by surprise and stared at us in open-mouthed wonder.
Dan quickly asked him if he was bound for the market place in Manila
and he answered in the affirmative. Then my chum told him of what we
wished to do, at which the native grinned.
“Get into the cart if you will, and hide,” he said, in Spanish. “But
remember, if Spanish officers find you, I know not that you were there.”
“We agree,” answered Dan, and the straw was lifted up and all three of
us made places for ourselves. Of course the hiding place was a damp and
by no means pleasant one, but this could not be helped, and as it was
our own choice nobody grumbled.
The progress of the cart had been slow before, but with the added
weight it crawled along at a snail’s pace. As long as the darkness
served to hide us, we held up our heads for air, but with the first
appearance of the electric lights of Manila, we dove out of sight.
“We are entering the town,” whispered Dan, as the clumsy cart creaked
over a bridge. “I think we’ll be safe in ten minutes more.”
He had scarcely finished when there came a loud command to halt, and
the native brought his cart to a standstill. A brief parley followed,
and a couple of Spanish guards came up to the cart and calmly
confiscated several cocoanuts from the bag. Then the turnout was
allowed to proceed in the direction of the market place.
“Now is your time,” whispered the driver to Dan, as we passed through a
rather dark portion of a thoroughfare. “Drop out and you will be safe.”
“Here is something for your aid,” whispered my chum in return, and
handed him a Mexican silver dollar, much to the native’s delight, for
such a piece, even though worth but fifty cents, is a good round sum in
the Philippines.
Dan then dropped from the tail-end of the cart and Matt Gory and I
followed. An alleyway was close at hand and we darted into this, to
plan out our next movement.
“We are a good half mile from the offices,” said Dan. “And I must
confess I don’t know the way.”
“Sure an’ mebbe youse would have done better to have stayed in th’
cart,” said the Irish sailor. “Howsomeever, lead on an’ Oi’ll be afther
followin’ ye!”
“Let us move on along the streets until we see some signboard,” I
suggested. “We know what street the offices are on, and the number.”
“That is so, Oliver. All right, come ahead;” and again Dan led the way.
“It’s a regular Donnybrook Fair town,” said Matt Gory. “Oi’m afther
gittin’ me a club!” and he picked up a stick lying in a gutter. Before
long Dan and I armed ourselves in a similar manner.
As I have mentioned, Manila was now under military rule, and at every
other street corner we came in sight of a soldier, walking slowly back
and forth or lounging idly against a door-post smoking a cigarette on
the sly and talking to some pretty native damsel. To pass these guards
unobserved was by no means easy.
“Here is the right street!” exclaimed Dan, after a quarter of an hour
had passed. “The numbers show that we cannot be more than four or five
squares away from the offices.”
“Does that clerk live be thim offices?” queried Matt Gory.
“Yes, he has two rooms upstairs,” I answered. “If that money is still
in the safe he must certainly be staying there to guard it.”
Another block was passed, when Dan clutched me by the shoulder, and
likewise pulled the Irish sailor back. “Look!” he whispered.
We gazed in the direction he pointed, and saw four men huddled together
in a corner of a rambling business building, not half a block away from
the offices of Raymond, Holbrook & Smith. They were talking earnestly.
Each wore a light, night cloak over his shoulders, and as one of them
raised this covering, we caught the gleam of a dagger handle sticking
from his breast.
“By Jove! they are up to something; that’s as sure as you are born!”
ejaculated Dan.
“They be Spanish assassins!” muttered Matt Gory. “Sure an’ they look
loik thim villains we used to see in the ould picture books!”
“See, they are moving over this way,” I said, a second later. “We must
get out of sight, or we’ll be discovered, and they may hand us over to
the guard.”
I looked around, and saw a narrow opening between two business
buildings. Into this we crowded, behind a pile of half-broken hogsheads
and other rubbish. Hardly had we settled ourselves than the four
evil-looking fellows took another stand not ten feet away from us.
An animated conversation ensued, of which I understood only a few
words. But Dan caught the drift of the talk, and grabbed my arm so
tightly that I knew at once that something out of the ordinary was on
the way. Five minutes later, the strangers moved off once more.
“The villains!” gasped my chum, as soon as he felt safe to speak. “Do
you know what they are planning to do? They are going to break into our
offices, kill Harry Longley if necessary, and then loot the safe!”
CHAPTER XXV.
FOUR WOULD-BE PLUNDERERS.
“To break into the offices!” burst from my lips.
“Th’ haythins!” muttered Matt Gory. “Just let me be afther gittin’
a-hould of thim! Oi’ll spile their looks so their own mothers won’t
know thim!” and he shook his club determinedly.
“You are certain there is no mistake, Dan?”
“Positive, Oliver. It seems one of the rascals once worked for the firm
and he knows all about the affairs. He is certain Longley is sleeping
in an upper front room, and he has a false key to one of the back
doors.”
“They cannot be doing this by authority, Dan. Hadn’t we better notify
the guard?”
“And get arrested for our pains? No, let us beat them at their own
game. We are three to four, and Longley will make the count on both
sides even. I am not afraid of them, even if they do carry daggers.
Such cutthroats are generally cowards when cornered.”
By this time we were out on the street and stalking after the rascally
quartette, who moved on close to the low, overhanging buildings.
There was an electric light on the corner, but instead of burning
brightly it fizzed and spluttered as such lights often do. The
authorities had great trouble in keeping them lit at all, as many
reckless men tried to turn the whole of Manila in darkness, that they
might plunder the houses and stores with impunity.
“There are our offices!” whispered Dan, pointing to them. “See, the
four men are moving through the alleyway.”
“Let us kape ’em out of the buildin’!” whispered Matt Gory. “Come on,
we’ll knock ’em out at the first round, so we will!”
He started on a run, and before either Dan or I could stop him, had
tackled the first of the would-be plunderers. Crash! down came the
heavy club, and the Spaniard sank down, almost overcome.
The others turned in surprise and set up a low shout. Then, with
several vile exclamations, they hurled themselves on Matt Gory and bore
him to earth.
This was more than Dan or I could stand, and we leaped in, and blows
from our sticks rained down thickly. I hit one Spaniard over the head
and another on the shoulder, and then slipped down in a pool of water
which the darkness had hidden from view.
By this time, however, Matt Gory had again arisen and as one of the
rascals made for me, the Irishman threw him backward with such a shock
that his dagger flew some distance from his hand. In a twinkle Gory had
secured the weapon.
“Now thin, run, ye haythins, or Oi’ll be afther carvin’ yez into bits!”
he bawled, and made such a determined lunge at one of the Spaniards
that he did run for his very life, leaving his tattered shawl behind
him.
The racket in the alleyway had aroused Harry Longley, as well as
several others residing in the neighborhood. An upper window was
blocked up, and Longley inquired, in Spanish, as to what was the row.
“Help us, Longley!” cried Dan. “It is Oliver Raymond, Dan Holbrook, and
an Irish friend. We have been attacked by thieves!”
“You!” burst out the clerk. “Come to the door and I’ll let you in.”
The clerk disappeared and we heard him run downstairs, and there
followed the scraping of a key in a lock. As the door fell back Longley
appeared, pistol in hand.
“Begone, or I’ll fill you full of holes!” he shouted, in Spanish.
“_Caramba!_ The game is up!” came from one of the Spaniards, and
making final and ineffectual passes at us with their daggers, they ran
out of the alleyway and down the street.
“Come in! come in before it is too late!” went on the clerk, and we
leaped into the back office. He immediately closed the door and locked
it. All was pitch-dark and we had to feel our way around.
In a few brief words we explained the situation, to which he listened
impatiently, his ear meanwhile inclined toward a heavily barred window,
which, as is usual in this country, had no glass.
“Yes, I have the money here still,” he said. “But it is not in the
safe. It is where they cannot find it, even if they search for hours.”
“You have buried it?” whispered Dan.
“Yes, and cemented the flooring over it. I was bound to protect our
firm’s interests, no matter what happened.”
“You shall lose nothing by your actions,” I returned warmly. “Father
and the other partners shall know of your bravery.”
“It has been a constant excitement ever since Commodore Dewey brought
on that battle,” went on Harry Longley. “It’s a pity he lost so many
men.”
“Why, he didn’t lose a single man,” said Dan.
“He didn’t! Why, they have it reported in Manila that he lost two
ships and four hundred sailors.”
“You ought to know better. Couldn’t you see the battle?”
“No, the Spanish soldiers drove everybody indoors on penalty of death.
It is also reported that another Spanish fleet will soon come here to
wipe Dewey out.”
“I don’t know anything about that,” I said. “But if the fleet comes I
reckon our commodore can take care of himself.”
“So he can, every thrip!” put in Matt Gory. “Oi’ll foight wid him
meself, next toime, so Oi will!”
“Plundering is becoming a common thing here,” resumed Harry Longley,
as he led the way to his apartments above. “Last night four offices
and six stores were looted. The Spanish authorities try to catch the
offenders when the places belong to the English, French, or Germans,
but if an American is robbed they merely wink the other eye, as the
saying goes.”
“Do they offer you any protection at all, if you promise to keep out of
the fight?”
“They do, in words, but that is as far as it goes. An American is not
safe here, no matter if he gives up all his arms and swears to remain
neutral. The Dons hate the very sight of us. They never wanted us here
in the first place and now they are bound to drive us out--if they
can.”
“But they can’t,” finished Dan. “I’ll tell you all, Uncle Sam is bound
to stay here. Mark my words and see if I am not right.”
Since we had left him, Longley had had natives working at the offices,
and each window was barred more heavily than ever, while some of those
on the lower floor had been covered entirely.
“You see, I am bound to hold the fort,” he smiled grimly. “I don’t want
to leave this ground. It is in dispute, as you know, and the Spaniards
would like nothing better than to take possession. This is the ground
mentioned in those documents lost on the _Dart_.”
“I wish I could find the _Dart_ and get the documents and the money
back,” I answered, somewhat bitterly.
We were a good deal exhausted and partook eagerly of the hot coffee,
rice cakes, and other things which Longley set before us. He had
stocked up with sufficient provisions to last for a month, and among
his stores were two barrels of water.
“You see, the rebels may cut off the water supply from the reservoir,”
he explained. “If they do, people in Manila will be in a bad shape all
around.”
“Cannot the Spanish soldiers protect the water works?”
“I don’t know. They used to have their hands full with the rebels
alone. Now they have us Americans to fight in addition.”
Longley had but a single cot at hand, and as all could not sleep on
that, we told him to keep his resting place and proceeded to make
ourselves comfortable on the floor.
It would have been well had one or another remained on the watch, but
Dan, Gory, and I were thoroughly fagged out, and Longley had been on
guard the night before.
“We’ll risk it,” said the clerk, as he passed around such blankets as
he possessed, not for coverings, as it was too warm for that, but to be
made up into such couches as our ingenuity could devise.
We turned in about eleven o’clock and I slept soundly until a little
after three in the morning. I awoke with a start and knew at once that
some noise had aroused me. I listened, but all was as silent as the
grave, excepting for the snoring that came from Matt Gory’s corner.
“Something is wrong,” I thought, and turned over in the direction of
the barred window, close to Longley’s couch. There was a faint light,
and the sight that I saw filled me with horror.
A man hung to the bars from the outside. In one hand he held a sharp
dagger tied to a stout stick. The dagger had been passed into the room
and the man was on the point of sticking the dangerous-looking blade
into Longley’s breast!
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE FIGHT IN THE OFFICES.
“Longley, look out!”
Such was the cry which broke from my lips, as I leaped to my feet.
At the same moment, I picked up a chair standing near and hurled it at
the arm thrust through the window bars with all my might.
By pure good luck my aim was true, and the seat of the chair struck the
Spaniard’s hand such a smart blow that he gave a howl of pain, dropped
stick and dagger, and fell back out of sight.
“What is the matter?” came from Longley, as he scrambled up from under
the articles just mentioned. At the same time Dan and Matt Gory also
arose.
“The window--a Spaniard wanted to knife you,” I answered, and turned up
the light.
“This is the worst yet,” said the clerk, as he picked up the stick and
examined the weapon fastened to it. “By thunder! Ramon Delveraz!”
“Ramon Delveraz! What do you mean by that?” queried Dan.
“Here is the name on the dagger handle. Ramon Delveraz is one of the
Spaniards who are trying to drive us into quitting these offices, so
that their land company can take possession of this whole block.”
“The man was a short, stout fellow with a heavy beard.”
“It must have been he! The scoundrel! Where is he now?”
Longley rushed to the window and looked out. Nobody was to be seen.
Then he ran to the front of the room.
“There he goes!” he cried, pointing to a retreating figure. “Oh, but I
will pay him back for this when the excitement is over.”
The incident had banished sleep for the balance of the night, and we
talked over the situation until daylight.
The sun came up clear and hot, but the streets remained deserted,
excepting for the soldiers on guard. One of these came up to the doors
below and tried them to see if they were locked. Longley spoke to him
out of the window, but he did not answer.
“They are ugly and there is no telling what they will do next,” said
the clerk. “It’s lucky they do not know that you are here.”
“Won’t those would-be plunderers tell them of our arrival?”
“They do not know but what you belong here.”
Slowly the day wore along, growing hotter and hotter, until at two
o’clock the rooms were like a bake oven.
“This is nothing,” said Longley, after hearing me complain of the heat.
“It is only ninety-six degrees to-day. Sometimes it is a hundred and
ten in the shade.”
“I wouldn’t want to live here very long,” I answered. “It would take
all the starch out of a fellow. I don’t wonder that the natives are
lazy.”
“Oh, some of them are no good anyhow,” said he. “They won’t work, but
spend their time in sleeping, smoking, and in attending cockfights and
bullfights. Cockfighting, you know, is the national sport.”
“And it is a wicked, cruel thing, Longley. I don’t see how a man can
call himself a man and put in his time looking at one rooster trying to
tear another to death with steel spurs.”
“It is all that you say of it, and so is bullfighting.”
“I’m glad we haven’t any such national sports,” I went on. “Baseball
and football are good enough for me.”
“They laugh at baseball and call it baby’s play.”
“Never mind, it isn’t inhuman, and their fights are.”
“Fortunes are won and lost on bull- and cockfights. I have heard
of thousands of _pesetas_ changing hands as the result of a single
contest.”
“That makes it all the worse. I don’t want to see or hear of such
fights,” I concluded, and I meant what I said. I think these contests
an everlasting disgrace to Spain and every other nation that permits
them.
To fill in our time we helped Longley prepare the mid-day meal and
enjoyed the best the stock of provisions on hand afforded. Our coffee
was native grown, and, seasoned with condensed milk, made as good a
drink as the best of Java.
“This island could have a splendid coffee trade if it would only wake
up,” said Longley. “Just see what the Dutch have done for Java. The
Spaniards are away behind the times.”
“Spain is a nation of the past,” said Dan. “I have heard father say
that she will never regain the valuable prestige which she has lost.
Her possessions are dropping away one by one, and in time she won’t be
able to hold even the mother country together.”
“It’s because she don’t trate the people roight,” broke in Matt Gory.
“She takes ivery cent fer taxes an’ church purposes, and they be
strapped, an’ git nothin’ fer it. A mon as has a constant drain on his
pocketbook wid no recompense, is apt to git mad sooner or later and
rise up an’ swat somebody.”
We all roared at these quaint remarks, yet recognized their truth.
“Spain will wake up when it is too late,” said Longley. “The people----”
He stopped off short as a loud knocking below reached our ears. Going
to the window he reported three Spanish soldiers below.
“Hide, all of you!” he continued, and rushed to a side wall. Opening a
door, he showed us a secret closet and we entered.
Slowly the minutes passed as we heard him go below and hold a short and
spirited conversation. Then came a struggle and the report of a pistol.
“Here, I can’t stand this!” cried Dan. “He is in trouble and----”
“We must help him,” I finished, and leaped out into the room. Longley
had armed us with pistols, and we descended the stairs on the
double-quick with the weapons in our hands, and Gory tumbling after us.
Longley stood leaning against a counter in the rear office, the blood
flowing from a wound in his side. Near him stood the three Spaniards,
one with a pistol which still smoked from the discharge.
Without hesitation we opened fire and as the three pistols rang out
two of the Spaniards went down, one shot in the side and the other in
the breast. At once the office began to fill with smoke.
“Down with all--of--them!” gasped poor Longley.
“Don’t--let--them--get--away or you are--lost!” and then he fainted
from loss of blood.
We had seen the two soldiers fall and now all three of us rushed
through the smoke at the third fellow. Again a pistol shot rang out,
and a bullet touched Matt Gory on the arm. But that was the last time
that that Don ever pulled a trigger, for the Irishman fired in return
and he fell headlong, shot through the heart.
“Lock the door!” I cried, to Dan, and he leaped to do as bidden. Then,
seeing that the two Spaniards on the floor were incapable of doing
further harm, I turned my attention to poor Longley and carried him to
a rattan lounge which stood in a corner.
It was no easy task to bind up the clerk’s wound. By the time it was
accomplished the two Spaniards who had been knocked over were coming
around. Soon one of them began to yell feebly for assistance.
“This will never do!” whispered Dan. “We’ll have the guards down on us
in short order. Gag them.”
“I know a better trick,” I answered, and stepped over both men with my
pistol. “Silence!” I commanded, and pointed the weapon at first one and
then the other.
My meaning was clear even if my word of command was not, and with a
shiver of terror the fellow who had been calling out relapsed into
silence.
“Help me!” came faintly from Longley, and he sat up and stared about
him. “Wha--what has occurred? I--I thought I was shot down!”
“You were,” answered Dan.
“And those three villains?”
“Two are wounded and lie yonder and the third is dead.”
“Thank heaven for that!” And then unable to hold himself up longer, the
clerk sank back again.
Soon we heard the tramp of a dozen feet outside and there followed a
loud knocking on the door. We became as quiet as death.
“Open the door!” came the order, in Spanish, but nobody moved, while
Dan and I and even Matt Gory, wounded as he was, kept our pistols ready
for use.
“Open the door!” came the order a second time. Then a brief discussion
followed. “The shooting must have come from elsewhere,” said a Spanish
officer; and the patrol outside marched on.
As I could not understand the talk, Dan translated it. “If we keep
quiet for awhile I think we’ll be all right,” he said.
And we did keep quiet, for an hour or more. But nobody came near the
offices during that time, and at last we considered ourselves, for the
time being, safe.
CHAPTER XXVII.
A LETTER OF GREAT IMPORTANCE.
During the time which passed Dan and I attended to both Longley and
Matt Gory’s wounds, and also did what we could for the two Spaniards.
The dead man was placed in the cellar.
As I have mentioned, the Irish sailor’s wound was not a serious affair,
and he soon insisted that he was as ready for fighting as ever.
Longley, however, was in bad shape, and I felt he ought to have a
doctor’s attention.
“Tell me where I can find a doctor and I’ll go for him,” I said, and he
gave me the necessary directions, and I slipped off by a back alleyway.
Luckily I found the medical man at home. He was an Englishman and
readily consented to come over to the offices and do what he could for
Longley.
“They should not harm him, since he is not in this fight,” said the
doctor. “Do you imagine they mistreat Spaniards in San Francisco and
New York so? It is against international rules of war and Spain will
gain nothing by such a course.”
“They are bound to drive our firm from Manila, if they can. This is
more of a personal than a national difficulty.”
“Still, they should treat you fairly.”
An examination proved that Longley needed rest and quietness if he was
to recover. The physician said if the clerk was removed to his home he
would take care of him. We debated the matter, and resolved to remove
Longley at nightfall.
“And as soon as he is gone you had better turn those two wounded
Spaniards over to their own people,” went on the medical man. “I’ll
make sure that they don’t unearth Longley, even if they hunt for him,
which will be doubtful.”
The removal was made without trouble, the Spaniards having their hands
full at the front, watching Commodore Dewey’s ships and his marines and
the rebel troops, which were pressing closer and closer to Manila.
As soon as Longley was safe we did as Dr. Harkness advised, turned
the Spaniards out, laying them on a side street, where they were soon
picked up by a guard. The offices were then locked up, and the doctor
said he would place them under the British flag for protection.
At midnight Dan, Matt Gory, and myself were once again on the streets
of the city, not knowing which way to turn or what to do.
“Shall we go back to the ship?” queried Dan.
“Perhaps it might be as well,” I said. “But we may be captured at the
city wall.”
However, we determined to try our luck, and set off in the midst of
a rising storm. As we moved onward, we heard a number of shots from
a distance, and presently found ourselves in the midst of a mass of
natives who were running for their lives.
“There has been an uprising!” cried Dan, after questioning a native.
“Let us go along. We can escape better in the crowd than if we keep
alone.”
We rushed along the street, and presently found ourselves among at
least two hundred Filipinos of all sorts and conditions. Some were
armed with rifles, but the majority carried nothing but clubs, spears,
and long knives, such as were used on the plantations.
Coming to the river, a rush was made over the bridge, and then began a
flight to the north, up a road that was six inches deep with mud.
“Now let us get out of this!” whispered Dan, and we gradually drew to
one side, like tame horses withdrawing from a wild herd.
The rain had now stopped, but it was still pitch-dark, and soon we had
left the natives fleeing to the north of us, while we turned eastward.
“Listen!” exclaimed Dan, as a strange sound reached our ears, above the
rising wind. “What is that?”
“It must be a cry for help!” I answered.
“Let us be afther investigatin’,” put in Matt Gory. “We may be able to
do some feller-critter a big turn.”
The cries seemed to come from a hillside ahead, and we mounted this
through dense brush that dripped with water.
“There is a hut ahead,” said Dan. “The cries come from there.”
“It must be a native in distress,” I returned, and moved on in advance.
“Help! help!” came suddenly, in an English voice, and we quickened our
pace, feeling that one of our own soldier or sailor boys might be in
distress.
When we reached the bamboo hut a strange sight met our gaze. On his
back lay a white man of at least seventy years of age. Kneeling on his
breast was a Tagal with drawn knife, while another Tagal knelt at the
old man’s side, trying to pull a money bag from his grasp.
“Hi! stop that!” I called out, and, rushing in, kicked one of the
Tagals so heavily in his side that he rolled over and over on the
earthen floor.
At this the second native leaped up and rushed at me with his knife.
But, before the blade could descend, Dan fired at him, and his arm fell
helpless at his side.
“Help me; they have--have murdered me!” gasped the old man, and
turned over on his side in pain, showing an ugly cut on his neck.
With a fierce mutter the Tagal I had kicked got up and rushed at Dan,
clutching him by the throat and running him up against the wall of the
hut. But now Matt Gory leaped in, and a blow from his pistol stretched
the rascal senseless. Seeing this, the native who had been shot took to
his heels and disappeared into the darkness outside.
There was a dim lantern burning beneath the roof of the hut, and
this light was now turned up, that we might see more of this strange
situation.
“I am--am done for,” gasped the old man. “That villain has torn my neck
to pieces!”
“Let us bind the wound up,” I answered tenderly. “Have you any rags
handy?”
“Never mind--I know I cannot live. I--I--can I trust you?”
“You can,” answered Dan. “Have you a message to leave?”
“I have. You are Americans?”
“Yes.”
“So am I. My name is Gaston Brown. I have a son, a sailor, Watterson
Brown, who----”
“I know him--Watt Brown. He was second mate of the _Dart_,” I
ejaculated.
“So you know Watt?” The old man’s eyes brightened for an instant. “So
much the better. I have something for my son. If I die will you deliver
it?”
“I will--if I can.”
“We will do our best,” added Dan, and Matt Gory nodded.
“Sure, an’ we were all on the _Dart_ wid yer son,” added the Irishman.
“I cannot leave Watt much money; but I have a precious letter for him.
That letter must not be lost. Will you defend it while it is in your
keeping?”
“Yes,” I answered. “But hadn’t you better acquaint me with its
contents, in case it is lost?”
“It must not be lost. It is--is in the tin box buried in yonder corner.
Give it to Watt with my blessing. Tell him--tell him--water!”
“He is dying!” whispered Dan, and ran for water, while I raised the
elderly individual up. I wanted to tell him how Watt was situated, but
it was too late. A strange rattle sounded in his throat, and before my
chum could place the cup of water to his lips, his soul had fled.
“Sure an’ he is gone!” whispered Matt Gory, the first to break the
silence. “God rist him!”
“This was a strange way to live,” I began, when Dan cut me short.
“We must not lose time here, Oliver. Let us get that letter and be
going.”
We hunted in a corner of the hut and began to dig down at a spot where
it looked as if the soil had been recently disturbed.
“That’s the box,” said Matt Gory, as we heard a metallic click, and
soon the box was brought to light--a square affair, painted black.
It was unlocked, and, opening it, we found that it contained nothing
but a long, thick envelope, tightly sealed, and addressed to Watterson
Brown, mate, on board the schooner _Dart_. Below were added the words:
“From his father, with the hope that the fortune may prove a blessing.”
“A fortune for Watt Brown,” mused Dan. “Well, he deserves it, for he’s
a good fellow.”
“If only he isn’t dead. In that case I won’t know what to do with the
letter,” I answered, as I tucked the precious document away in my
pocket. Little did I dream of all of the adventures into which that
letter was to one day lead me.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
TREED BY BUFFALO BULLS.
“This silent inaction is growing monotonous.”
It was Dan who spoke, and he addressed me, while both of us and Matt
Gory took it easy in front of a deserted house we had chanced upon on a
side road some miles away from Manila.
After burying Gaston Brown our flight had taken us to the north, and we
had rested at the house for two days, undecided what to do next.
“If we try to move past Manila and toward Cavité, we’ll run into both
rebels and Spaniards, and I don’t want to do that,” I said. “I am
rather sick of this fighting.”
“So am I, Oliver. But we must do something. We can’t sit here and suck
our thumbs.”
“Let us try to make our way up past Subig Bay to the coast and find out
what has become of the _Dart_.”
“Sure, an’ that same suits me,” put in Matt Gory. “Oi wants that dudeen
of mine th’ worst way, so Oi do. Bad cess to any haythin’ as has
stholen th’ same!” He spoke of his old pipe constantly, for it had
been his friend for many years.
“Your dudeen ought to be strong enough to walk to where you are, Matt,”
laughed Dan. Then his face grew thoughtful. “It would be a long trip to
the _Dart_, and we may fall in with lots of Tagals.”
“Perhaps not, Dan. I have an idea that all of the natives are now
gathering around Manila, and we will find the coast almost clear.”
“There is something in that. Well, I’m willing. Anything is better than
staying here with hardly anything to eat but cocoanuts and plantains.”
Nevertheless, we did not move away until twenty-four hours later. Our
rest at the house had done us good, and at the place we had picked up
a new pair of boots for Matt, a coat for Dan, and a new straw hat for
myself, besides some canned goods, which, however, we had not opened,
determined to keep them until we could find nothing else.
The day we set off it was cooler than it had been for some time, and as
the road was comparatively level, we made good time, and by nightfall
had covered fifteen miles.
We had met only a few natives, and these of the mild sort, who merely
stared at us in open-mouthed wonder.
“There is one thing certain,” I said, as we went into camp that night.
“Not all of these people want to fight.”
“That is true, Oliver. I believe, if they were left alone, a good
portion of the Filipinos would prove absolutely harmless. But the
warlike class keep the others in a constant state of excitement.”
Several days passed, including a Sunday, when we let up on our travels
and rested. We had now entered the hills, and traveling became more
difficult. We might have lost our way; but from the wreck of the
schooner Matt Gory had saved both a chart and a compass, and these now
stood us in good stead.
The weather remained clear, but knowing that storms are frequent, we
made the most of our time while it did not rain. We had now struck the
seacoast north of Subig Bay, and we calculated that a week’s added
traveling would see us at the spot where the _Dart_ lay and where we
had had so many adventures on first landing.
Two days later we came on a plateau overlooking the sea. It was still
clear, and we had hardly reached the place when Matt Gory pointed out a
sail on the horizon.
“Some ship sailing around, even if there is a war on,” said Dan. “I
wonder what sort of a craft she is?”
“A Chinese junk,” answered the Irish sailor, “Oi kin tell ’em as far as
Oi kin see ’em.”
“Well, we don’t want anything to do with their junks,” I answered. “It
was a Chinese craft that knocked that hole in the _Dart_.”
Soon the sail disappeared from view on its way up the coast, and we
started to continue our journey. We had gone on less than a mile when a
strange tramping behind us brought us to a halt.
“What is that?” I questioned, as I drew my pistol.
“Horsemen approaching, I reckon,” murmured Dan. “We had better hide.”
But hiding was not so easy, as only some tall trees were around, the
ground being too stony for small brush of any thickness.
“They be comin’ closer!” cried Matt Gory. “Sure an’ we had betther take
to the trees, me b’ys!”
“We’ll have to help one another up,” I said. “Come on.”
We chose some mahogany trees, two growing close together. By boosting
and hauling we managed with much difficulty to gain the lower limbs
just as the newcomers came into view around a turn of a hillside.
“Gracious! Buffalo bulls!” cried Dan.
“Sure an’ they are no inimies!” cried Matt Gory, and without
thinking twice, dropped to the ground again.
“Come up here!” roared Dan. “Do you want to be horned to pieces?”
“Will they horn one?” I queried.
“Yes, as quickly as a mad bull at home.”
“Then, Matt, get up, and be quick about it.”
There was no need to tell the Irish sailor twice. A buffalo bull had
spotted him, and with a wild snort, was coming for him, horns down.
“Be the powers!” gasped Gory. “Save me! hilp!” and he made a wild dash
for the tree, but slipped and fell.
[Illustration: “BEFORE THE BUFFALO BULL COULD REACH HIM, DAN’S PISTOL
RANG OUT.”]
I fully expected to see him gored to death, but, before the buffalo
bull could reach him, Dan’s pistol rang out, and the beast staggered
and dropped back, with an ugly wound just below his left eye.
“Come, Matt, get up!” I yelled, and as the sailor made for the tree, I
leaned far down and caught his hand. Just as I hauled him up the bull
made another charge, striking the tree trunk with a shock that shook
the tree from end to end.
In a minute more we found the two mahogany trees surrounded by exactly
eleven bulls, for these curious creatures sometimes congregate in this
fashion, although not always. They were wild-looking beasts, and from
their breathing we felt certain that they had come a long distance.
“They have been pursued,” said Dan. “Usually they are fairly tame,
although not to be trifled with.”
“Sure and Oi’ve had a narrow escape!” panted Matt Gory. “See! see!
phwat is up now?”
He pointed to the wounded bull, that had circled around and, without
warning, charged one of his mates. Instantly there was a counter
charge, and the crashing together of two skulls could be distinctly
heard. Then the wounded bull went down on his knees and several of his
mates fell upon him and tore him into shreds.
It was a disgusting sight, and I had to turn away, for fear of getting
sick and tumbling from the branch upon which I rested. “Now we have a
sample of bullfighting, I suppose,” I said.
“Yes, and it’s simply horrible!” murmured Dan. Matt Gory, however,
seemed to enjoy the contest, and let out a hurrah as the bull fell over
dead.
“It serves the baste roight fer attackin’ me,” he said. “Bad luck to
the rascal!”
After the killing of the bull, his mates withdrew to a distance of
twenty or thirty yards, in the meantime tossing their heads at us and
giving occasional snorts of anger.
“They are aching to get at us,” was Dan’s comment. “And just for the
fun of killing us, too, since they won’t touch meat.”
“We’re in a serious dilemma, Dan,” I answered. “We can’t stay here
forever.”
“Neither can the bulls.”
“But some of them may keep coming and going, and thus starve us out.”
“No; I think if they once make a move to leave, they’ll go in a bunch.”
After this several hours went by, and still the bulls stayed where they
were. Then came a sudden clatter of ponies’ hoofs on the road and the
yells of half a dozen natives.
“The Tagals are coming now, beyond a doubt,” I said.
“And the bulls are running for it,” answered Dan, and he was right; at
the first cries from the natives the buffalo bulls scampered off like
frightened deer, and that was the last we saw of them.
We had scarcely time to draw up into the topmost branches of the
mahoganies when the pony riders put in an appearance. Six short,
wicked-looking Tagals rode the animals.
A shout went up when the carcass of the dead bull was discovered. A
jabbering in a native dialect followed, and two Tagals left, presumably
to find out what had become of the rest of the herd. While this hunt
was made, two other natives cut off a number of juicy buffalo steaks
and placed them in leaves bound with vines.
“I hope they don’t go into camp here,” murmured Dan to me.
“Or that they don’t discover some trace of us,” I returned.
“We had better hold ourselves in readiness for an attack,” put in Matt
Gory, and we thought this good advice and followed it.
CHAPTER XXIX.
CAPTAIN KENNY AGAIN.
We were compelled to pass the night in the trees, the Tagals encamping
less than a hundred feet away, and the night proving so light that
escape was out of the question.
But at dawn our enemies departed, and then we lost no time in dropping
to the ground and moving on, first, however, helping ourselves to all
of the steaks we could conveniently carry.
Our course lay along the hills, and soon we crossed the canyon where
Captain Kenny had played me such a dastardly trick. Here we paused for
a dinner of the steaks, and I think I can truthfully say that never did
a repast taste sweeter.
“I only hope I can square accounts with Captain Kenny some time,” I
said. “I shall never feel satisfied until I know he has received his
deserts.”
“Villains are not always brought to justice, Oliver,” answered Dan.
“But I haven’t any doubt but that we will meet Captain Kenny some time
or another, and if we do----” Dan finished by a determined shake of his
head that meant a good deal.
We were now approaching those mountains which I mentioned in the
earlier chapters of my tale, and, consequently, our progress was much
slower.
“It’s a good thing that it remains dry,” said Dan, as we toiled up one
hill and down another. “I don’t want any thunderstorms.”
“No, especially if the lightning is going to strike close by,” I added.
“I wish we were in sight of the sea.”
“I think we’ll reach it by to-morrow.”
My chum’s surmise was correct, for about noon of the day following we
came out upon the shore of the China Sea, close to the point where I
had been cast up in company with Watt Brown and several others.
“This looks a bit familiar,” I cried, as I ran out on the sand.
“Hi! be careful,” shouted Dan. “Do you want those Tagals to spot you?”
“Not much!” I returned, and scampered for shelter with equal alacrity.
After that I proceeded with more caution.
It was determined to push on without delay to where the _Dart_ had come
ashore. This would bring us in the vicinity of the stranded craft about
nightfall and enable us to take in the situation under cover of the
darkness.
It was about four o’clock, and we reckoned that we must soon come in
sight of the _Dart_, when Matt Gory suddenly pulled my arm.
“The Chinese junk!” he ejaculated. “She is heading in shore!”
“By Jove, Matt is right!” answered Dan. “What can this mean?”
“It means that they have spotted the _Dart_ and are coming ashore to
investigate,” I replied. “I suppose they think they have discovered a
rich haul.”
“In that case we must get to the wreck first!” said Dan. “Come, let us
leg it!”
And run we did, at the best speed at our command, and forgetting all
about the possible proximity of the Tagals. Soon the _Dart_ came
into view, lying exactly as she had before, but now totally deserted
excepting for a single figure that stood on the deck, armed with a gun
and two pistols.
“Watt Brown!” I yelled, and Dan and Matt Gory also cried out.
At the sounds of our voices the second mate turned swiftly and fell
back in amazement.
“Well! well!” he ejaculated, when he could speak. “I thought you
fellows were all dead. Come on board and help me hold the fort.”
“Hold the fort?” I asked. “Against whom?”
“Yonder Chinamen, Raymond. I’ve been watching ’em through a glass, and
they are pirates, I’m dead sure on it!”
“We can’t hold th’ fort agin’ a shipload of ’em,” grumbled Matt Gory.
“I have a small cannon waiting for them,” answered Watt Brown. “I am
bound to hold the fort until the _Concord_ comes back.”
“The _Concord_!” I burst out. “Do you mean the gunboat of Dewey’s
fleet?”
“I do.”
“And has she been here?” put in Dan, with equal interest.
“Yes, and she picked up nearly all of our old crew that were alive
excepting Captain Kenny and Ah Sid, the cook. Tom Dawson was on her.”
“Good fer Tom, I knew he would do somethin’!” cried the Irish sailor.
“But how is it you are keeping the fort, as you call it?”
“I escaped from the Tagals and fell in with some of the owners of the
_Dart_ at Manila. They are down on Captain Kenny, and they were on the
point of having him arrested for fraud when he got to Manila. They
asked me to come back and claim the property, and the schooner is to
be floated and turned over to the United States Government for coast
service during this war. Now will all of you help me, or won’t you?”
“Certainly we will!” cried Dan, and Matt Gory and I said the same.
There was no time to talk further, and we hastened to look about the
_Dart_ to learn how we were to defend the schooner from attack. The
howitzer Watt Brown had mentioned was already loaded, and the second
mate said he would attend to the piece himself if only we would
look after the small-arms; said small-arms being eight muskets, all
loaded, lying in a row by the rail, alongside of a biscuit box full of
cartridges!
“Sure an ye are afther bein’ a whole company of marines in wan!”
observed Matt Gory, as he surveyed the preparations. “It puts me in
mind o’ the man as used to go around Irish fairs playing a dhrum,
a fife, and fiddle, an’ a hurdy-gurdy all in wan, wid the sweetest
music----”
“They are coming, and we haven’t a minute to lose,” interrupted Dan,
and took up two of the guns. “Keep out of sight, boys, or they may pick
us off at long range!”
“I would like to have a look through your glasses,” I said, and he
readily handed them over. My eyes are good, and as I gazed at the junk
I saw she had lowered all of her sails and was dropping a small boat
into the sea.
“They are coming over here, for sure,” I said.
“Let me take a look,” said Dan, and took the glasses from my hands.
“By Jove!” he gasped, a minute later.
“What is it, Dan?”
“There is a white man in that boat!”
“A white man, eh?” broke in Watt Brown. “Who can he be?”
“I can’t make out yet.”
“And how many yellow fellers?” asked Matt Gory.
“Six sailors and an officer.”
“Eight, all told,” mused the second mate. “Well, we ought to prove a
match for ’em.”
“We ought not to shed blood if it can be avoided,” I said.
“True for you, Raymond; but you must remember that pirates are pirates
the world over.”
Slowly the small boat came closer. Watt Brown continued to watch it
through the glass. Then of a sudden he gave a gasp.
“Captain Kenny!”
“What?” we ejaculated in chorus.
“The white man is Captain Kenny--and one of the men at the oars is Ah
Sid!”
“What in the world are they doing among those pirates?” I asked.
“That remains to be seen. More than likely Captain Kenny has heard what
the other owners of the _Dart_ want to do, and he is going to turn the
craft over to those Chinamen,” answered the second mate.
“Has he a right to do that?”
“I don’t think he has--and whether he has or not, I’m not going to let
him do it,” and Watt Brown shook his head determinedly. “He’s a bad
egg.”
“He is that,” I went on. “I want to bring him to justice myself. Why,
he tried to take my life!”
“We’ll hold the fort, as Brown says,” put in Dan. “The question is, how
are we going to do it?”
“I’ll show you!” cried the second mate, and snatching up one of the
muskets he shot it off in the air.
As the report rolled out to sea the rowers in the small boat dropped
their blades, while Captain Kenny leaped to his feet. The former
commander waved his hand, as Watt Brown came into view.
“Ahoy, there!” he cried, at the top of his lungs.
For reply the second mate seized a speaking trumpet with which he had
supplied himself. “Keep off!” he yelled. “Keep off, or we’ll blow you
and your boat to kingdom come!”
CHAPTER XXX.
A FIGHT AT LONG RANGE.
There is no doubt but that Captain Kenny was taken completely by
surprise. As a matter of fact he had expected to find nobody on board
or near the _Dart_, knowing that all of the Tagals of that territory
had moved away to join the insurgent forces operating around Manila.
For a minute after Watt Brown had delivered his warning there was a
silence, broken only by the soft lapping of the waves as they broke
against the _Dart’s_ sides.
“What is that you say?” demanded the captain at length.
“I warn you to keep off,” shouted Watt Brown. “Come closer at your
peril!”
“What right have you to talk to me in this fashion, Brown?”
“A good deal of right, Captain Kenny. I have found you out, and so have
others; and you are a thorough villain.”
“What have you found out?”
“Found out that you were trying to defraud the other owners, for one
thing.”
“It aint so!” stormed the former skipper of the schooner.
“It is so.”
“And you tried to take my life!” I called out, as I showed myself for
the first time.
“Raymond!” he ejaculated, and for the instant he could say no more.
“I have a good body of men with me,” continued Watt Brown, “and I warn
you to keep off.”
“The ship is mine, and I intend to have her,” was the reckless return.
Captain Kenny turned to Ah Sid and spoke to the Chinaman. In return the
former cook of the _Dart_ interpreted his remarks for his countrymen.
A short discussion took place, and then Captain Kenny called out once
more.
“We are coming on board, Brown, and the best thing you can do is to
make a peaceful surrender.”
“We won’t surrender, and if you come ten feet nearer we’ll open fire on
you.”
“You won’t dare!”
“We will dare. Do you know who this boat belongs to?”
“She belongs to me.”
“She belongs to the United States Government--or will belong to the
government very soon.”
“On the contrary, she belongs to the captain of yonder Chinese junk.”
“Not much! Now keep off! I have warned you for the last time. If you
don’t--”
Watt Brown got no further. While he had been speaking Captain Kenny had
drawn his pistol, and now, taking sudden aim, he let drive, the bullet
clipping the second mate’s forelock.
“The rascal!” I burst out, and was on the point of firing when the
howitzer roared out, sending a shot cutting over the small boat’s bow.
A splinter planted itself in Ah Sid’s shoulder and we were glad to see
that unworthy Celestial squirm with pain.
The discharge of the ship’s cannon alarmed the Chinamen more than all
threats would have done, and catching up their oars, they turned the
battered small boat about and made for the junk.
“That scared them,” cried Dan.
“Can’t Oi have a shot at ’em?” queried Matt Gory disappointedly.
“You may get more shots than you want before we have done with ’em,”
smiled Watt Brown grimly.
“You think they will come back?” said Dan.
“Most certainly Captain Kenny will be back. He’s not the fellow to give
up so readily.”
We watched the small boat until it was out of range, then dropped our
weapons and sought shelter from the fierce rays of the setting sun.
During the excitement I had forgotten about Watt Brown’s packet, but
now I brought it forth and handed it to him, and in as gentle a way as
I could, told him of his parent’s death.
“Poor father!” he murmured, and tears stood on his rough cheeks. “He
was a good man, even if he was queer. I wish I could have been with him
when he died.”
He then proceeded to tell us something of his parent’s history, how he
had been first a sailor, then a doctor, and then a rover of the earth
in search of adventure.
“He has been to nearly every country on the globe,” he continued. “He
was always wanting to see the unknown and the strange. He did not
travel so much when my mother was living, but after she died he could
not content himself in one place for more than six months or a year at
the most. He came to Manila with me on my last trip and intended to
look for a Kanaka whom he had once met in the Hawaiian Islands.”
“He said the document was of great value,” I answered. “I hope it
proves so.”
“I’ll look it over the first chance I get. Now is no time to think of
anything like that, since those heathens are coming our way a second
time,” concluded Watt Brown.
He was right about the Chinamen. The small boat had left the junk
and was moving up the shore as swiftly as the oarsmen could drive it
through the surf. Captain Kenny was again on board, but Ah Sid was
missing.
“They are going to make for the beach and attack us from land,”
exclaimed Dan.
“Can’t we hit him with the howitzer?” asked Matt Gory. “You are afther
bein’ a foine shot, Brown.”
“I’ll try it,” answered the mate, and once again the cannon was loaded.
To sight the piece was difficult, as the small boat danced up and down
on the waves incessantly.
When the howitzer was touched off it was seen that the shot had passed
over the small boat. That it had come close, however, was proven by the
consternation on board, several of the Celestials having dropped their
oars in terror.
“Missed!” muttered Watt Brown. “Try the muskets.”
We at once complied, the mate firing with us. But the distance was too
great for those who were not sharpshooters, and none of the bullets
took effect, excepting upon the small boat.
Before the howitzer could be loaded again the party landed and, hauling
the rowboat up on the sands, they ran for the shelter of the trees and
rocks.
“Take the small-arms over to port,” ordered Watt Brown. “They’ll be
coming out through the woods in less than ten minutes.”
“Another boat is putting off from the junk!” exclaimed Dan, who had
picked up the glasses.
“Six, seven, eight, nine men are coming over in her! And they have a
small gun on board!”
“Seven and nine make sixteen,” I said. “Sixteen to four are pretty big
odds.”
“Yis, but we are afther havin’ the advantage of position,” returned
Matt Gory. “Brown, can’t ye be afther blowin’ that second boat
sky-hoigh wid th’ howitzer?”
“I can try,” answered the second mate.
He had already reloaded the piece, and as the second small boat came
closer he began to sight the gun.
“There is a flag of truce!” cried Dan, as an officer in the boat held
up a white handkerchief by two of the corners.
“We don’t recognize any flag of truce!” cried Watt Brown. “I’ll show
’em that none o’ their dirty Chinese tricks will work on me!”
And rushing around he found a big red blanket and swung it defiantly to
the breeze. For several seconds the Chinamen refused to recognize the
return signal, but then the white handkerchief dropped and the second
small boat came to a lazy roll on the long waves.
“Watch the woods!” sang out Watt Brown. “I’ll keep these fellows at
bay, never fear.”
“I see some forms behind yonder trees,” said Dan, a second later. “They
are coming on as fast as they can, and each man has a pistol and a
rifle! They mean fight!”
“Take that, ye villain!” came from Matt Gory, and taking a quick aim,
he fired, and the foremost of the Celestials went down, hit in the side.
This serious shot brought the crowd under Captain Kenny to a halt, and
in a twinkle all disappeared again from view.
“They are gone,” said the Irish sailor.
“They’ll be coming on again, soon,” said the second mate. And his words
proved only too true.
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE WRECKING OF THE HOWITZER.
For fully five minutes the situation remained unchanged, and during
that time we took the opportunity to reload the empty weapons and bring
out several others that had been hidden in a secret closet of the cabin.
It must not be supposed that I had forgotten my money belt and the
documents belonging to our firm. I had thought of them several times,
but, as yet, had not dared to go below to see if they were safe.
Now, however, both Dan and I hurried to the stateroom which we had
occupied. The door was closed, but not locked, and we entered, to find
all pitch-dark, the port-hole having become covered with mud.
Striking a match, we lit a lantern and proceeded to make an
investigation. Trunks and lockers had been broken open, and clothing
and other things lay around in confusion.
“Not a money belt in sight!” I groaned, after a search. “And the
documents are gone, too!”
“We haven’t looked everywhere, yet,” answered Dan. “Turn over the bed
mattresses.”
“How could they get into the beds?” I asked. “If those rascally
Tagals----”
A shout from the deck interrupted me, and dropping everything I flew
through the cabin and up the companion-way stairs, with Dan behind me.
“The second boat is coming on again!” announced Watt Brown. “Watch the
woods, for there may be some understanding between the two attacking
parties.”
“Sure an’ thim rascals are coming on, too!” burst in Matt Gory. “Down,
all of yez!” and he dropped flat on the deck.
We did the same, and just then a volley of rifle shots rang out, and
one of the bullets tore its way through the top of Dan’s straw hat,
while all came alarmingly close.
“On and at them!” shouted Captain Kenny, forgetful, no doubt, that the
Celestials could not understand a word. And he led the way in a rush
for the ship.
By this time the second small boat was less than two hundred feet
off and coming forward with all the speed that the eight sturdy
oarsmen could command. The officer in the bow was at the small cannon
mentioned, and at what he deemed a favorable moment touched off the
piece.
His aim was certainly a good one, for the ball hit the howitzer and
sent it flying from its carriage and rolling over the deck to port. A
portion of the block was splintered, and a bit of woodwork flew up and
hit Watt Brown in the breast, inflicting an ugly and dangerous wound.
“Brown is killed!” burst out Dan in horror, and knelt down at his side.
“Never mind--m--e,” came in a gasp from the second mate. “Repel
boarders, or w--we are--lo--lost!” and then he fainted dead away.
He spoke the truth, for now the second boat was almost alongside, while
Captain Kenny and his command were less than fifty feet away.
“Gory, cover the boat!” I yelled. “Dan, fire with me at the captain’s
crowd!” and I blazed away, and had the satisfaction of seeing another
Celestial go down.
Dan followed my command and succeeded in hitting Captain Kenny in the
leg. It was not a serious wound, but it made the rascal drop on his
breast, uttering loud cries of pain and terror. “Don’t hit me again!
Don’t!” he screamed, and crawled over the sands to where there was a
rock, behind which he hid himself, muttering bitter imprecations at
what he termed his hard luck.
The fall of their leader disconcerted the Chinamen, and again they
halted. In the meantime Matt Gory had picked out the officer in the
second boat and laid him low with a bullet through the chest.
“Hurrah fer Uncle Sam!” roared the Irish sailor enthusiastically.
“Hurrah fer another Dewey victory!” and he discharged an additional
musket and a second Celestial fell over among his companions.
But now the fighting became general and to go into all of the details
would be impossible. I fired three shots and then saw three Chinamen
coming up over the stern of the _Dart_, where those from shore and
those from the second small boat had joined forces.
“They are coming aboard!” cried Dan. “Fire at them! Give it to them
hot!” and he blazed away, and one of the Celestials fell back among his
friends.
But now five of the enemy came up, firing several rounds as they
advanced, and the deck became filled with smoke. Soon it was a
hand-to-hand encounter, and we found ourselves gradually forced back to
the companion way.
“We can’t stand up against ’em!” panted Matt Gory, as he shouldered
up to me with the blood streaming from a cut in his cheek. “They are
afther bein’ too many for us, bad cess to ’em!”
“Let us take a final stand in the cabin,” I answered. “Remember,
possession is nine points of the law.”
Matt Gory was willing and tumbled down the companion way, followed by
Dan and myself. As we burst into the cabin we shut the door behind us
and locked it.
The Celestials were now baffled for the moment and we heard them
running around the deck, speculating upon what they had best do next.
We used this time to barricade the door and to reload our pistols, our
guns having been left behind us.
Soon came a hammering and a demand in Chinese, probably to open the
door. For an answer, Matt Gory stepped close, and before we could stop
him, fired a shot through a panel. A yell of pain followed, and we
heard the staggering footsteps of the wounded man as he hurried on deck
again.
“That was a bad move, Matt,” I said. “They’ll do something awful in
revenge; you see if they don’t!”
“I couldn’t hilp it, the ould Nick take ’em!” was the reply. “If thim
haythins oncet gain--hark, phat’s that!”
A loud booming of a big cannon over the waters had reached all of our
ears. We listened intently and presently another report followed.
“It is a shot from a man-o’-war!” I burst out.
“If it’s an American ship we are saved!”
“Perhaps it is the _Concord_!” came from Dan. “Don’t you remember what
Watt Brown said?”
“Yes; but could she come in here?”
“There would be no need. She has that Chinese junk at her mercy.”
“Sure an’ if it’s wan of our warships we must be afther flyin’ a signal
of distress!” exclaimed Matt Gory.
“That is true, Matt; but how can we do it?”
“Here is a flag,” answered Dan, hauling it from the case in the closet.
“If we can get that up----”
“Oi’ll put it up!” cried the Irishman, who was too excited to even
think of the danger. “Here goes!” and he hurried to a passageway
leading through to the forecastle.
I could not resist the temptation to follow him, and Dan did the
same. We entered the forecastle to find it as much disordered as our
stateroom had been, for the Tagals had used it as a shelter during
their brief stay on the _Dart_.
“Now to get up the mast unobserved!” whispered the Irish sailor, and
moving cautiously out upon the forward deck, he started to carry out
his design, the flag under his arm.
He had taken less than a dozen steps when there came a Chinese yell and
the crack of a rifle, and poor Gory pitched headlong. A rush to the
forecastle followed.
“Back, Dan, it’s our only chance,” I cried. “They won’t grant us any
mercy if they catch us!” and we flew back into the passageway and to
the cabin, locking the second door and barricading it like the first.
The Chinamen followed us along the passage and we heard them pounding
on the doors for several seconds. But then came a call from the deck
and the dull booming of the cannon we had before heard.
“That shooting means something,” said Dan. “Oh if only the _Concord_
has arrived!”
“With Tom Dawson and the rest of our friends on board!” I added.
The rush of footsteps on the deck continued, and we heard several
Celestials in earnest consultation.
“They are up to something,” whispered Dan. “Poor Brown! I wonder if he
and Matt Gory are dead?”
“Captain Kenny will have much to answer for,” I answered. “He is
responsible for the whole muss.”
We waited for a few minutes more. Then came another rush of footsteps
and we heard the Chinamen leaving the _Dart_ by the side nearest to
shore.
“They are going to take to the woods!” yelled Dan. “Hurrah! the battle
is ours!” And he started to unlock the cabin door leading to the
companion way.
CHAPTER XXXII.
GOOD-BY TO THE PHILIPPINES.
“We must be careful,” I said to my chum, as he began to mount the
steps. “Remember poor Gory’s rashness.”
“I’ll be careful enough,” he replied, and peered over the combing to
see if the coast was clear.
To his gratification every Celestial had fled, taking the wounded along.
“They are gone, Oliver!”
“I’m glad of it,” I said, and scrambled out on the deck with him. “What
of the junk?”
“She is making up the coast with all speed. And there is a warship,
true enough!”
“We can fly that flag of distress now,” I continued, and ran back
for the article. Soon I was on my way to the top, where I placed the
glorious Stars and Stripes with the Stars downward.
A shot from the warship told us that our signal was seen, and through
the glasses we saw a boat put off in command of one of the officers.
Feeling that we were now safe I turned my attention to Watt Brown,
while Dan went to look after Matt Gory.
I found the second mate lying close to where he had fallen. He was now
conscious, but it was easy to see that death was hovering close to
his soul. He tried to smile as I took his hand, but the effort was a
failure.
“We whipped ’em,” he gasped. “I’m glad--of--it.”
“You had better not talk, Brown,” I returned. “You are too weak. Let me
bind up your wounds and give you a drink of something.”
“It aint no use, Raymond, I’m knocked out and I know it. But we whipped
’em,” and he tried to smile again. A second later he fainted once more.
I bound up his wound and tried to force some liquor down his throat. I
was in the midst of these labors when the small boat from the warship
came alongside and the officer and several others hurried to the deck.
“Tom Dawson!” I cried joyfully, and caught the first mate by the hand.
“Poor Brown!” were his first words. “Is it serious?” and as I nodded in
the affirmative he looked very sober.
It took some little time to explain the situation and hear what
the officer from the _Concord_ and Tom Dawson had to say, and in
the meantime Watt Brown and Matt Gory were taken below and made as
comfortable as circumstances permitted. There was hope for the Irish
sailor, but none for poor Watt Brown, much to the sorrow of all of us,
for everyone loved the open-hearted second mate.
Soon a second boatload of sailors came to the _Dart_ and I was asked to
go ashore with them, to point out the direction the fleeing Celestials
had taken. I went, and at the rock came upon Captain Kenny’s body,
terribly mutilated by knife-cuts. The Chinamen had fallen upon him, and
in their rage over the failure of the expedition had literally hacked
him to death. We buried him where he had fallen.
The search for the fleeing pirates, for I can call them nothing less,
lasted far into the night, but availed nothing. At last I returned to
the _Dart_, utterly fagged out. A surgeon had been sent for and he was
attending the wounded ones, and I asked him about both.
“The Irish sailor will live,” was the answer, “but Brown is mortally
wounded.”
On the _Concord_ were the two men who had owned the _Dart_ in company
with Captain Kenny. Their stock in the craft was in the majority, and
they turned her over to the government, Uncle Sam to keep the money
which was coming to the late captain’s heirs, until it was properly
claimed.
Our tales were listened to with keen interest the next day by the
warm-hearted commander of the _Concord_.
“We will do our best for you,” he said to Dan and me. “I imagine you
have nothing to fear so long as you are on board with me.”
Watt Brown’s death occurred the following afternoon and was a most
affecting scene. He and I had got to know each other pretty well since
we had been cast ashore, and he called me to him before he breathed his
last.
“Good-by to you, Raymond,” he whispered. “I am alone in the world,
and that being so I leave my father’s legacy to you. It relates to a
treasure said to be buried somewhere on the Hawaiian Islands. I hope
you find it. Good-by,” and he died in my arms as peacefully as a child.
They buried him on the shore, and I nailed together a rude cross for a
headstone.
During the day following I made another search of the stateroom and the
cabin in quest of my missing money belt and the documents belonging to
Raymond, Holbrook & Smith. For a long while I discovered nothing, but
at last I turned over some clothing lying in an out-of-the-way corner,
and there the articles lay revealed, along with Dan’s pocketbook and
belt and a number of other things of lesser importance.
“They are found at last!” I cried, and a great weight was lifted from
my shoulders. “Now let those Spaniards confiscate that land in Manila
if they dare!”
“It was worth coming to the _Dart_ after all,” smiled Dan. “Our mission
is now ended.”
And he spoke the truth.
Here I think I can properly bring to a close my tale of adventures
while serving in the navy and battling for my rights in the Philippines.
The _Dart_ was turned over to the government as before mentioned, and
the proper parties raised and repaired her and gave her an equipment
for coast service.
How Manila fell into the hands of Uncle Sam at last is a matter of
history. Dan, I, and several of our old friends were present when this
event occurred, and at the first opportunity my chum and I went ashore
to learn how Harry Longley was faring.
We found him sitting up and glad to learn that everything had turned
out so well. With the United States authorities in the city to protect
him, Longley unearthed the money belonging to our firm and placed it
in the safe, along with the documents I had rescued. To-day business
is booming with Raymond, Holbrook & Smith, and no more is heard of
disputing our claim to the land upon which our offices in Manila stand.
As soon as we could do so, we sent a cablegram to Mr. Holbrook, telling
him of what had occurred. Later on we took passage back to Hong Kong on
the _Starlight_, in company with Tom Dawson and several other of our
friends, including Matt Gory, who was now almost well.
Both Dan and I had seen enough of war, and instead of thinking about
going back to the Philippines, I took passage on a steamer for San
Francisco, and Dan accompanied me.
When I reached the Golden Gate I found that my father was still in
Cuba, and with the war going on, I grew very anxious concerning him.
But, as my friends who have read “When Santiago Fell” know, he escaped
from grave perils without injury, and he soon came on to the West,
followed, a month later, by Mark Carter, a first-rate young fellow who
had shared his adventures. Mark, Dan, and I soon became warm friends,
and it was while making a tour of California that we concocted a plan
for going to the Hawaiian Islands, so recently annexed to the United
States, in quest of the treasure mentioned in the strange document left
by Watt Brown’s father. What our future adventures were Mark will tell,
in another volume, to be called “Off for Hawaii; Or, The Mystery of a
Great Volcano.”
And now let me say good-by, kind reader, with the hope that if you ever
have such stirring adventures as have fallen to my lot, they will end
in equal good fortune.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Perceived typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.
Some illustrations have been moved to be near the text to which they
refer.
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