Chapter 6

Over this bridge he began to cross. Not more than two short steps were taken when he heard a low, whistling sound. He halted instantly, squatted on his haunches beneath the hand-rail, and listened, as fixed as a statue. The whistling was repeated; this time nearer, but the direction indefinite.

Was it the signal of an alarmed sentry, or was it one of the many nocturnal noises which the Island of Luzon produces?

Another low whistle--this time nearer; then the speaking of that instinct that tells us of the presence of human beings in the blackness of the night.

He slowly faced about. There within four feet of him, crouching upon the ground near the water's edge, was a man with a rifle in his hand. Quick as a flash he threw the muzzle of his revolver in his face--remembering his surroundings, he never fired or uttered a word.

Struggling between a whisper and a low talk, breathless through, fear, came the words of Private Holmes: "For God's sake, don't shoot, Lieutenant; it's me."

The officer lowered his revolver and beckoned the man to draw nearer.

With his mouth to the Lieutenant's ear, the soldier told that the men left behind had seen a number of moving figures in the village and trenches, not twenty-five yards away from where they were then crouching; and that he had been sent to warn his officer of his danger.

Here is where it tried the steel of "Carabao Bill."

The two kept their positions, scarcely daring to breathe lest they be heard. A plan of operations soon formed in the mind of the resourceful young officer. He whispered to Holmes to return and have the Sergeant hold his men in readiness, with magazines filled, for an emergency should he need them.

Before Holmes had covered half the distance between the Lieutenant and the men, there was the sound as the cocking of a rifle; a second later came the flash and sharp report of a Mauser. True to his training, the soldier fell to the ground and lay motionless.

By the light of the flash Van Osdol saw the black face of the Filipino sentry who had fired.

Soon began that mumbling, chattering, rattling noise that an alarmed camp alone produces. The shrill commands of the little officers in frantic endeavor to steady their men, the patter of many shoeless feet, the breaking of rifle-stacks, and the clanking of bayonets and swords, made a medley of camp music that was hideous to hear.

The alarm was soon quieted. The aroused men returned to their sleep, and soon all was again quiet. The sentry who had fired at Holmes made loud and emphatic assertions in the twangy language of the Tagalo of having seen something at which to fire, but he was disbelieved, his belt removed, deprived of his rifle, and another man put in his place.

This was pleasant for the squatting American officer on the bridge to behold.

After patiently waiting in deep suspense for more than half an hour, he noticed the substituted sentry stand his rifle against a tree and sit down. A moment later his head fell forward and he was asleep.

Determined to learn more of the enemy's position and strength, "Carabao Bill," inch by inch, silently slipped across the bridge and to the edge of the trench, a few yards to the left of the sleeping sentry. Here he made a rapid survey of the insurgent camp and position. Hundreds of them were lying stretched in sleep behind the shelter of the earthworks.

His mission accomplished, he slowly turned to the unconscious sentry, thinking to secure the Mauser rifle as a trophy of the trip; but he had no more than grabbed it when the man awoke with a start, and, like a flash, whipped out a shining bolo. Before the native had time to use his weapon, "Bill" raised the rifle above his head, and, with a powerful blow that resounded through the midnight air, sent him reeling over the trench among his slumbering companions. Then, with a shout that would tend to raise the dead, he began to empty his revolver into the rapidly awakening rebel soldiers below.

Quick-witted Sergeant Schriner had no sooner heard the blow of the rifle and the shout of his commanding officer, till he had taken in the situation.

He gave the order for a charge; and this small band of Uncle Sam's men rushed like demons, screaming and yelling like maniacs, toward the little bridge--then over it, and began to pour an awful, close-range fire into the confused mass of humanity beyond the trench.

The effect was magical. The drowsy enemy, taken unawares, routed and disorganized, beat a disgraceful retreat. In vain their officers tried to make them stand; but the thought uppermost in every man's mind was how to get to a place of security in the quickest possible time.

In less time than it takes to tell it; there were no Filipinos on the scene of action, excepting the dead and wounded. The number of these, considering the darkness of the night, did credit to American marksmanship.

The sound of retreating feet was occasionally broken by the reports of a poorly directed volley by a few of the bolder characters, who had the rare nerve to halt and fire at the audacious "Yankees."

The situation was ridiculous. Sixteen men had charged and taken a well-fortified position held by at least one thousand Tagalog.

The victors sat down on the bank of the river to talk and laugh over the adventure. Meanwhile, the terror-stricken followers of the misguided Aguinaldo were being rallied by their officers beyond the range of fire. They were now aware of the inferiority in numbers of the Americans.

To capture and hold the enemy's works was not a part of Van Osdo's instructions. Now realizing this, he decided to return and report. The men were called together, and the start began for the return.

But the bridge! In their wild advance over that frail structure it had been so shaken that it had fallen into the river and was washed away.

The stream was full to the banks and too deep to wade. Not a third of the men could swim it with their arms and accouterments. The rebels were every minute drawing nearer and intensifying their fire. They were truly between fire and water. There were no boats to be had nor could the time be taken to construct a raft of bamboo poles.

On came the howling, revengeful, murderous black devils, frenzied by their recent defeat by this inferior party. The leaders were frantically waving their swords over their heads, and shouting words of encouragement to their men; offering rewards to the first to reënter the trenches.

Our diminutive army was now on the defensive. They leaped into the ditch and began to take pot-shots at the more daring of the rapidly approaching mass, determined, to hold the place or die in the attempt--indeed, there was no alternative.

They succeeded in arresting the van.

The enemy in turn sought shelter and began a fire that had results, for two Americans were soon rendered _hors de combat_; the trench not affording as good shelter from the side from which the insurgents were approaching as on the other side.

This long-range duel kept up for many minutes. Ammunition grew scarce and was finally exhausted, Van Osdol alone retaining loads in his revolver.

From the slackening of the American fire, the rebels soon became aware of their scarcity of cartridges, and again began a mad rush for the trenches.

Nothing remained for the bold little band to do but to meet them with the point of the bayonet and sell their lives at a precious price.

The unhurt members of the detachment rallied around their gallant leader with bayonets fixed. Now the foremost of the wildly rushing horde was within a hundred yards.

A brilliant thought struck Sergeant Schriner. He ran forward, grasped a Mauser near one of the rebels who had fallen when the trenches were taken, undid the belt of the lifeless owner, buckled it around his own waist, and returned to his comrades. All followed his example. With their own arms and ammunition the advance of the blood-thirsty enemy was again checked. With the newly acquired arms and ammunition the brave little band inflicted a decided injury to their would-be slayers. Now every shot was expended with the greatest caution.

Again the American fire slackened, and again the stubborn insurrectos rushed forward. At last the recently acquired belts were emptied. There was now no further hope.

With renewed shouting, and rending the air with their hideous screams, the twice-checked enemy came madly on. Once more the defenders rallied to meet their death together.

On a sudden the yells seemed a hundred times multiplied, and from the rear as well as front. Had they been surrounded? To the rear the shouts were rapidly drawing nearer, but it was not the sharp and broken yell of the Tagalo--it was the familiar "Yankee yell"; that invincible, "gugu"-terrorizing "Yankee yell."

Five hundred brave defenders of the stars and stripes had heard the first firing, when the trenches were taken, and immediately started to the rescue of their comrades.

Upon his return, "Carabao Bill" reported that he found the enemy.

"PATERNO," THE DISGRACED MASCOT.

Ostracism in Monkey Society.

There is a certain analogy between the Chinaman's pigtail and the prehensile appendage of that very astute little animal, the monkey, for the proud possessors of either of these grotesque physical adornments lose social caste the moment they are bereft of them. That there are reasons to believe that the tail of the monkey is his credentials to the polite society of his race the following incident will serve to substantiate:

One day in May, 1899, when one of our infantry regiments which had been ascending the Rio Grande, in the Island of Luzon, in pursuit of the wily and festive Filipino, had halted to rest, it was decided to have an exhibition of company mascots. Each company had a monkey--an even dozen of them all told. There were "Pat" and "Mike," who proudly wore strips of billiard-table cloth about their necks; and "Aguinaldo" and "Paterno," named respectively for the leader and brains of the Tagalo insurrection. "Aguinaldo" wore with dignity a little tin sword by his side that one of the men of his company had made from a salmon can, while "Paterno" looked gay and world-wise in a ballet skirt ingeniously contrived by a company tailor from a bit of red mosquito-bar. The others all had names, most of them for some distinguished military commander to whom they were supposed to bear some facial resemblance.

The show was a decided success. Every contestant put aside his work-a-day tricks, and performed those only that were intended for gala days. "Aguinaldo" was a sure winner from the first, for he had learned to draw his sword, wave it dramatically over his head, cheer for a few seconds in monkey talk, then break and dash to the rear. "Paterno" was an easy candidate for second honors. He gave a giddy dance and looked coy.

But "pride goeth before a fall." It was decided to let the mascots have a social gathering. They were brought into a ring formed by grinning soldiers. All went well for a moment or two. They grinned, caressed, and made merry. Just in the very heights of the ecstacies, a playful young monk, that had been exchanging "sheep's eyes" with "Paterno," in a fit of playfulness made a grab for the latter's tail, but lo! there was none. The news spread like the incoming of "amigos" after the capture of a Filipino town. A damper fell upon the meeting. All scorned the maimed fellow with that frosty bearing that a reigning belle bestows upon a promising _débutante_, or the monkey family toward their tailless fellow-monks.

The disgraced animal begged and entreated for further notice, and a renewal of the general good time that had been so unceremoniously ended by the recent discovery, but his solicitations were in vain--none condescended to again notice him.

With "Paterno," patience at last ceased to be a virtue. Knowing that the playful young monk who had made the discovery caused his downfall, he looked for a moment at that guileless-appearing creature. The expression of his face rapidly changed from a look of entreaty to that of ferociousness. With a vicious bound, he pounced upon his enemy, clawing, tearing, and biting. The other members of this solemn gathering simply separated the belligerents, none daring to do harm to the socially ostracised fellow.

Finally, giving up the struggle, "Paterno" withdrew from the crowd. In the _mêlée_ he had lost his skirt. He looked long and pitifully at his fellow-mascots who had so suddenly turned against him. Great teardrops gathered in his eyes and trickled down his hairy cheeks. Raising his head, he spied a bamboo thicket in the distance. With a wild yell, he sprang through the line of sympathetic soldiers and made for the jungle.

Company E had had their last sight of "Paterno," their tailless monkey mascot.