Under MacArthur in Luzon/Chapter 13
CHAPTER XIII
HUNTING UP A SUPPER
"That's a sort of a drawn battle," remarked Walter, as they watched the soldiers clambering aboard the transport.
"Looks to me like we had the worst of it," answered Si. "But the question is, what are we to do? We want to jine the ship, but how can we with those rascals all around the shore of the bay?"
Walter's face fell. "I never thought of that, Si! But we must get on board somehow."
"I agree with you, but how?"
"I don't know."
"We might wait till nightfall and try sneaking aboard in the dark, if—"
"If the ship doesn't leave in the meantime." Walter's heart began to beat rapidly. "Si, do you think they will leave us?"
"They may think us dead—shot down by those rascals with their silent arrows. They have killed two or three of our men already."
"Can't we signal them?"
"That's an idea. I'll fly my shirt to the breeze."
And in a jiffy the Yankee lad had the garment off and was waving it frantically with one hand while holding on to the treetop with the other. But if the signal was seen, no answer came back.
Quarter of an hour passed, and the boys waited in the tree, undecided what to do next. If they tried for the shore, both felt they were more than certain to play directly into the hands of the enemy. And yet to remain quiet was maddening.
"Let us go down and move forward, but with every possible caution," was Walter's advice. "If we remain here, we'll surely be left, and I must have something to eat sooner or later."
Si donned his shirt, and they climbed to the ground. They had the location of the bay now well in mind and took as direct a path as the growth of the jungle afforded.
It was a clear day and exceedingly hot, and their exertions soon put both in a dripping perspiration. Yet they pressed on, only stopping at a tiny stream to obtain a drink and wet their throbbing heads.
At last the jungle was passed, and they came to an opening overgrown with coarse Philippine "cow" grass, three to four feet high and as tough as cornstalks. Beyond this field was the wood skirting the beach of the bay where the Central was riding at anchor.
"Let us go around this field," suggested Walter. "We can then come up in an opposite direction to that from which the natives appeared." And Si agreed. But the going around took time, the sun blazed down more fiercely than ever, and both were all but sunstruck in consequence. At the edge of the wood they had to sit down to rest.
Presently a shouting reached their ears, coming from the end of the wood, where one of the mountain streams emptied itself into the bay. To find out what new movement was on foot, they climbed a tall tree growing near, and made out a long canoe, which the Negritos had brought forth from the bushes beside the stream. The canoe was launched in the stream, and fully a score of natives began to push the craft toward the bay.
"They haven't given up the fight yet," whispered Walter. " I believe they are really going to row over to the transport."
"Well, if they do, they'll be blown sky-high," answered Si, and he could not help but chuckle over the idea.
The canoe was scarcely out of sight when another band of the natives appeared and brought forth a second craft, similar to the first. Then came a third, a fourth, and finally a fifth.
"By ginger, this is gettin' powerful interesting; eh, Walter?" Si managed to gasp. "Five on 'em, and each manned by twenty or thirty of the heathins. They mean to attack the transport in earnest."
"But they'll be certain to get the worst of it," replied Walter.
From the position they occupied they could not see the Central, and so as quickly as possible they shifted to another. By this time, the canoes were floating in the bay, each loaded with natives armed principally with bows and arrows, although here and there a gun of ancient pattern was to be seen, generally in the hands of a man who was something of a chief.
"There they go for the transport," cried Walter.
"Yes, and there is a first shot to salute them," added Si, as a cannon boomed out. But those in the canoe were on guard, and moved hither and thither so quickly that the shot missed its mark. Then came several shots from the canoes which filled the boys with surprise.
Among the natives of some parts of the Philippines fire-arrows, as they are termed, are of common use in warfare, and the Negritos were now making use of these. Each arrow sent toward the Central had attached to it a bundle of feathers saturated with pitch or with the highly aromatic turpentine of the Malaysian turpentine tree, and all blazing fiercely.
The arrows fell on the deck of the ship, on the superstructure, and caught in the rigging, and in a few minutes some of the well-tarred ropes on board were spurting up into a lively blaze. The fire brigade was called out and set to work, but the burning arrows kept coming in a shower, and several workers were hit with them. Then a cannon shot crashed into one of the canoes and sank it; but the novel bombardment of the Negritos continued.
"They are plucky, no use o' talking," was Si's comment. "Didn't really think they had the nerve."
"Look! look!" almost screamed Walter. "The ship is turning about! She is going to leave the bay!"
"Leave!" ejaculated Si. "Leave us! No! no!"
"It's true! Look for yourself!"
They did look—their eyes staring almost from their sockets. Walter was right; the Central had pulled up her anchors, and now the transport was moving slowly out into the broad ocean.
"They are going to desert us!" groaned Walter. "Si, what shall we do?"
"We must try to signal 'em," answered the Yankee lad, and again he started to use his white shirt as a signal; but the ship kept to her course, and in half an hour disappeared around a distant headland.
The feelings of the young sailors can be better imagined than described. Deserted! It was the one word to use. Left to their fate on that wild, rocky shore where the natives were known to be their enemies. With blanched faces, each looked at the other—with a heart so full that no words could do justice to the feelings.
The natives followed the transport for a short distance only, then, seeing the folly of trying to catch up with the ship, they let out a ringing yell of defiance and returned to the shore. Soon their long canoes were hauled back up the little river, and the Negritos disappeared from view.
"We might as well get to the ground," said Walter, at last. "There is no use of remaining here any longer."
Si nodded, and they descended quietly, to sit close to the tree trunk, hopeless, and in no humor for talking. They were now more tired than ever, and presently the Yankee lad's head fell forward on his breast and he went to sleep. Seeing this, Walter also began to nod, and it was not long before he followed into the land of merciful dreams.
It was dark when they awoke, a gentle rain sifting through the tree branches having aroused them. Both lay on their backs where they had fallen. Si was the first up, and Walter quickly followed.
"We've been 'sleeping six or seven hours," remarked the Yankee lad. "Say, but ain't I hungry! "
"So am I, Si, but I don't see much of a prospect of anything to eat."
It was by no means pleasant to sit still in the rain, especially on an empty stomach, and they began to move about, hardly knowing or caring in what direction. Gradually they drifted to the beach, and coming to the last of the woods peered forth, to find the spot deserted.
"The natives have taken themselves off," began Walter, when a shining object lying not far away caught his eyes. It was a pistol dropped by one of the transport's officers, and quickly he ran and picked it up.
"Is it loaded, Walter?"
The young sailor made an examination. "Four chambers are," he answered.
"Good. Now, if we can only find some game—"
"But a shot would bring those Filipinos down on us, Si."
"Maybe not. Anyway, we've got to risk something, or starve—and I'd rather take the risk, wouldn't you? "
"I was thinking of what Larry did when he and Luke Striker were cast ashore somewhere around here. They found some fish on the beach, which had been cast up by the storm. We may be as lucky, if we look around."
"But how are you going to cook the fish without a fire?"
"We can find some hollow and discharge the pistol into some dry gatherings. That won't make much noise, and it's certain to give us a light," continued Walter.
With caution they moved along the beach, on the constant lookout for the Negritos. But none of the natives showed himself,—nor did anything in the shape of a fish or other sea food appear.
"We're not so lucky," remarked Si, dolefully.
"I can tell you we have either got to go on a hunting expedition or starve. I wish we could strike a bear or something big, because that would last. A bird ain't nothing, and four rounds ain't nothing either—when it comes to feeding two chaps as hollow as we be."
"There are no bears in Luzon, and very few large animals outside of the carabaos, or water buffaloes. And as you say, four rounds ain't much, especially when they are bullets instead of doses of buckshot. But we've got to do the best with what we have," concluded Walter, trying to pluck up a bit of courage.
Satisfied that there was nothing on the beach they could eat, they walked toward the woods, in a direction opposite to that where the mountain stream was located. They were approaching a rocky cliff overlooking the ocean when Walter uttered a sudden cry, raised the pistol, took careful aim, and fired. A wild fluttering of wings followed, and then a big bird circled around and around their heads, to fall dead at their feet.
"Good shot!" cried Si, as he picked up the game and made certain that life was extinct. "What do you allow it is?"
"A cormorant, Si."
"A cormorant? It don't look like the kind I've seen at home."
"It's the Asiatic variety, I guess. See, he was fishing, just as they all do in every part of the world. I caught him just as he was swallowing his prey, which is stuck in his throat."
"A double haul, Walter. We can now have both fish and fowl for our supper," cried the Yankee lad, enthusiastically. "It's a pity the fish wasn't larger."
"If he had been, the cormorant wouldn't have caught him—unless he was trained to the work."
"Trained?"
"Yes. The Chinese train cormorants to fish for them, and take them out in boats for that purpose. The cormorant sits on the gunwale, and when a fish swims near, darts overboard and hauls him in. He brings in big and little alike, and after the work is over gets the little fish for his reward."
"By ginger, Walter, that's the worst fish yarn I ever heard."
"It's no yarn, Si; it's the truth, as you can learn for yourself—if ever we get out of this pickle we're in, which looks doubtful."