Under MacArthur in Luzon/Chapter 17
CHAPTER XVII
JOB DOWLING SENDS A LETTER
It was three days later, and the American troops occupied all the territory south of Manila to Bacoor. The enemy had retired to Imus, a small town inland, having given up entirely the possession of the territory fronting Manila Bay.
There was no more fighting in sight for the time being, and Ben and Larry, with their friends, were glad enough to take it easy in the shade of some tall trees overshadowing the hut which the young captain had made his temporary quarters.
All of the soldiers were waiting for the mail from Manila, which was expected on an early wagon train. Soon the mail came in, bringing with it several letters for our friends.
"A letter from Uncle Job," said Larry, on receiving the missive. He tore the envelope open and read aloud, for Ben's benefit:—
"My dear Boys," the old man wrote, " I was very glad to get your last letter, but sorry to learn that you were having so many ups and downs out in the Philippines. According to my notion Uncle Sam made a big mistake when he didn't let the islands alone after Dewey's victory. Seems to me the Filipinos deserve their liberty just as much as anybody.
"Howsomever, now you are in the ranks, you want to keep on doing your duty by your country to the finish. Walter sailed on the ship Central, and I guess he will be with you about the time you get this. I hope none of you get shot, and all come home safe and sound after the fighting is done. I don't see how you can keep on sodgering so long—'twouldn't suit me nohow.
"That turning around about Braxton Bogg nearly took my breath out of me, for I was afraid my property was gone now sure. Was awful glad that you caught that Spaniard and got half the bank money anyway, and I hope you or the U. S. detective officers get the balance of the money before you give it up. Such outrageous rascals ought to be strung up.
"Well, I ain't got much more to write about. A speculator wanted me to invest in a new get-rich-quick concern, but I told him I had had my eye-teeth cut and wasn't investing in nothing excepting what I knew was safe and sound. I see by the papers the wet season is coming at Manila. Don't get your feet wet any more than you can help and keep thick socks on all the time.
"Your affectionate
"Uncle Job.
"P.S. Don't get mad over what I said about sodgering. I am proud of you, and I hope you all come home generals or something like that."
"Isn't that Uncle Job to a T?" remarked Larry, when he had finished the epistle. "I'll wager he was all upset over that money matter. Well, I hope myself we collar that José Lupez before we quit the country."
"Yes, and collar him before he spends all that money," returned Ben. Then he gave a short laugh. "'Don't get your feet wet!' That's well meant; but if only Uncle Job knew what we have to put up with, I reckon he'd open his eyes."
"There's a good deal to think about in what he says of this war in the Philippines, Ben. In one way, I think the Filipinos ought to govern themselves, don't you?"
"I do, and I don't. It would be right in theory, but could they do it practically? Some of the Tagals in the cities are educated up to it, but not the great masses. What would be the best, it seems to me, would be for Uncle Sam to take hold, but with the understanding that the Filipinos could do for themselves as soon as they were capable of handling the reins of government. They might—What is it, Gilbert?"
Ben broke off short, as the young Southerner came rushing up, with a Manila newspaper in his hand—one of the new sheets recently established and printed in English.
"Have you heard the news about the Central?" asked the lieutenant, anxiously.
"No; has she arrived?"
"She has, but—but— It's too bad, Ben, but I reckon you and Larry have got to be told."
"Something has happened to Walter?" cried both of the Russells, in a breath.
"I'm afraid so. The newspaper says the Central, while on her way to Manila, was caught in a storm, and had to put into a bay on the north coast of this island for repairs. While at anchor a number of the men were allowed a run on shore. When the main body came back from a long walk, two of the number, Walter and a sailor named Si Doring, were missing."
"Walter!" muttered Ben. "Si Doring was his chum."
"And—and didn't they come back?" questioned Larry, faintly. He could scarcely speak.
"They did not. The next morning a rescuing party went out, but this was attacked by the natives, who also attacked the ship with fire arrows. One man was killed in the battle on the beach, and three wounded, and at last the Central sailed away, feeling it would be useless to try to rescue the missing ones, even if they were—well—you know." Gilbert's voice dropped. "I'm awfully sorry—you know I am," he added.
For the moment neither Ben nor Larry could speak. Walter missing, perhaps dead! The news was a frightful shock. They had looked forward with so much pleasure to seeing him in a day or two.
"It may not be as bad as you suppose," went on Gilbert, trying his best to soothe them. "He and his chum may have escaped into the woods."
"It is doubtful," returned Ben. "Poor, poor Walter! Perhaps we'll never hear what really did become of him," and his eyes filled with tears which he hastily dashed away. Larry was also affected, and turned away to hide his grief.
There was no more to be learned out of the paper, but anxious to know all the particulars, Ben and Larry asked for permission to go to Manila and interview the commander of the transport. The permission was readily obtained, and they rode to the capital the next day, in company with some baggage carts and hospital ambulances.
"That news will break the Russell boys all up," remarked Major Morris, when told of the affair by Gilbert. "It's too bad. It seems to me those on the transport ought to have been more careful of their men."
"I agree with you," answered the young Southerner. "But, major, you said last night that you had a new bit of work in hand," he continued.
"I have, lieutenant. I was going to take both you and Captain Russell into my confidence, but I reckon it won't do any good to speak to the captain now. He's in no humor for the job."
"What job?"
"I managed to have a talk with General Lawton last night, and I got his permission to organize a special party of eight or ten men to make a hunt for this notorious General Adoz, the guerilla chief. I was pumping several of the wounded Tagals, and I am pretty certain I can lay my hands on the man. I wanted to know if you—"
"I'll go, and glad of the chance," burst out the lieutenant before the major could finish. "When do we start?"
"You are willing, and no mistake, lieutenant—and I am glad of it. We will start to-night—if I can get my men together."
"Who do you expect to take along?"
"Only men I know thoroughly and can rely upon—you, Ralph Sorrel, that Tennesseean mountaineer, who helped you and Captain Russell in the last campaign, and Boxer the scout, who is around again; besides Carl Stummer and Dan Casey and a few others. We'll have a crowd ready to go anywhere and do anything, and that's what is wanted for work of this sort."
The major had laid his plans carefully, and at ten o'clock that night had his little command together and was giving them their last instructions. Then the party left the camp silently in the darkness.
The route taken was in the direction of the Laguna de Bay, along what is called by the natives the Road of the Friars, a rocky, uneven way which had not been repaired for many years. At four in the morning the party reached Candaras, a small village on the bay, and here took to a casco owned by a native fisherman. As was expected, when confronted by the Americans, the fisherman claimed he was an amigo, although at heart a thorough rebel.
"If you are a friend, you will come with us," said the major, and forced the man to enter the casco, a large clumsy affair, with a wooden hood over the stern seat. The fisherman protested, but the major would not listen, and soon the party was out on the lake.
"You know where the rocky shore is which the rebels call Satan's Foot," said Major Morris, when out of sight of the village. "I want you to take us to that spot, and without delay."
The fisherman shook his head. "I know of no such place," he protested.
"I say you do know," answered the major, coldly, and pulled out his pistol. "There is an old Spanish watch-tower at the point. If you do not land us at the tower before sunrise, I will put a bullet 
He begged them not to murder himPage 173
through your head and dump you into the lake for the fishes to feed upon."
The threat made the fisherman tremble from head to foot, and he sank on his knees and begged them, in his native tongue, not to murder him. The major had no such intention, but did not allow a muscle of his face to betray him. Instead, he placed the muzzle of the pistol to the Tagal's forehead.
"You must do as I say, or you will soon be a dead man. Come, take up the oars and lose no more time. Any treachery on your part means death to you."
So full of fear that he could scarcely hold the oars, the fisherman fell to rowing, and one of the soldiers helped him. In this fashion the casco moved over the swollen lake for hours. No doubt the fisherman wanted to play them false, but he valued his life too highly to take the risk, and just as the sun was peeping over the distant mountains the boat came in sight of a rocky cliff standing well out into the water. Some distance back of the shore was a small stone tower, now covered with moss and vines and fast going into decay.
"Is this the place?" asked the major, eying the native sharply.
"Yes," was the surly reply.
"Then row around to the steps on the left. Be quick about it."
The order was obeyed, and as the casco reached the shore, Major Morris made a sign to Stummer and Casey, who caught the fisherman from behind and bound his hands.
"We will see if you have done as I told you to," said the major. "If you have fooled us, remember, your life is no longer your own."
"It is the right place," said the fisherman.
Scarcely had the words been spoken than two rifle shots rang out and two bullets sped across the rocky cliff, one striking the casco near the bow, and the other hitting the water beyond the boat.
"The enemy!" cried Gilbert. "Down!"
A volley followed, coming from behind the stone tower. One man was struck—Boxer the scout—and killed outright. The fisherman was also hit in the shoulder, and in his terror leaped overboard, waded ashore, and sped for the nearest jungle. The next instant our friends also entered the water and ran for a path leading to the top of the cliff.