CHAPTER III
A LEAK OF MILITARY INFORMATION
Brigadier-General Wilson sat at his desk in the headquarters building at Palilo. In the spacious corridors outside orderlies hurried to and fro, carrying messages from the several officers of the staff whose offices joined that of the general.
Before him was a chart of his military district, and while he pondered he juggled a score or more of different colored pins with little tags attached to them. Those pins with blue heads represented soldiers of his command in the field against the enemy while the ones with the green heads were the ladrones or insurrectos, whom he had been fighting without success for nearly six months.
“They jump about as if they were mounted in balloons,” he exclaimed testily as he drew out several green-headed pins and replaced them in accordance with recent information in other localities on the map. The big headquarters clock ticked away in silence, while the gray-haired veteran again lapsed into thought over his problem.
“Here are two regiments in the field,” he complained querulously; “Gordon with two companies at San Juan, Baker with a company at Binalbagan, Anderson and a battalion at Barotoc, Huse and a company at Estancia, Pollard with two companies at Kapiz, Shanks with three companies at Carles, Stewart with his rough-riders at Dumangas and Bane with his two battalions as a flying column. That ought to give us some results, and yet what have we to show for it?”
The general raised his thoughtful eyes, as his orderly’s step sounded on the soft matting at his side.
“A telegram,” he exclaimed with a show of interest. “Tell Major Marble I wish to see him,” he added, tearing open the yellow envelope.
“Whew!” he whistled in sudden consternation as he read the unwelcome message. “They not only avoided Gordon but attacked San Juan in his absence, cutting up ten of his men left to guard the town. This thing has got to be stopped. There is a leak somewhere and I am going to put my hand on it before I send out another expedition.”
He pushed the chart back on his desk and rose suddenly to his feet.
“Major,” he cried as the adjutant-general’s active figure entered the office, “we are all a set of ninnies. Don’t start and look indignant, sir,” he added in mock severity. “You are as bad as the rest, but Blynn there is the worst of us all, for he can’t do what he’s employed to do—you and I are only plain, blunt soldiers, while he is supposed,” with fine scorn, “to be in addition lawyer and detective; a regular secret service sleuth and all that.
“Here, read that,” he ended throwing the telegram on the desk. “You see it’s the same old story, and ten more men butchered through our stupidity.”
The general paced up and down his office with quick, energetic steps.
“I’ve a good mind to go out in the field myself,” he exclaimed, half to himself. “I am tired of these silly, costly blunders.” Then he glanced through the open door into the next office to his own. “Come here, Blynn!” he hailed.
A stout, dark-visaged officer arose from a desk littered with countless papers and came energetically toward him.
The older officer’s eyes roamed searchingly over his judge-advocate general’s strong, massive frame; he gazed with kindling eyes at the bronzed cheeks, the unbending directness of his black eyes, the firm set to the bulldog jaws. Here surely was no weakling. He waved his hand toward the adjutant-general, standing in stunned silence, the telegram crumpled in his hand.
“That may interest you,” the general exclaimed as he turned away.
“The information was first hand, sir,” Captain Blynn’s bass voice insisted after he had straightened the paper and read the unwelcome message. “There’s been a leak.”
“Of course there’s been a leak,” the general announced hotly, “any idiot would see that, but where? Where? that’s the question!”
Captain Blynn returned to his desk and drew out a bundle of papers from a locked drawer. He glanced over them hurriedly. Every word was familiar to him. Could he have made a mistake? Every witness whom he had examined had given the same information. These natives had not been coerced; they had come to him of their own volition. Espinosa had vouched for each. Then he stopped, the papers fell from his hand to the desk. No! it could not be possible! Espinosa was surely loyal. That much was sure. For the space of a minute he was lost in thought. “I shall test him,” he muttered, while he pressed a bell at his side.
“Tell Señor Espinosa over the telephone that I shall call on him in an hour on important business,” he instructed the orderly who answered his summons.
An hour later Captain Blynn mounted the high stairs of the wealthy Filipino’s dwelling.
“Buenos Dias, El Capitan,” Señor Manuel Espinosa cried delightedly as he pushed a chair forward for his visitor. But the smile died quickly on the native’s face as Captain Blynn waved away the chair impatiently, almost rudely, and in his typical way jumped into the very midst of the matter in hand.
“Señor,” he exclaimed angrily, “I’ve been betrayed! Do you understand?” he cried menacingly, his flashing eyes fixed on the crafty face opposite him, while he shook his big, strong fist before the eyes of the startled Presidente of Palilo. “Betrayed, that’s the word, and if I can lay my hand on the hound, I’ll swing him to the eaves of his own house-top.”
Señor Espinosa was silent, his crafty, bead-like eyes regarding closely the angry, excited face of the judge-advocate.
“Captain Gordon went on a wild-goose chase, and when he returned he found the insurgents had been in San Juan in his absence. Ten soldiers, American men, were caught, trapped, and butchered. The natives who brought me the information were vouched for by you and now you’ve got to prove to me that you’re not a sneaking traitor!”
The captain’s words tumbled one after another so fast that the little Filipino could grasp only half their meaning, but the last could not be misunderstood. His brown face turned a sickly yellow, while his frightened eyes sought instinctively for some weapon of defense from this terrible American, who was strong enough to tear his frail body limb from limb.
“Ah, señor capitan, is this your much-boasted American justice?” he gasped in a weak voice. “Am I then judged guilty without hearing my defense?” His voice became stronger as he proceeded. “Let us look over this calmly,” he begged. “I, myself, have been betrayed. In embracing the American cause, I have made many enemies among my people. I live constantly in fear of assassination.” He stopped abruptly, his voice choking and his eyes filled with tears of self-pity.
Captain Blynn had dealt with many different classes of men in his twenty odd years of service. He had been a terror to the ruffians on the Western frontier where he had been stationed during the several Indian wars. The “bad men” had said when they had found Blynn against them, “We might as well own up—we can’t fool Blynn.”
But here was a case that baffled him. In the hour before going to this house he had after deep thought believed that after all Espinosa was a traitor, and he had avowedly intended to force him to confess his treason; but now in spite of these resolves, the captain was weakening. After all might not the Filipino be innocent? At all events he would listen to his defense.
Captain Blynn dropped his muscular hands, which had been creeping menacingly toward the thin yellow throat of the Presidente, and sat down suddenly in the chair which the native had previously offered him.
“Go on!” he ordered harshly. “I’ll suspend judgment, but remember, if you can’t prove your innocence, I’ll give you water. Do you understand, water! I’ve never given it, and I don’t believe in it, but if you can’t show me how these men were butchered, I’ll fill you up to the neck with it.”
Espinosa wetted his lips with his tongue and swallowed hard, but the captain by taking the proffered chair had removed the native from the terrifying influence of those powerful twitching fingers which he had seen ready to throttle him, and he, in proportion to the distance away of the cause of his fear, grew bolder.
“The señor capitan must know of my sincerity,” he pleaded in a weak voice. “Have I not taken the oath of allegiance to the United States? Do I not know the punishment for breaking that oath?”
Captain Blynn nodded his head. “Go ahead,” he commanded impatiently; “cut that out, give me the unvarnished story.”
“The information which I gave you and which was sworn to by three witnesses came from Juan Rodriguez,” Espinosa continued, dropping his voice to a whisper and approaching closer to the American. Then he stopped and glanced covertly at his listener’s startled face.
“Juan Rodriguez!” the judge-advocate general exclaimed half rising in his excitement. “Then you believe that he has deliberately furnished false information of the insurgents’ movements?”
While the two were talking a servant brought refreshments, which the army man waved impatiently aside. Espinosa helped himself and as he did so he followed his servant’s eye to a tightly rolled piece of paper inside the salva. He drew it out hastily, unrolling it in silence, feeling rather than seeing the captain’s eyes upon him, then he read the few lines written therein. Here was a chance to redeem his good name or at least save himself for this time from the fierce American. He asked a question in the native language and received a monosyllabic answer.
“This is very important,” he exclaimed suddenly turning to the American officer. His voice was now joyful, full of confidence. “Two hundred riflemen have landed at Dumaguete from Luzon. To-night they will be encamped on a hill near Banate. You can attack them there before they can join Diocno.”
Captain Blynn jumped to his feet, reaching out for the paper; he took it, scrutinizing it closely—then stuck it quietly into his pocket. Espinosa held out a trembling hand, bent upon regaining the note, but Captain Blynn had turned away, picking up his hat and whip from the table behind him.
“I shall myself go in command of this expedition,” he announced gruffly as he moved toward the stairs, “and I shall expect you to accompany me, señor. We shall start at sunset.”
Señor Espinosa feebly murmured his willingness, and after waiting to see the burly figure of his visitor pass out through the wide entrance, he turned and called for his servant.
“Tell the messenger I will speak to him,” he said as the muchacho noiselessly entered.
A moment later a ragged native stood tremblingly before him, twisting his dirty head-covering in his nervous hands.
Espinosa seated himself luxuriously in the chair recently vacated by Captain Blynn. He had now regained his old confidence and cruel arrogance, while he fired question after question at the uncomfortable native.
The Presidente sat motionless in his chair long after his messenger had gone. His servant came noiselessly into the room several times but tiptoed away, believing his master was asleep. But Espinosa was far from sleep, his brain was actively at work. How could he hold his position and yet remain undiscovered to this terrible Captain Blynn? He shuddered as he remembered those big hands as they worked longingly to grasp his slender neck. He was not a fighting man; the inheritance of his father’s Chinese blood mixed with the cruelty in the native strain qualified him only for plotting. Others could do the fighting. His brain and cunning would furnish them the means and opportunity. But Rodriguez—he was too honest, and knew too much; he stood a menacing figure in his path as the leader of his people. He had, however, set the train of powder on fire, and now he would watch it burn. Once Rodriguez was removed there were no others strong enough to thwart him. Even Diocno bowed to his superior sagacity. Then he could cast off this halter that he felt tightening about his neck. With Diocno and Rodriguez out of the way, he could make terms with these childlike Americans, and then with his fortune made shake the dust of the islands forever from his feet.
An hour before sunset he arose and dressed himself for his ride, ordering his servant to have his horse ready. The messenger had three hours’ start; that would insure the escape of the Tagalos. Captain Blynn would find that his information was true. He could not blame him if the enemy had taken alarm and fled. As for the other matter, if the Americans would only arrest Rodriguez he would see that he did not interfere with his cherished plans for power. As he buckled on his English made leggings, he whistled gaily an old Spanish air, one he had heard in Spain; in his mind he saw the brightly lighted theatre, the richly dressed people in the boxes. Some day he would be rich and he would then be able to recline in a gilded box and cast disdainful glances at an admiring crowd.
His joy would have been indeed short-lived and his castles in Spain would have fallen as flat as the surface of the sea on a calm day if he could have known that at that moment his messenger was lying dead in the trail but half-way to his destination, suddenly overcome by the terrible scourge of the camp, cholera.