CHAPTER VI
THE “MINDINAO”
Captain Blynn rested his tired soldiers until the cool of the evening and then the march was begun back to Palilo, carrying with them the spoils of the fight.
The judge-advocate general, in spite of the complete victory, was not friendly to the Americans whom he had rescued from a torturing captivity. The escape of the Filipino leader, Colonel Martinez, was indeed a severe blow to his pride. Both Sydney and O’Neil, while giving the officer their gratitude for their deliverance, were hurt at his stern attitude toward Phil.
“Why did you allow him to escape?” Sydney asked as they were riding side by side along the back trail which the soldiers had taken the night before.
Phil looked at his friend, a hurt expression in his eyes.
“He was armed,” Phil said quietly, a catch in his voice which he could not control, “and I knew he would not be taken alive. I couldn’t kill him,” he added, “before the girl’s eyes, and there seemed no other way. Something tells me that there is a strong blood tie between those two. I can’t explain, Syd,” he cried in confusion. “It may sound sentimental, but the look in the girl’s eyes when she realized what might happen made me lower the muzzle of the rifle to the ground.”
Sydney was silent. He believed implicitly in Phil and if opportunity had offered he was sure that he would have acted the same.
“But why didn’t you give Captain Blynn your reasons for allowing this insurgent to escape? You must see how he now views the occurrence and a word from you would have set matters straight.”
A sudden anger came into Phil’s face. “I would have told him all, but you saw how he cut off my explanation and arraigned me before that despicable spy Espinosa. After that a mule team couldn’t drag the story from me. I’ll tell it in good time, but not to Captain Blynn. Syd,” he added confidingly, “I don’t like that fellow Espinosa’s looks. He reminds me of a domesticated coyote. He will bite the hands that feed him some day. You see if he doesn’t!”
“I haven’t any use for these men who are traitors to their own countrymen,” O’Neil joined in as he rode up alongside of Phil, the trail having widened to allow three abreast. “The soldiers tell me he is the white-haired old boy with Captain Blynn. It was he that betrayed the Tagalos. How he gets his information no one seems to know. Did you notice,” he asked suddenly, “the expression on his face when I dragged him away from the insurgent colonel? He wanted that man’s life the worst kind, and the girl’s too, I guess. We’ve made an enemy, Mr. Perry,” the sailor added decidedly, “and one who won’t soon forget us.”
Phil gave a mirthless laugh.
“I don’t mind making that sort of an enemy,” he said, “but we shall have to keep our eyes open hereafter, I suppose, for Señor Espinosa.”
It was broad daylight before the expedition arrived in Palilo and after a formal parting from the other Americans, which O’Neil described as “the frozen mit,” the naval men separated from the soldiers and took the street leading to the water-front. There in front of the quartermaster’s depot they saw the gunboat “Mindinao” moored snugly to the stone jetty.
A wave of pride swept through Phil’s body as he took in the trim outlines of his command, one of which any lad would be proud to be captain.
A score of curious faces peered at them from the gunboat as they drew rein at the gangway and dismounted.
An exclamation of surprised inquiry met their ears from the quarter-deck of the vessel and a second later Ensign Marshall was wringing their hands warmly.
“Well, if this isn’t luck,” he cried. “I am partly packed and there’s a steamer for Manila this afternoon. But,” and he stopped, precipitously gazing with frank astonishment at their soiled and mud-stained uniforms, “where did you come from? I expected you by boat.”
While the Chinese servants set before their hungry eyes a tempting breakfast, Phil and Sydney in turn gave Marshall the exciting incidents of their journey from Manila. O’Neil meanwhile had turned forward and was at once the centre of an admiring crowd of sailors; his big voice and hearty laugh sounded distinctly over the quiet water-front.
“If you aren’t the luckiest lambs I’ve ever seen,” Marshall laughed admiringly; “you’re a regular lodestone, the three of you. Everything you touch turns to excitement. Now I’ve been here for three months, most of the time cooling my heels at the dock with no one to talk to except a lot of hayseed volunteers who haven’t even been to sea, and now you come along and relieve me and I suppose, ‘presto,’ there’ll be something doing at once.”
“I hope not until we can get a little sleep,” Phil exclaimed, smiling at Marshall’s sincerity. “I am sleepy enough to drop off standing up.”
“Well,” Marshall said as he pushed back his chair and arose from the table, “I’ll be finished packing in an hour, and then you can read your orders and take command. I don’t want to miss that boat, for she makes easy connections with the transport for home. Think of it, Perry, home! Doesn’t it sound fine?” Then, seeing that the name had not stirred his listeners to a great degree of enthusiasm, he exclaimed, “Well, if you’d been living by yourself for nearly a year and hadn’t seen anything but these natives, home would sound good to you, too.”
The lads were soon asleep in steamer chairs under the quarter-deck awning, while Marshall busied himself with his packing. The Chinese servants moved about noiselessly and with deft hands quickly filled the two open trunks. Finally Marshall remade his toilet and appeared spick and span in a fresh and spotless white uniform.
Refreshed by even this short nap the midshipmen opened their trunks, which had been carried over nearly sixty miles of rough country on the shoulders of stalwart native carriers, and in an incredibly short time appeared on deck as fresh in appearance as if they had both stepped from the proverbial band-box.
A shrill whistle sounded on the gunboat followed by the call, “Lay aft, everybody.”
The men filed aft on the miniature quarter-deck, lining themselves obediently on each side, and there waited.
A smile stole irrepressibly to Phil’s face. Here on board this tiny ship, scarcely a hundred feet long and of a little over one hundred tons displacement, the far-reaching navy regulations were being carried out with as much form and punctiliousness as they would be on the biggest battle-ship.
In a graceful speech Marshall bade farewell to his small crew and then he unfolded the paper in his hand signed by no less a personage than the admiral commanding the Asiatic fleet.
“You are, upon the reporting of your relief, Midshipman Philip Perry, U. S. Navy, detached from the command of the U. S. S. ‘Mindinao’ and will proceed immediately to Manila, reporting your arrival, for passage to your home, to the senior officer present.”
As soon as Marshall’s voice died away, Phil began to read his own orders, which he had kept safely pinned to the inside of his breast-pocket during the last few exciting days.
“You are hereby detached from the U. S. S. ‘Phœnix’ and will proceed to Palilo, Island of Kapay, Philippine Islands, and upon your arrival assume command of the U. S. S. ‘Mindinao’ as the relief of Ensign Charles Marshall, U. S. Navy.”
For a moment there was complete silence, broken in an instant by a hoarse voice.
“Three cheers for Captain Marshall.”
From twenty-five strong chests the cheers were given, while the happy man honored blushed with pleasurable pride and manly tears welled to his eyes. And then Phil’s turn came to blush and look confused, and as he said afterward, foolish, when the same loud voice proposed, “Three cheers for Captain Perry.”
Immediately the cheering was over the boatswain’s mate’s pipe sounded shrilly and the men, touching their caps respectfully, returned to their quarters forward.
The lads saw Marshall sail away on a small island steamer similar to the one on which they had commenced their journey four days before and then returned to sit upon the quarter-deck of their gunboat and enjoy the intense gratification of being their own masters on their own ship.
“Think of it, Syd. If I want to get under way all I have to do is to tell the machinist to get up steam and off we go. It’s like having your own yacht,” Phil exclaimed contentedly, leaning back luxuriantly in his chair and cocking his feet up comfortably on the rail. “Let me see,” he added banteringly, “I am the captain; you are the executive officer, navigator, ordnance officer, all the watch officers and the chief engineer. Don’t you feel heavy with all those titles?”
Sydney smiled happily. “Well, if the ‘old man’ doesn’t expect too much of a poor midshipman, I’ll do my best to uphold the dignity of them all,” he replied.
After they had settled themselves in their new homes and had inspected every foot of the clean, trim little craft, admired the powerful battery of six long three-pounder guns, with auxiliaries of two one-pounders and a much sinned-against Colt gun, they started over the gangway bent upon paying their respects to the general commanding the troops in the military district of Kapay.
It was with a decided feeling of uneasiness that Phil sent his card by the orderly to the general. He knew that Captain Blynn had before this given his superior officer a full account of his expedition and he felt sure that the escape of Martinez with his consequent blame had not been forgotten in the telling. However, his high spirits could not be easily dampened by even these sinister thoughts. His greatest ambition had been achieved. Was he not the commander of an American man-of-war? He was not even under the command of that awe-inspiring figure he could see dimly at the desk, on whose shoulders the direction of an army rested.
In spite of this feeling of independence the lad’s pulse beat faster as the orderly beckoned him to enter the general’s office.
A short, sharp-featured officer, whose hair and beard were as white as his spotless clothes, arose from his chair and gave a welcoming hand to the visitors in turn, inviting them in silence to be seated.
Phil fidgeted restlessly in his chair, while the general paced slowly toward the open window and back again to his desk. Phil was on the point of speaking several times, but each time he waited, seeing in the army man’s face that he was about to speak.
“Captain Blynn has made his report,” came in metallic tones from the old campaigner, “and I am deeply distressed to hear that you, Captain Perry, deliberately allowed a prisoner to escape; one whom above all I wished to lay my hands on. Blynn is for asking the admiral to court-martial you at once; but I am sure you must have some good reason for your action.”
He ended and glanced questioningly at the abashed Phil.
“My reason was,” the lad blurted out, his feelings much hurt at the severe arraignment, “that in order to capture Colonel Martinez, I would have had to kill him in cold blood. I couldn’t bring myself to do it for he had behaved handsomely toward us while we were his prisoners.”
“But,” the general retorted, “Señor Espinosa would have saved you the trouble if you had not interfered.”
Phil’s wrath blazed forth.
“How did I know that the man who was about to murder Martinez was a traitor to his own people? I saw the two natives on the ground, one with a knife upraised to bury it in the body of a man lying helplessly beneath him, and then when I had separated them with the help of a sailor, I saw that Martinez was armed, and I knew by a glance at his face that he could not be taken alive.” The lad stopped suddenly, the girl’s face coming suddenly before his eye. Did the general know of her? He remembered that her presence at the scene had not been mentioned. Had Espinosa failed to discover her presence? If not, why had he failed to mention her in his report to Captain Blynn?
General Wilson’s parchment-like face betrayed a suspicion of a smile while he listened patiently to the midshipman’s impetuous defense of his own actions.
“Captain Perry,” he said slowly, “after you have been fighting these natives longer your sensibilities will become more blunted. The excuse of allowing an enemy to escape simply because you did not wish to kill him would be laughed at by those who have been through these six months of fighting. But,” he added, “I respect the delicacy of the situation and shall tell Captain Blynn that I approve of your actions.”
Phil’s gratitude was fully expressed in the look he gave the officer as he murmured his thanks.
“I do not wish you to believe,” the general added hastily, “that I approve of useless bloodshed, but in a warfare such as has been forced upon us the higher instincts of generosity to a fallen foe have but small place. It is an eye for an eye with us now.”
As the general finished speaking the adjutant-general, Major Marble, entered and greeted the newcomers warmly. Both the lads had known him in their Annapolis days.
“Major Marble will give you the situation,” the general said as the midshipmen shook his hand in parting. “I suppose you are ready to get under way on summons.”
Phil answered promptly in the affirmative.
The major took the lads to his own comfortable quarters, facing the Plaza, and then told them briefly of the perplexing conditions under which the general was struggling.
“The insurgents will only fight,” the major told them earnestly, “when they can surprise us, and with these untrained volunteers that has been very frequent of late.”
The midshipmen told him how the American troops had marched unsuspectingly past Colonel Martinez’s party the day before Captain Blynn attacked them.
Major Marble shook his head sadly.
“Colonel Bane is not a soldier and never will be. He has blundered into more traps than any officer in the island.”
A heavy footfall sounded on the stairs. Major Marble stopped talking suddenly, and walked quickly to the door as Captain Blynn’s stalwart figure emerged from the stairway. “Come here, Blynn,” he called.
The judge-advocate general approached; upon his face was a good-natured smile which changed suddenly to an ugly frown as he caught sight of his brother officer’s guests. He would have turned sullenly away, but Major Marble put out a restraining hand. The lads had risen to their feet. Phil felt his own face suffuse with blood as he caught the glint of annoyance in Captain Blynn’s eyes. The midshipman turned his back quietly and looked out the window. A moment later he heard the captain’s heavy tread in the hall and a door slam loudly. When he turned Major Marble’s face was pale and his blue eyes flashed angrily.
“Blynn’s a boor, sometimes,” he hastened to apologize. “I’ve heard the story. He’s so absorbed in his work that any one who thwarts him arouses his dislike. He cannot see the human side. He’s a veritable bull in a china shop. He and Espinosa are doing splendid service. All of our success so far has been through their secret service work. You’ll be friends after you’ve been here a while. Martinez’s escape hurts his pride just now. Martinez is something like the man with the iron mask. He comes from Luzon, but no one knows who he is. We have wired Manila and they answer that they know of no insurgent officer of that name. Yet he’s here, and from all accounts has been expected. Most of his party were destroyed by Blynn, but about seventy-five are believed to have escaped, and Espinosa says that his followers are landing every day in the neighborhood of Dumaguete. I think the general’s plan is to have you cruise off there in hopes of intercepting some of their war parties.”
Phil had composed his ruffled feelings and listened eagerly while Major Marble was talking. His heart sank within him as there flashed through his mind thoughts as to whom Martinez might be. Maybe no less a personage than Aguinaldo himself, or General Rios, had been within his grasp. Small wonder that Captain Blynn was put out at his escape. Yet he could not have done otherwise with the girl’s beseeching, pleading eyes upon him.
After leaving Major Marble’s quarters the lads took a turn around the small Spanish town, loitering before the many shops and gazing admiringly up at the great churches, gray with age. They finally hired a carramata, the native cab, and drove through the city and out on the military road, begun by the Spaniards years before but, as was the custom of the country, never finished. As they drove into the Plaza on their return they came face to face with Señor Espinosa, riding a blooded horse which was prancing and pawing the earth, and making vain attempts to unseat its rider. Espinosa drew rein and bowed pointedly and courteously to the Americans.
“Señores,” he called eagerly, “may I have a word with you?”
Phil ordered his cochero to stop, while Espinosa dismounted, throwing his reins to a small native gamin near by. The native advanced to the carriage hat in hand and with as much ceremony as if he were about to speak to some exalted personage.
“I am extremely mortified at my actions of yesterday,” he exclaimed in his fluent and grandiloquent Spanish. “I have just seen the general. I abjectly apologize for my rudeness. May I count upon the friendship of the señores?” he asked in a suave, appealing voice.
Phil flinched unconsciously. He felt as if some reptile was drawing him toward him against his will. Espinosa’s eyes were mild and his smile was urbane; yet he felt that treachery was hidden behind this mask of friendliness. Espinosa read the struggle in the lad’s eyes and for an instant the mildness died in his own and a savage gleam took its place, but Phil’s gaze had wandered, and this vision of the true man was lost.
“I don’t bear you any ill will for that,” Phil replied, his voice unconsciously accenting the last word. “I suppose you felt you had been cheated of your victory over Colonel Martinez.” Then the lad stopped suddenly, a question trembling on his lips. Why should he not ask it? Wherein was the harm? “Who was the girl with him?” Phil suddenly questioned.
Espinosa’s face paled and in his eyes fear crept. “The girl,” he gasped, “was there a girl?”
Phil nodded. “Yes, and her small brother; they came on the steamer with us.”
“And escaped with Martinez,” Espinosa exclaimed excitedly. “I didn’t see her; it was too dark. While I was struggling I thought I heard a woman’s scream, but afterward I saw only Martinez.”
Phil saw the native was unduly agitated. What did it mean? How and why had the presence of this woman so greatly excited him?
As the midshipmen drove toward their ship this question was still in Phil’s thoughts.
“Is Espinosa playing a double game?” he asked Sydney suddenly. “Does he fear detection by his own people? Does he believe that Martinez did not recognize him and that his identity as a traitor is safe?”
Sydney shook his head over the mystery.