A United States Midshipman in the Philippines

Phil’s heart beat tumultuously as he laid a restraining hand on Maria’s arm to prevent her from rising up from the floor of the gallery. The instant the girl’s indignant, vibrating voice was heard an uncanny silence fell upon the masked men. Each looked fearfully at the other. Every man mistrusted his neighbor. The girl’s heavy breathing sounded ominously loud in the lad’s ears, and he was dumb with apprehension that she would sacrifice them all by a second outburst of passionate denial. They dared not move. There was naught to do but wait. If the society determined upon a search then their one chance was to make a dash for the passageway, and hold the angry men at bay with their revolvers. O’Neil and his five men were near the entrance, and Phil felt sure that their cause was not altogether desperate.

After an interval that seemed hours the leader’s voice broke the heavy silence.

“Who dared deny that Rodriguez has betrayed his people?” he cried.

Phil’s strong fingers pressed firmly the girl’s arm and his eyes begged obedience.

The masked men sat as if turned to stone. No sound broke the stillness.

A loud knock on the door behind the speaker brought the assemblage to their feet in sudden fear. Phil saw that many had drawn their bolos, while others stood ready to extinguish the long rows of candles.

A challenge was called and answered, and the next second the door was opened from within and a native entered. Phil beheld in admiration the air of grace and fearlessness while he advanced boldly toward the startled leader.

A smothered exclamation from Maria caused the lad’s eyes to travel quickly to her face. She was staring, a horrible dread stamped on her face, while she murmured in a trembling voice: “Mi Padre!”

So this was Juan Rodriguez, who had been denounced but a moment since by the terrible Katipunan society, come to answer in person to the charge!

Another native followed him closely; neither were masked, and Phil recognized, in startled wonder, Colonel Martinez.

“Fellow countrymen,” Rodriguez exclaimed in a loud, commanding voice, “I have obeyed your summons, but I shall not join the society. I shall never take sides in this war until I feel in my heart that to do so will better my countrymen. You who are deceiving the Americans, pretending that you are loyal and yet aiding your countrymen to kill them, doubtless believe that you are doing your country a service, but I know that in the end you will bring terrible suffering on our people. Take the field and fight openly and honorably, and you will be treated by your enemy as a brave antagonist, but fight with a knife, stabbing your enemy in the back, under the guise of friendship, and the end is surely the gallows tree.”

A murmur of harsh voices filled the room as Rodriguez stopped speaking.

All eyes were turned to this striking figure, as the light from many candles revealed the finely moulded face, flashing eyes and firmly chiseled lips and chin.

As Phil watched, his eyes opened wider in dread. The leader had edged, during the long speech, nearer and yet nearer to Rodriguez. Martinez was standing silently on the other side. Phil’s anxious gaze caught the flash of brightly polished steel in the hands of this masked native, now but a few feet from his intended victim. Maria saw, but her voice was frozen within her. Phil gauged the distance to the would-be murderer, for his intention was only too evident. It was not over fifty paces. Surely it was possible; he had often practiced at that distance. His revolver was now pointing at the Katipunan leader, whose hand could be seen to be stealthily rising. Phil steadied one shaking hand with the other and pulled the trigger. The loud report of the discharge was deafening, and below in an instant all was the wildest confusion. Swiftly all lights were extinguished and the room was plunged into inky darkness.

“Come,” Phil urged excitedly, “we must get O’Neil and save Juan Rodriguez.”

Blindly they felt for the stairs and quickly descended; then hand in hand they ran along the dark, slippery tunnel. Reaching the street Phil gave a low whistle, which soon brought O’Neil and his men.

“Did you fire a shot?” the sailor asked anxiously. “We thought we heard one, but it seemed a long ways off.”

“Yes,” Phil replied, “but follow us; there’s work to be done; the señorita’s father is in danger.”

Led by the native, Lopez, each sailor with his revolver drawn sped down the narrow street. At the corner they saw a small band of men approaching. Phil halted his party and waited ready to attack if they turned out to be enemies. The next moment Maria had thrown herself into her father’s arms, and was sobbing hysterically, while his native followers withdrew to some distance and stood on guard in respectful silence.

Phil and Sydney wrung the hand of their former captor Martinez.

“What would Captain Blynn say now?” Phil exclaimed laughingly as O’Neil too squeezed the colonel’s hand until the latter winced. “He’d shoot us for traitors sure.”

Sydney smiled. “It would be rather difficult to explain the situation,” he replied, the drollness of the meeting suddenly striking him.

“You saved my life, señor,” Rodriguez exclaimed suddenly, as Maria led him to the Americans. “My daughter has told me all. I do not know how she could have gone where she did, or how she found out that I had been summoned, but bringing you there has shown that often one’s greatest enemy lives in one’s house and eats his bread. I came this evening bringing with me my own men, for I know these blackguards too well to trust myself alone. As all were masked I recognized no one, but I have suspicions as to many and especially he who you probably have killed, for he fell limply at my feet just before the lights were extinguished.”

A sudden pang of remorse came into Phil’s thoughts.

“Colonel Martinez came with me as my friend and protector,” said Rodriguez, “and although he is an enemy within your lines I ask that he be allowed to withdraw in safety. You see,” he added with a smile, “we had no idea of meeting those who would recognize him.”

Phil as the leader of the Americans gave a ready assent. He well knew that a strict interpretation of his duty required that he arrest Colonel Martinez on the spot and take him prisoner before the general, but intuitively he realized that to do so would hurt the American cause. He felt that Rodriguez had reached a crisis in his avowed intention of neutrality. By arresting Martinez after this appeal Phil might lose the government a valuable friend, now wavering between his loyalty to his own people and the more earnest duty of fighting against them to protect them from the domination of this treacherous band of murderers.

“Good-bye, señores,” Maria cried eagerly, as her father signified his intention to depart. “I can never thank you enough for what you have done to-night. If your bullet,” she added earnestly, “has silenced forever that terrible leader of the Katipunan society, my father will be in no further danger.”

“Can you pass through the lines?” Sydney asked, “or shall we vouch for you?”

“If it is not too much trouble,” Rodriguez replied gratefully. “My carriage is just there, and we are then near the last patrol. The general has allowed me free conduct always, but this disturbance may have aroused suspicion, so I shall be grateful for your services.”

The mixed party of sailors and natives walked briskly through the silent streets. The carriage drawn by two fast horses was reached, and Maria, her father, and Martinez entered, while Lopez mounted the box and drove slowly forward followed by the Americans on foot.

A loud American challenge suddenly brought the horses on their haunches.

“Halt! Who comes there?”

“Officer,” answered Phil.

“Advance one, and be recognized,” the sentry called.

Phil walked slowly forward until he was within ten paces of the alert soldier.

“Halt.”

Phil stopped in his tracks.

“I guess you’re a naval officer,” the soldier said in a puzzled voice. “You’re too young to be a brigadier-general, although you’ve got a star there on your shoulder-strap.”

Phil smiled.

“Yes, sentry, I am Captain Perry of the gunboat.”

“Sure, sir, you can pass me, any time,” the soldier exclaimed gladly. “That was certainly great work you done in Binalbagan. All the boys is talking about you two officers and Jack O’Neil. I’d like to meet him; he must be a corker.” The sentry had grounded his rifle and now stood at ease talking sociably, very much at home with the young midshipman.

“He is here,” Phil replied. “If I may pass my party, I’ll call him.”

“Certainly, captain, anything you say goes with me,” the sentry returned enthusiastically.

The carriage, followed by the band of a dozen natives, drove down the street away from the city. Phil caught a wave of a hand from the window as he turned and started for the gunboat and his bunk, for it was near midnight.

O’Neil had stopped to shake hands with the admiring sentry and he soon overtook them.

In silence they marched to the ship. So much had happened, crowded into such a short space of time, that the lads wanted a chance to think.

The next morning while Phil and Sydney were at breakfast on the small quarter-deck of the “Mindinao” Captain Blynn crossed the gangway from the dock. He walked to where the lads had risen from their chairs to greet him. Refusing their offer of breakfast with an impatient movement of his hand he sat down in the proffered seat held for him by the attentive Chinese steward. Both lads saw in his grave face that something unpleasant had happened to account for this early morning visit. The army man did not keep them long in suspense, and had his say with his usual directness.

“Lieutenant Tillotson, the officer of the guard yesterday, is missing. His bed shows that he did not sleep in it at all last night. I have investigated the case as far as I have been able, and I find that no one passed through the sentries except a closed carriage and a squad of Filipinos. This sentry says that you and Mr. Monroe vouched for them. Tillotson was last seen an hour before this time by a sentry at the bridge whom he visited. As soon as I heard of the carriage episode I cautioned the sentry to say nothing. I wanted to see you and clear up that part before I investigated further.”

Phil sat speechless in his seat while the judge-advocate general talked on earnestly. Tillotson had disappeared! How could he have been forcibly carried past the numerous guards stationed at every outlet of the garrisoned city? He must surely still be within the town.

“Do you suspect foul play?” Phil questioned. “Would the enemy have the daring to make way with him inside the town? Why should he alone be molested? And, besides, he carried his revolver, and could not be struck down without being able to fire a warning shot.”

“One sentry,” the captain replied quickly, “reported having heard a shot from the part of town near the sea, but he said it was very indistinct, and after all he was not sure.”

Phil and Sydney exchanged glances and the captain looked up sharply, a faint suspicion entering his thoughts.

“What I’d like to know,” he added coldly, “is who was in that closed carriage; the sentry says there were four people.”

Phil flushed as he read the insinuation in the captain’s voice.

“Juan Rodriguez, his daughter and a Filipino overseer by the name of Lopez,” he answered promptly, but he lowered his eyes before the direct, searching gaze of the judge-advocate general. The presence of Colonel Martinez need not be told. It would but complicate the case and not aid in the search for Tillotson; but the army officer knew human nature too accurately, and Phil was too poor a hand at telling less than the truth.

“There was besides a Filipino with the driver?” he questioned pointedly.

Phil shook his head in the negative.

“Was this Lopez within the carriage with Señor Rodriguez and his daughter?” the captain asked curtly, and Phil felt as if he were on the witness stand having the whole truth dragged from him. He might just as well make a clean breast of it. Before those piercing black eyes, he found that he was not good at dissembling.

“Lopez was driving,” Phil said blushing furiously in mortification at being so easily tripped in his testimony. “The other occupant of the carriage was Colonel Martinez!”

If a bombshell had exploded at Captain Blynn’s feet he could not have appeared more astounded.

“And you passed this insurgent officer out of our lines?” he asked incredulously.

Phil nodded, his throat dry and his mind stunned with a sudden fear.

“This is certainly a queer proceeding!” the army man exclaimed. “I cannot fathom it. Do you realize what you have done? Can you not see that Lieutenant Tillotson’s disappearance will be laid at your door? But surely,” he added, “there is some explanation which you can make? You could hardly be so foolish as to plot against the life or even the liberty of a brother officer.”

Phil gave a sudden exclamation of surprised indignation, and with flashing eyes he turned angrily on his accuser.

“I didn’t see your meaning at first,” he said in a low, intense voice but one that carried distinctly over the ship. “How dare you to insinuate this to my face and on board my ship?—Captain Blynn, there’s the gangway!” he cried sternly, his face now deathly pale but his jaw set firmly.

Captain Blynn rose hurriedly from his chair, his dark face swollen with passion; his black eyes flashed, while his strong hands clutched his chair nervously. He was about to speak, but Phil cut him short, pointing his finger toward the exit to the deck.

“I hope, Captain Blynn,” he said quietly though his lips were trembling, “that you will see the uselessness of further talk and will go ashore as I have bid you.”

“You confounded little whipper-snapper!” the captain exploded wrathfully. The stern judge-advocate was unused to such treatment; he had always bullied those under him and in a measure by the very force of his will, many of those senior to him in rank. But angry as he was he realized that the midshipman was quite within his rights. He was on board his own ship, and there he was supreme.

“Captain Blynn, I hope it will not be necessary for me to have you escorted across the gangway,” Phil reiterated, his voice showing perfect control of temper. The lad glanced forward meaningly to where many of the crew had collected, intently listening to the heated colloquy between their young captain and this big, blustering army officer.

Then a voice from the dock made both the combatants turn suddenly and gaze in surprise at the general, who, unobserved, had stopped abreast them and had been an amused spectator of the discomfiture of his judge-advocate.

“I’ll tear up that telegram as soon as I get to the office,” he exclaimed chuckling gleefully; “and, Blynn, you’d better come ashore here before Captain Perry pitches you over the gangway.”

Captain Blynn had but one great fault and that was his inability to consider that anything mattered outside of his beloved work. Ruthlessly he would trample over those in the way of success. Once he was on the trail of a wrong-doer, he would follow it fearlessly until the culprit was behind bars.

Doubtless if Captain Blynn had stopped for just a moment and considered the young officer before him, he would not have cut him to the quick by an insinuation so cruel. To do the brusque captain justice, he had regretted his words immediately he had spoken and seen the look of injured innocence and anger in Phil’s face, but the masterful way in which Phil had turned the tables on him was too much for the army man’s temper and hence the invective. In his heart he did not really believe that Phil was guilty of plotting against Tillotson. Without the interruption from the dock he might even have apologized to the spirited young navy man, but the general’s words injected a salutary humor into this dramatic situation and made him see how untenable and cruel was the attitude he had assumed. His face softened and an apology of a smile struggled for place on his sun-tanned countenance. “You’re dead game, youngster,” he exclaimed impetuously. “I believe you’re on the level, only you’re a bit too reticent; anyway, here’s my hand, and from now on we’ll work together instead of at cross purposes.” He took the surprised midshipman’s hand and shook it heartily.

“Come up to the office at ten o’clock,” he added as he walked toward the gangway, the smile having disappeared and the alert business expression taking its place on his face.

The midshipmen watched him cross the gangway and join the general, who had been taking his usual morning exercise before going to his office, and as the two walked along apparently deep in conversation an orderly stopped them, handing a telegram to the general. The lads saw him open it and read and then pass it to Captain Blynn. Both turned as if by a mutual impulse and glanced toward the gunboat, then changing their minds apparently, they again turned and walked briskly toward the headquarters building.

“Something in the telegram concerns us in some way,” exclaimed the analytical Sydney. “I wonder what it said?” But Phil’s mind was too much occupied in thinking of the chameleon character of his new friend to give more than a passing thought to the contents of the telegram.