Stratemeyer Edward
The Campaign of the Jungle: or, Under Lawton through Luzon

CHAPTER III
AN ADVENTURE ON THE PASIG RIVER

“Hurrah, Luke! I reckon I am going to see a bit of fighting at last.”

It was Larry who spoke, as he rushed up to his old friend, Luke Striker, now one of the gun captains on board the Olympia. It was the day after the young tar had paid the visit to Ben.

“Fighting? where?” demanded the Yankee gunner. “Do you mean to say as how the Olympia is goin’ to do some scoutin’ alongshore, lad?”

“No, the ship is going to remain right where she is. But General Lawton is going to take an expedition up the Pasig River from San Pedro Macati to the Laguna de Bay, and some of the sailors are going along to help manage the cascos and other boats. I just applied for a place, along with Jack Biddle, and we both got in.”

“And why can’t I get in?” returned Luke, eagerly. “This here everlastin’ sitting still, doin’ nuthin’, is jest a-killin’ of me.”

“You might apply, although there are already more volunteers than they want,” answered Larry. He told his old friend how to make the necessary application, and soon Luke had joined the expedition; and the three friends hastened ashore and on board a shallow river transport, which was to take them and a number of others up to San Pedro Macati.

The brief journey to the latter-named village was without incident. Here Larry found assembled a body of about thirteen hundred soldiers, infantry and cavalry, and with them two hundred picked sharpshooters, and two guns manned by members of the regular artillery. Owing to the sickness of the commanding general, General Lawton took personal charge of the expedition.

No man was better fitted for fighting in the Philippines than Major General Henry W. Lawton, who had but lately arrived in the islands, and who was destined to die the death of a hero upon the firing line. Of commanding appearance, being six feet three inches in height and weighing over two hundred pounds, he was a soldier by nature and a natural leader among leaders. He had fought all through the great Civil War with much credit to himself, and it was he who, during the great Apache Indian uprising, followed the crafty Geronimo through mountain and over desert for a distance of nearly fourteen hundred miles, and at last caused him to surrender. For this, it is said, the Indians called him “Man-who-gets-up-in-the-night-to-fight,” and they respected him as they respected few others.

With the outbreak of the war with Spain General Lawton was in his element, and when the army of occupation sailed for Santiago he was with them; and it was this same Lawton who stormed El Caney and captured it, as related in “A Young Volunteer in Cuba.” When General Shafter wanted to call Lawton away from El Caney, after the troops had been fighting many hours, Lawton sent him word, “I can’t stop – I’ve got to fight,” and went forward again; and in less than an hour the Spanish flag at the top of the hill was down, and Old Glory had taken its place.

General Lawton was addressing several members of his staff when Larry first saw him at San Pedro Macati. He stood, war map in hand, in front of the river landing, a conspicuous figure among the half-dozen that surrounded him.

“He’s a fighter – you can see that,” whispered Larry to Luke, who stood beside him. “Just look at that square-set jaw. He won’t let up on the rebels an inch.”

“Jest the kind we’re a-wantin’ out here,” responded the Yankee gunner. “The more they force the fightin’ the sooner the war will come to an end. He’s coming toward us,” he added, as General Lawton stepped from out of the circle around him.

“You are from the Olympia, I believe?” he said, addressing Luke.

“Yes, general,” replied the old gunner, touching his forelock, while Larry also saluted. “We volunteered for this expedition.”

“You look all right, but – ” General Lawton turned to Larry. “I’m afraid you are rather young for this sort of thing, my lad,” he went on.

“I hope not, sir,” cried Larry, quickly. “I’ve seen fighting before.”

“He was in the thickest of it when we knocked out Admiral Montojo, general,” interposed Luke. “You can trust him to do his full share, come what may.”

“Oh, if he was in that fight I guess he’ll be all right,” responded General Lawton, with a grim sort of a smile. And he turned away to overlook the shipping of some ammunition on one of the tinclad gunboats which was to form part of the expedition.

The troops were speedily on the cascos, which were to be towed by several steam launches and escorted by three tinclads. Although Larry and his friends did not know it till several hours later, the destination was Santa Cruz, a pretty town, situated on a slight hill overlooking the placid waters of the Laguna de Bay. The general’s plan was to reach the lake by nightfall, and steal over the silent waters in the dark until the vicinity of Santa Cruz was gained, in hopes that the garrison might be caught “napping,” as it is called.

For the time being the sailors were separated one from another, each being put in charge of a casco, the shallow rowboats being joined together in strings of four to six each, and pulled along with many a jerk and twist by the puffing little launches, which at times came almost to a standstill.

“We won’t reach the lake by sunrise, and I know it,” remarked one of the soldiers to Larry, who stood in the bow of the casco with an oar, ready to do whatever seemed best for the craft. “We’ve a good many miles to go yet.”

At that instant the casco ahead ran aground in the shallow river, and Larry had all he could do to keep his craft from running into it. As the two boats came stem to stern one of the soldiers in the craft ahead called out to those behind: —

“Say, Idaho, do you know where we are bound?”

“Bound for Santa Cruz, so I heard our captain remark,” answered one of the soldiers in Larry’s boat. “Got any tobacco, North Dakota?”

“Nary a pipeful, wuss luck,” was the response; and then the line straightened out as the casco ahead cleared herself from the mud, and the two boats moved apart once more.

“Are we really going to Santa Cruz?” questioned Larry, as soon as he got the chance. “I thought we were bound for the north shore of the lake.”

“I can only tell you what I heard the captain say,” answered the soldier, with a shrug of his shoulder. “General Lawton ain’t blowing his plans through a trumpet, you know.”

“I hope we do go to Santa Cruz,” mused Larry, as he thought of what had been said of Benedicto Lupez. “And if we take the town I hope we take that rascal, too.”

The best laid plans are often upset by incidents trifling in themselves. It was the dry season of the year, and the Pasig River, usually broad and turbulent, was now nothing better than a muddy, shallow creek, winding and treacherous to the last degree. As night came on the expedition found itself still in the stream and many miles from the lake, and here cascos and launches ran aground and a general mix-up ensued.

“Hullo, what have we run up against now?” growled the lieutenant in charge of the soldiers in Larry’s boat. “Can’t you keep out of the mud, Jackie?”

“I’m doing my best,” panted the youth, as he shoved off for at least the fourth time. “With the lines forward and aft pulling one way and another it’s rather difficult to keep to the channel, especially in the dark.”

“Oh, you’re only a boy and don’t understand the trick,” growled the lieutenant, who was in a bad humor generally. “I don’t see why they let you come along.”

“Our boat is doing about as well as any of them,” answered Larry, bound to defend himself. “Two boats are aground to our left and three behind us.”

“See here, don’t talk back to me! You tend to business and keep us out of the mud,” roared the lieutenant, in worse humor than before.

An angry retort arose to Larry’s lips, but he checked it. “A quarrel won’t do any good,” he thought. “But what a bulldog that fellow is – as bad as Quartermaster Yarrow, who caused me so much trouble on the trip out here.”

On went the cascos once more, around a tortuous bend and past a bank fringed with bushes and reeds. The mosquitoes were numerous, likewise the flies, and everybody began to wish the journey at an end.

“We’d better make a charge on the insects,” growled one old soldier. “They are worse nor the rebels ten times over,” and, just then, many were inclined to agree with him. Tobacco was scarce or smoking would have been far more plentiful than it was.

Midnight came and went, and found the expedition still some distance from the lake. A few of the soldiers were sleeping, but the majority remained wide awake, fighting off the marshland pests, and aiding in keeping the cascos and launches from running high and dry in the mud. Had it not been for the tinclads it is doubtful if the Laguna de Bay would have been gained at all by more than half of the craft composing the turnout. But they came to the rescue time and again, and so the expedition crawled along, until, at four o’clock, the clear sheet of water beyond was sighted.

They were making the last turn before the lake was gained when the casco ahead of that steered by Larry went aground once more, dragging Larry’s craft behind it. The youth did all he could to back water, but in vain, and once more they heard the unwelcome slish of mud under their bottom.

“Now you’ve done it again!” howled the lieutenant, leaping up from his seat. “You numskull! give me that oar.” And he tried to wrench the blade from Larry’s hand.

“It was not my fault,” began the youth, when the officer forced the blade from him and hurled him back on one of the soldiers. Then the lieutenant tried to do some poling for himself, and got the oar stuck so tightly in the mud that he could not loosen it.

Burning with indignation, Larry felt himself go down in a heap, and at once tried to get up again. At the same time the soldier beneath him gave him a shove which pitched him several feet forward. He landed up against the lieutenant with considerable force, and in a twinkle the officer went overboard, head first, into the water and mud where the casco had stuck fast.

CHAPTER IV
THE GAP IN THE FIRING LINE

“Hullo, Lieutenant Horitz has fallen overboard!”

“Pull him out of the mud, before he smothers or drowns!”

Such were some of the cries which arose among the soldiers that filled the casco. Then Larry was shoved back, and two of them caught hold of the legs of the man who had disappeared, as for an instant they showed themselves. There was a “long pull, a strong pull, and a pull altogether,” and up came the lieutenant, minus his hat and with his face and neck well plastered with the black ooze of the river bottom.

For a moment after he sank on the seat that was vacated to receive him, he could not speak. One of the soldiers handed him a handkerchief, and with this he proceeded to clear his eyes and ears, at the same time puffing vainly to get back his breath. At last he cleared his throat and glared angrily at Larry.

“You – you young whelp!” he fumed. “You – you knocked me over on purpose!”

“No, sir, I did not,” answered the young tar, promptly. “One of the soldiers shoved me up against you.”

“I don’t believe you,” roared the unreasonable one, as he continued to clean himself off. “You shall pay dearly for this assault, mark me!”

“Didn’t you shove me?” asked Larry, appealing to one of the soldiers.

“I shoved you off of my neck, yes,” answered the enlisted man. “But I didn’t throw you into Lieutenant Horitz. You did that yourself.”

“Of course he did it himself,” said another soldier, who did not wish to see his tent-mate get into trouble. “You had it in for the lieutenant ever since he first spoke to you.”

“I shall report you the first chance I get,” growled Lieutenant Horitz. “I reckon you’ll find that General Lawton won’t allow any such disgraceful conduct while he is in command.”

“What’s the row back there?” came out of the darkness. “Hurry up and get afloat, or we’ll cut the rope and leave you to shift for yourselves.”

“Our officer was just shoved overboard,” answered Snapper, the soldier who had given Larry the unlucky push. “And we’ve lost our oar.”

“No, I have the oar,” put in Larry, making a clutch into the water for the article just as it was about to float out of reach. He leaped into the bow once more, and began to work vigorously, and in a few seconds they were again afloat.

Fortunately for the lieutenant the night was warm, so he suffered no inconvenience so far as his wet clothing was concerned. But it was no mean task to clean both himself and his uniform, and what to do for another hat he did not know. He would have taken Larry’s headgear had that article been anyway suitable, but it was not.

It must be confessed that Larry felt thoroughly ill at ease. That there was trouble ahead went without saying, and he half wished himself safe back on the Olympia. “He’ll make out the worst case he can against me,” he thought. “And his men will back him up in all he says.” Yet he felt that he was guilty of no intentional wrong-doing, and resolved to stand up for himself to the best of his ability.

The lieutenant had learned one lesson – that he knew no more about handling the casco than did Larry, if as much, and, consequently, he offered no more suggestions as to how to run the craft. But he kept muttering under his breath at the youth, and Larry felt that he was aching to “get square.”

It was early dawn when the casco turned into the lake proper. As the sun came up it shed its light on one of the prettiest sheets of water Larry had ever beheld. The lake was as smooth as a millpond, and surrounded with long stretches of marshland and heavy thickets of tropical growth. Fish were plentiful, as could be seen by gazing into the clear depths below, and overhead circled innumerable birds. Villages dotted the lake shore at various points, but these the expedition gave a wide berth, setting out directly for Santa Cruz, still several miles distant, behind the hill previously mentioned.

If it had been General Lawton’s intention to attack the town from in front in the dark, that plan had now to be changed, and the expedition turned toward shore at a point at least three miles from the town proper.

But even here the rebels could be seen to be on the alert, and a rapid-firing gun was put into action and directed along the lake front. The gun was manned by some men from the Napadan, and did such wonderful execution that soon the insurgent sentries were seen to be fleeing toward the town at utmost speed. Then a small detachment from some brush also retreated, and the coast was clear.

It was no easy matter to land, as the water here was shallow and the cascos had to be poled along over the soft mud. The sharpshooters were the first ashore, and they soon cleared a spot for the others. But a few of the rebels were “game,” and as a result one man was wounded, although not seriously. The cavalry remained on the boats, to land closer to the hill later on.

The landing had consumed much valuable time, and it was now after noon. A hasty meal was had, and then the column moved off, spreading out in fan shape as it advanced, the sharpshooters to the front and the rear, and a number of special scouts on the alert to give the first warning of danger. Soon the scouts in front came back with the news that the insurgents were forming in front of our troops and that Santa Cruz and its garrison seemed thoroughly aroused to the danger which threatened.

“Forward, boys!” was the cry. “The more time we give them, the better they will be prepared to meet us. Forward without delay!” And the “boys” went forward with a wild hurrah, for everything promised well, and they were much pleased to have General Lawton lead them, even though they had no fault to find with their other commanders.

The first skirmish began on the extreme right. Some rebels had found their way to a hill behind the town, and they began the attack from a patch of wild plantains, thickly interlaced with tropical vines. Up the hill after them dashed the right wing, and the sharp rattle of musketry resounded upon both sides for the best part of half an hour. Then the rebels broke and ran, and in their eagerness our troops followed them until a point less than two miles from Santa Cruz was gained. Here the insurgents scattered, and could not be rounded up, and the right wing fell back, to unite with the main body of the expedition. But the woods were thick, the ground new to the Americans, and in the gathering darkness it was several hours before the firing line was compact once more. Then the expedition rested for the night.

Larry had landed with the soldiers, and, as the other cascos came up, he was speedily joined by Luke Striker and Jack Biddle.

“I wonder what part we air to take in this comin’ mix-up?” queried Luke.

“Like as not they will leave us here to mind the boats,” replied Larry. “I can tell you that I am rather sorry I came along,” he added soberly.

“Sorry!” ejaculated Jack Biddle. “Surely, Larry, ye ain’t afraid – ”

“No, I’m not afraid,” interrupted the youth. And then he told of the scene in the casco, and of what Lieutenant Horitz had said. When he had finished, Jack cut a wry face and Luke uttered a low whistle.

“You’ve run up agin a rock fer sartin, Larry,” remarked Luke. “I reckon he can make things look putty bad for ye if he’s of a mind to do it.”

“Keep quiet an’ say nuthin’, an’ he may forgit all about it,” was Jack Biddle’s advice.

The boats having been cared for, the sailors followed the soldiers through the field and into the woods. All told there were twenty-five jackies, and by common consent they formed themselves into a company of their own, with a petty officer named Gordell at their head. Gordell went to General Lawton for directions, and was told to follow the volunteers until given further orders. Each sailor was armed with a pistol and a ship’s cutlass.

The march was a hot one, but Larry was now getting accustomed to the tropics and hardly minded this. The little company advanced with caution, nobody desiring to run into an ambush. Soon the firing on the right reached their ears, and they knew that some sort of an engagement was on. Then came a halt, and presently the darkness of night fell over them; and they went into camp beside a tiny watercourse flowing into a good-sized stream which separated the expedition from the outskirts of Santa Cruz.

Supper disposed of, Larry and Luke Striker took a stroll forward, to find out what the firing line was really doing and if the insurgents were in front in force. “We may have a bigger fight on hand nor any of us expect,” suggested the old Yankee gunner.

“You can trust General Lawton not to run his head into the lion’s mouth,” returned Larry. “A soldier who has whipped the Apache Indians isn’t going to suffer any surprise at the hands of these Tagals, no matter how wily they are.”

“Don’t be too sure o’ thet, Larry. The best on us make mistakes sometimes,” answered the Yankee, with a grave shake of his head. But General Lawton made no mistake, as we shall speedily see.

As has been said, the right wing had become detached from the main body of the expedition during the fight on the hill back of Santa Cruz. The firing line of this wing had not yet united with the centre, consequently there was a gap of over a quarter of a mile in the front. Had the Tagalogs known of this they might have divided the expedition and surrounded the right wing completely, but they did not know, so the temporary separation did no damage to the soldiers. But that gap brought a good bit of trouble to Larry and his friend.

On and on went the pair, down a narrow road lined on either side with palms and plantains and sweet-smelling shrubs. From the hollows the frogs croaked dismally, and here and there a night bird uttered its lonely cry, but otherwise all was silent.

“Humph, they’ve pushed the firing line ahead further than I thought,” remarked Luke, after half a mile had been covered. “Here’s a small river. Do ye reckon as how they went over thet, lad?”

“It must be so,” answered the boy. “Certainly, we haven’t been challenged.”

Crossing the rude bridge, they found that the road made a sharp turn to the southward. Beyond was a nipa hut, back of which burnt a small camp-fire. Both hut and fire seemed deserted.

“They have cleaned the rebels out from there,” said Larry. “Come ahead,” and they continued on their way, little dreaming of the trap into which they were walking.

The nipa hut passed, they came to a tall fence built of bamboo stalks, sharpened at the tops and bound with native rope-vine. Farther on still were a dozen shelters, and here could be seen several women and children sitting in the doorways.

“Perhaps they can give us some information,” said Larry, as they approached the natives. As soon as they saw the Americans the children shrieked dismally and rushed out of sight. But the women held their ground, feeling that they would not be molested.

“See anything of our soldiers?” demanded Luke of the women, but one and all shook their heads. “No Englees talk,” mumbled one, meaning they did not understand or speak our tongue.

The natives’ manner made Larry suspicious, and he glanced around hurriedly. As he did so there was a click of a trigger from behind the bamboo fence.

“Americanos surrender,” came in bad English from back of the fence. “Surrender quick, or we shoot both dead on the spot!”