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

CHAPTER XII
SOMETHING ABOUT A POISONED WELL

After the rest at Angat, the taking of San Rafael by General Lawton’s troops was an easy matter, and on May 1 – the anniversary of Admiral Dewey’s great victory in Manila Bay – the soldiers set out for the town of Baliuag, five miles to the northward.

In spite of the recent rain, the road was hard and even dusty in spots. The heat was still as great as ever, and Ben was glad to take the benefit of any shade that afforded itself as he marched along at the head of his command. The date made him think of the battle just mentioned, and this brought him around to Larry once more, and he began to wonder if his brother would ever turn up again.

“I suppose I’ll have to write to Walter and to Uncle Job about this,” he muttered dismally. “But I hate to do it, especially if Larry does turn up, for I know it will worry both of them greatly.”

The road was thick with palms and plantains and trailing plants, the latter of gorgeous colorings. Nipa huts and bamboo cottages were numerous, but the inmates kept themselves well hidden as the little army passed by. In the distance were paddy-fields and cane-brakes, and along the road were numerous mud-holes, some of which had to be bridged over before the artillery could pass in safety. More than once horses and cannon got stuck, and many a shoulder had to be put to the pieces to budge them.

“If there was no war, this would be a delightful spot in which to spend a vacation,” remarked Gilbert, who had come up for a little talk, as was his habit when they were pushing ahead in irregular formation. “I reckon the natives take solid comfort in their homes.”

“I suppose it puts you in mind of the South at home,” returned Ben, with a smile, “It is nice, certainly. But I fancy this continual heat would make one mighty lazy in time.”

“Well, the natives are lazy, you can easily see that,” laughed the young Southerner. “I wish I could get a good drink of water,” he added, a minute later.

They soon came to a pretty dwelling, set in a perfect wilderness of flowers and shrubs. Toward the side they made out a well, and ran forward to fill their canteens.

The pair were at the well when a shrill cry from one of the side rooms of the house attracted their attention. Looking up, they saw a native girl waving her hand frantically at them. The girl was nicely dressed and evidently belonged to the better classes.

“We only want a drink!” shouted Ben, thinking that the maiden might imagine they had come into the garden to steal.

But the girl shouted more loudly than ever, and waved them away from the well. “Bad! bad!” she cried.

“Oh, no, we are not so bad as you think,” Gilbert shouted back; and was about to take a drink from a cocoanut-shell dipper which hung handy, when the girl came out of the cottage on a run and dashed the dipper to the ground. At the same time an evil-looking Filipino appeared at the doorway, shook his fist at the girl, and then suddenly ran for the barns behind the dwelling and disappeared.

“I want a drink and I’m going to have it,” began Gilbert, sternly, for he did not like the manner in which the water had been spilt over his clothing. “If you – ”

“The well is poisoned; don’t drink, it will kill you!” gasped the girl, in Spanish.

As old readers know, Gilbert understood a little of the language, having picked it up while on a trip to Cuba, and also while serving as a Rough Rider in that island. He started back and caught the maiden by the arm.

“Poisoned! you are certain?” he cried.

“Yes, señor; my uncle put the poison in only yesterday. He lost much at Angat, and he is very angry at the Americanos in consequence. He knew the soldiers were coming this way, and he wanted to poison as many as he could. He put a water-barrel down on the road full of the poisoned water, too.”

“Who is your uncle, the man who just ran off?”

“Yes, señor. But, oh, do not go after him, I pray you!” cried the girl, in high alarm. “I would not have spoken, but I could not see you poisoned before my very eyes; no, not that!”

As quickly as he could, Gilbert translated her words to Ben, who listened in amazement.

“The villain!” ejaculated the young captain. “I’ve heard of this sort of thing being done before. I wonder where that barrel is that she spoke about? We must find it and empty it of its contents.”

Gilbert put the question to the girl, who announced that the barrel was on another road back of the plantation. Whether any of the soldiers had reached it or not was a question.

As quickly as he could Ben reported the situation to his superior, and received orders to divide his company, leaving a part to guard the poisoned well so that no Americans might drink from it, while the rest should go and hunt up the water-barrel. Gilbert was detailed to accompany Ben, and the girl was given to understand that she must take the soldiers to where the barrel had been set up.

At first the maiden demurred; but there was no help for it, and the kind smiles which Gilbert and Ben gave her were an assurance that no harm was about to befall her. Yet she was afraid that when the reckoning came her uncle would deal harshly with her, and trembled violently as she moved through the rice-fields with the two young officers beside her.

The little command had nearly reached the back road when the report of a gun rang out, coming from the direction of a wood behind the rice-fields. The bullet sped past Ben’s shoulder, to bury itself in the fleshy part of one of his private’s arms.

“’Tis my uncle!” cried the girl. “Oh, he will kill us all, I am sure of it!” And she became so agitated that she sank down and could not go another step.

Without hesitation, Ben ordered his men forward on the run, and away went the detachment for the spot from whence the unexpected shot had come. As the soldiers neared the wood they beheld a Filipino in the act of running across a small opening.

“That’s him, the rascal!” roared Dan Casey, and taking a hasty aim he fired, and the rebel was seen to plunge forward on his face. When the party came up they found that the man had been hit in the hip, and that the wound, while not necessarily dangerous, was serious, and would put the fellow out of the contest for several months.

“It serves him right,” said Ben. “Poisoning drinking water is not fair fighting.”

The girl soon came up, crying bitterly. She wished to remain by her uncle, but Ben made her understand that she must point out the water-barrel first, and after that he would have two soldiers remove the wounded man to the cottage.

Ten minutes later the rear road was gained, and here the water-barrel was found, set up on end, with the top knocked out. It was three-quarters full of water, and a dozen or more soldiers were drinking and filling their canteens.

“Stop drinking!” ordered Ben, when still at a distance. “That water has been doctored and will make you sick.” He refrained from saying the water was poisoned for fear of creating a panic.

The water was at once poured out on the ground and the barrel smashed up. Then a surgeon was found, to whom Ben related the facts of the case. A canteen of the water was examined, and the surgeon decided to give the man who had drunk the stuff an emetic. A few of the soldiers were taken with cramps inside of an hour afterward, and two of them were seriously sick for a week; but no lives were lost. But if the soldiers could have got at the Filipino who had poisoned the water, they would have shot him on the spot.

As soon as the danger was over, Ben returned to the wood, and had two men carry the wounded man back to the cottage, where he was left in charge of his wife and his niece. Through Gilbert it was learned that the wife had also remonstrated against using the poison, so it was fair to suppose that the aunt would protect her niece to a certain degree. “But she’ll have a hard time of it for doing us a service, I’m afraid,” said the young Southerner, as he and Ben resumed the march.

The scouts, under Chief Young, were in advance, and now a steady firing from the front told that another battle was at hand. Soon General Lawton came dashing through the crowd on the road, followed by his staff.

“Forward, boys!” was the cry, and then Ben’s command left the road and took to the rice-fields on the outskirts of Baliuag. The line was a long one, with the Oregon and Minnesota soldiers forming the skirmishing end, and Scott’s battery in a paddy-field on the extreme right. So far the insurgents had kept well hidden; but as the Americans drew closer to the town they could be seen running in half a dozen directions, as if undecided whether to fight or to flee.

The townspeople themselves were in a panic, and down the streets ran Filipinos and Chinese, some with their household effects piled high on their backs. They had heard of the coming of the Americanos, but had hoped almost against hope that their beloved town would be passed by unmolested.

Ben’s regiment was moving along rapidly when they came to a ditch which seemed to divide the rice-field in half. A short pause followed, when along came the cry of “Down!” and every man dropped, and none too soon, for the insurgents had opened up unexpectedly from a cane-brake behind the rice-field.

“We must take that cane-brake,” came the order from the colonel, and the word was passed along quickly, and away went the companies with a ringing cheer, firing as they ran, and reloading with all possible speed.

Ben was now truly in his element, and, waving his sword, he urged Company D well to the front, so that the cane was soon reached. But the rebels were not game for a hand-to-hand encounter and fled once more, through the cane and over a field of heavy grass leading to the very outskirts of the town beyond.

“They are running away!” was the cry. “On we go, boys, and the town will be ours in less than half an hour.”

But now a halt was ordered, on the edge of the cane-brake. From the outskirts of the town appeared a Filipino waving a white rag over his head.

“Flag of truce!” cried the American general. “Cease firing!” And the order was instantly obeyed. “Major Morris, you can select a detail of three men and find out what they want.”

“I will, general,” answered the major of the first battalion, and saluted. He had soon chosen his men, one of whom was Gilbert Pennington, and, waving a white flag before them, the party of four advanced into the open field.

CHAPTER XIII
IN WHICH A FLAG OF TRUCE IS FIRED UPON

Major Morris well knew the wiliness of the Filipinos, yet he did not doubt but that they would pay due respect to a flag of truce which they had themselves invited. Accordingly he advanced boldly with his little party, until the four had covered fully one-half of the distance which separated the American troops from the point where the rebels had taken a stand.

“He is thrustin’ thim a whole lot!” groaned Dan Casey, who was the closest man in the ranks to Ben. “If he gits plugged – ”

“They won’t dare to fire, Dan,” said a companion. “If they did – ”

The speech was cut short by the pop of a Mauser rifle, followed by two more pops, and the private who carried the white flag was seen to fling the banner down and fall headlong. In the meantime, the Filipinos who had appeared with the white rag were running back to their own ranks with all possible speed.

“They have fired on the flag of truce!” The cry arose from a hundred throats, and then a scattering volley rang out. At the same time the Filipinos opened up in a body, and Major Morris, Gilbert, and the third man were seen to pitch into the tall grass in such a manner that they were almost hidden from view.

“Gilbert is shot! And Major Morris too!” Such was the painful thought which ran through Ben’s brain. He looked at the colonel pleadingly.

“Advance at once, Captain Russell, with the first battalion, to the rescue of the flag of truce,” ordered the colonel, understanding him fully. “After this, give the enemy no quarter.”

“Forward, men, to the rescue!” shouted the young captain, almost before his superior had finished. “Deploy to the left and fire at will. And make every shot tell!” he added bitterly.

“Forward it is!” shouted Dan Casey. “Down wid the haythins that don’t know the manin’ av honor!” And he led in the rush over the long grass.

The whole line was soon advancing, but Ben’s company was in front, and kept there until within a hundred feet of where the four men had gone down. Then, to his amazement, the young captain saw Major Morris leap up, followed by Gilbert and the third soldier, and run with all speed toward the American line.

“Not shot!” cried Ben, joyfully. “Heaven be thanked for that!” And he almost felt like embracing his two friends. Only the flag-bearer had been struck, and he not seriously. The others had gone down in the long grass to destroy the enemy’s aim. The wounded flag-carrier was taken to the rear, and then the whole line pushed on with a yell which was as savage as it was loud and long. The incident, short as it was, was not forgotten, and when one end of the American line closed in on the retreating insurgents the latter fought to the last, knowing only too well that little quarter would be given to them because of their perfidy.

The long American line had swung toward Baliuag in a semicircle, and now, when the insurgents tried to flee by way of the north, they found themselves confronted front and rear. This put them in more of a panic than ever; and had General Lawton had a thousand additional troops, it is more than likely he could have surrounded the rebels completely and compelled every one in that territory to throw down his arms.

But he had not the extra men, nor could he get them. Moreover, he had hardly a decent map of the territory, while the enemy knew every field, every road, and every stream. They could not make a stand at Baliuag, nor could they run in the direction of San Rafael, so their only course was to take to the rice-fields, the cane-brakes, and the jungle, and this they did in short order.

By the time the outskirts of the town was gained Ben’s command was almost exhausted; yet the colonel of the regiment felt that now was no time to rest, and company after company was sent out in the hope that some of the scattering bands of insurgents might be rounded up.

“Major Morris, you will take your four companies up yonder road,” said the colonel, after receiving orders from General Lawton’s orderly, and the head of the regiment pointed out the road in question. Soon the battalion was off on the double-quick, the major more than eager to wipe out the treachery which had been shown to him and his companions but an hour or two before.

The road which the battalion followed was a winding one, lined with cottages of the better sort, showing that this was a fashionable outskirt of the town. Only a few people showed themselves, and nothing was seen or heard of the insurgents until a quarter of a mile had been covered, and the best of the habitations had been left behind. Then came an unexpected fire from a cane-brake, and out dashed fully two hundred savage-looking Tagals armed with guns and bolos.

“Halt! Fire!” came the commands, and the Americans obeyed as quickly as possible. Several of our men had been hit, one seriously, and now half a dozen Filipinos went down. For several minutes the fighting was at close quarters, and it looked as if the battalion had run into an ambush and were about to be slaughtered.

“To the shelter of the trees!” shouted Ben, and was about to guide his men when a fierce-looking rebel officer leaped before him with drawn sword. His own blade met that of the enemy, and both flashed fire. But the Tagal was a fine swordsman and kept at his work, feeling certain that he could run the Americano through and through. Clack! clack! went the blades, up and down, side to side, and straight forward.

“Take care there!” came from Major Morris, and just then the Tagal’s sword pricked Ben’s arm. The young captain leaped back a step, then came forward, and as quick as lightning his sword found the Tagal’s ribs. At the same time Dan Casey fired at the enemy, and the officer went down flat on his back, shot through the breast.

“I had to do it,” cried the Irish volunteer. “I thought he was afther stickin’ ye like a pig!”

“It was a close shave,” murmured Ben, as he passed on. “He handled his sword like an expert. I shan’t forget you for that, Casey.”

“Sure, an’ that’s all right, captain,” answered the soldier, quickly. “Is your arm hurted much?”

“I guess not. Come, we’ve got them on the run again.” And away the pair went, into the cane-brake, through which the rebels were crashing like so many wild cattle.

The day had been full of excitement, but much more was to follow. The cane-brakes were heavy, and soon Ben and Casey found themselves separated from the main body of the battalion and out of sight of their own company. Then several Filipinos confronted them and called upon them to surrender.

“We ain’t surrenderin’ just yit, we ain’t!” howled the Irish soldier, and let drive at the nearest rebel, while Ben discharged his pistol. Two of the enemy were wounded, and in an instant the others took to their heels, evidently convinced that such fighters were “too many” for them.

The encounter, however, had taken time, and now Ben called upon his companion to stop running. “We want to know where we are running to first,” he said. “Listen.”

They listened and made out a distant firing to both the right and the left. “I’m afther thinkin’ our b’ys is to the right,” said Dan Casey.

“I believe you are right, Casey; although both of us may be mistaken,” rejoined the young captain of Company D. “We will try that direction, anyway.”

They continued on their way through the cane-brake until they reached a small stream. Here the ground was soft and full of treacherous bog-holes, and both looked at each other in dismay.

“Sure, an’ this is more than we bargained fer, eh, captain?” remarked Casey, as he pulled himself out of a hole into which he had gone almost to his knees. “If we don’t look out we’ll git stuck so tight there’ll be no budgin’ av us.”

“The ground to the right seems to be firmer,” replied Ben. “Come, we will move in that direction.”

But to get out of the soft spot was not easy, and soon they found themselves between the tall cane and up to their knees in a muck that seemed to stick worse than glue.

“Sure, an’ this is fightin’ wid a vengeance,” said the Irish volunteer, smiling grimly. “It’s sthuck we are like flies on a fly paper, eh, Captain Russell?”

“We’ve got to get out somehow, Casey,” answered Ben, half desperately. “Our command is marching farther and farther away, and we’ll have all we can do to get up to them.”

“Sure thin, an’ Major Morris betther send a detail back wid a long rope to pull us out. We couldn’t fly from the inimy now if we thried, could we?”

“This is no joke, Casey.”

“Joke, bedad? No, captain, I’m afther thinkin’ it’s a mighty sarious difficulty. But there’s no use av cryin’, no matther how bad it is,” finished the Irish soldier, philosophically.

A moment of reflection convinced Ben that the best thing he could do was to go back part of the distance they had come, and make an endeavor to cross the little stream at another point.

They retreated with difficulty, first one sinking into some treacherous hole and then the other. Once Casey went flat on his back, and gave a loud yell of dismay when he found himself covered with a mud that was more like a paste than anything else.

“Sure, an’ I’ll not go in such a cane-field again, bedad,” he muttered, as he started to pick up the gun he had dropped. As he did so a cracking of cane-stalks near them caused both to straighten up in alarm.

“Who comes?” cried Ben, and drew the pistol he had shoved into his belt.

There was no answer and he repeated the demand. “Are you Americans?” he added.

Still there was no reply. But the cracking of the stalks continued, and the sounds seemed to move around the pair in something of a circle. Then came a soft command in the Tagalog dialect. At once Dan Casey clutched Ben by the arm.

“They be afther surroundin’ us, captain,” he whispered. “Be the noises there must be tin or a dozen av thim. Phwat shall we do, fight or run fer it?”