A United States Midshipman in the Philippines

Sydney gazed in consternation at the black speck clinging to the top of the cliff. His hands trembled excitedly as he held his glasses to his eyes focusing upon this spiteful piece of artillery.

“We’ve got to silence that gun,” he said in a hoarse voice to Major Marble at his side, as he rang the engine room telegraphs for full speed astern. “They can’t miss us, and one shell would sink us. Yet Phil and O’Neil are probably there.”

“There are our men, general,” Major Marble reported, pointing to a creeping point of color just emerging from the jungle and showing itself against the neutral tints of the treeless mountainside.

“Make up your mind quickly, Mr. Monroe,” the general exclaimed anxiously. “Shell it, or else let’s try to get by; we can’t afford to leave the neck of the sack open for Espinosa and his cutthroats to escape.”

Sydney saw there was no way out of the situation, save to silence the battery:—one shot through the boiler of the “Mindinao,” and the gunboat with all on board would be killed by the explosion or else drowned in the madly racing current of the river.

“Take a few shots at that gun,” he ordered hoarsely. The gun-pointers when they heard the spiteful hiss of the enemy’s shell had, as though by an order, ceased their fire and waited obediently for the command which they felt sure the midshipman would give. They did not relish being fired upon and not allowed to return the fire.

Sydney’s glasses were upon the cliff: he saw a group of struggling figures about the cannon, and then to his surprise and joy the black object detached itself and dropped swiftly to the water six hundred feet below.

“Don’t fire,” he cried out quickly, but the gun-pointers through their sight telescopes had also been watching the struggle about their target and had waited.

The lad rang up full speed ahead and again the gunboat sped toward the cañon.

“Open fire on the left flank of the hill,” Sydney ordered.

The three-pounders barked, and shell after shell was sent against the gathering crowds forming to attack the mere handful on the right, where the trail ended. The soldiers under Captain Blynn could now be plainly seen plodding upward.

Sydney’s boyish nerves were at the highest pitch of excitement. He realized that he was to perform one of the most difficult feats of his life, and he had the life of a general of the army in his keeping. An error of judgment on his part would send them all to their deaths. He glanced searchingly at the frowning cliff, now scarcely a thousand yards away. He could plainly see that at the top a fierce fight was raging. The narrow gorge ahead seemed barely wide enough to permit the gunboat to pass, and above it, he knew only too well great boulders were standing ready to be dropped like meteors on the frail deck of the “Mindinao.”

“Are you ready there with the Colt gun?” he called loudly to the sailors in the foretop, where the gun was mounted.

There was no answer; a glance aloft showed him the crew of the gun grouped anxiously about it.

“Jammed again, I suppose,” he exclaimed.

Closer and closer loomed the cañon.

“Look out for the prisoner,” Sydney cried out as he saw the native, his hands on the rail, about to leap overboard. Major Marble was near enough to grasp him and the next minute ready hands had bound him securely to the rail and from there he gazed up in terror at the rapidly approaching cliffs.

“There goes the first one,” Sydney exclaimed excitedly as a great boulder swayed unsteadily and then rolled slowly over the edge of the chasm and descended with the speed of a shooting star. Every man on the gunboat was on his feet; above them now was the camp of the outlaws, and several hundred such boulders were there ready to be dropped upon their defenseless heads. The firing of the “Mindinao’s” guns had long since stopped as the elevation was much too great.

With a terrific splash which hurled the water completely over the bow of the gunboat, the first rock took the water; but another and another followed it in rapid succession, and so close did they fall that Sydney felt the rushes of air caused by their passage. General Wilson stood calmly by as unconcerned as though he were only a spectator at a display of fireworks. Major Marble paced rapidly across the bridge, his hands nervously clutching a rifle which every few seconds he would discharge at the frowning cliffs above him.

To add to the danger there now came the song of enemy’s bullets while the water near the gunboat became disturbed as if from the fall of hail. Occasionally there was heard a commotion forward and a man sorely hit would be carried below decks to be attended by the hospital corps located in the men’s quarters.

Many of the soldiers and sailors had now opened fire with their rifles, but the falling rocks disconcerted them. Suddenly the Colt gun commenced its sharp drumming discharge. Sydney glanced aloft. He could see his crew directing the stream of lead slowly covering every point of the cliff ahead.

A cry of delight rose from the Americans, and a cheer broke out from the anxious but relieved men as they noted the immediate effect of the leaden stream. As it swept along the cliffs, those who stood ready to project the balanced rocks upon the heads of their enemy had taken fright, and instead of waiting until the gunboat was immediately beneath them, had in their impatience let go their rocks, and they were falling harmlessly in the water ahead of the gunboat. Sydney steered as near the opposite shore as he dared, fearing that a boulder might have closed the channel. On top of the cliff the sound of strife could still be heard.

Major Marble and Major Lukban anxiously questioned the prisoner. He alone knew the whereabouts of the trail which Espinosa and his men relied upon to furnish an avenue of escape in case the stronghold was successfully attacked. The Filipino officer held his revolver threateningly before the frightened native’s eyes.

“If you allow us to pass it, I’ll have no mercy,” he exclaimed.

The “Mindinao” had now emerged from the dangerous cañon and the sound of firing above became less distinct.

General Wilson was becoming impatient. He had held himself well in hand to steady the officers and men under him during the trial through which they had passed so successfully. Now his anxiety was more than he could keep to himself. He rushed up to the cringing native, taking him roughly by the shoulders and crying out to him in English, a language unintelligible to the terrified prisoner.

But the general’s act was crowned with success. The insurgent soldier had steeled himself against the threats of Major Lukban, even reinforced as they were with the deadly revolver held to his head, but the wildly gesticulating general had put a terrible fear into his soul. Like all orientals he reverenced and feared rank, and this taciturn American general had so suddenly turned upon him that he was too frightened to do aught else but tell the truth.

“Back there is the place,” the native cried in his own language, and Major Lukban in feverish haste translated the man’s words, while Sydney swung the gunboat about, reversing his engines at full speed to keep from grounding on the rocky shores, and giving small thought to the dangers of the madly racing current.

Within ten minutes, which seemed ages to the eager Americans, the “Mindinao” was anchored in the river and the troops were landed.

Major Lukban with the guide, whose hands were securely bound to prevent his escape, led the party through the tangled underbrush over the secret trail which without the aid of one who had been there before would have been impossible. Tediously the distance was covered, the sounds of battle ever becoming more distinct. General Wilson’s age was no handicap to him as he eagerly pressed forward behind the native guides.

The enemy, by the volume of rifle fire which came down to the ears of the anxious column of soldiers, were making a desperate stand to recover the advantage lost by the suddenness of the surprise, and so absorbed were they with Captain Blynn’s men that those under the general’s command stood on the level plateau of the mountain before their presence was discovered. The sight of this unexpected force turned the tide for the Americans and the terrified insurgents threw away their arms and huddled together, expecting to be executed by their enemy without mercy.

General Wilson quietly controlled his eager soldiers, bent upon annihilating these treacherous brown men now within their power. The soldier mind knew but one style of warfare with a savage foe. No quarter had been the insurgent watchword. Kill! kill! had frequently rung in their ears as the fanatical hordes had charged down upon them on many a battle-field.

“Cease firing!” General Wilson’s commanding voice rang out above the discharges of musketry, and the bugles signaled the order across the battle-field. “Major Lukban, tell them no harm will come to them if they submit without further resistance,” he cried to the native officer at his elbow, pointing toward the panic-stricken hundreds.

The Filipino major calmly walked forward, his hands held above his head in sign of peace, and raised his voice in his native language. A hush fell upon the babbling throngs, while the terror in their eyes slowly died out and they dropped on their knees, giving thanks for their miraculous deliverance.

Major Marble and the native officer went fearlessly among the natives, leading them to a point near the river, and placed guards over them to prevent their escape and then, seeing that a struggle was still going forward on the eastern side of the mountain, gathered a force of soldiers about him and hastened to aid those still in the throes of combat.

Almost out of breath the reinforcing column arrived in time to greet Phil and O’Neil standing on the brink of the precipice and hear their exclamations of disappointment at the escape of the coveted insurgent leader.