"Halt! Who goes there!"
A shot rang out in the stillness of the night; it was answered atonce by another closer in. More shots followed, gradually increasingto a fusillade as the scouts and pickets came running back. Mensprang up from the ground, but even as they did so another volleyreached them, and three men dropped with a groan and lay still.The alarm sounded clear from the bugle and echoed back from thesurrounding hills. A sharp command came from the throat of thesergeant; the company seized the stacked rifles. Captain Grocegave another order; the formation to repel attack was made in anincredibly short space of time. There was no disorder; no confusion.The little officer was as cool as if on dress parade.
"Steady, men! Wait until they're nearer!" They had not long towait. From all sides a horde of shouting, firing men were rushingon the little square. "Steady, men!" was still his only command.
Then, when it seemed almost a physical impossibility to restraintheir itching fingers from pulling the triggers, the longed forword was given.
"Here they are! Now, then, boys, fire!"
Volley after volley rang out. The foremost of the enemy fellat their feet. Hand to hand was the fighting; the bayonets lungedwith deadly effect, but seemed powerless to thrust the mass backon itself. Men shot, hacked, stabbed and clubbed each other. Itwas a whirl of uplifting and descending rifles and bolos.
Fierce oaths vied with the shrieks of the wounded for supremacy.The grunt of men who slaughter; the gasps of the victims when thesteel went home were heard on all sides. At times the soldierscould not see on account of the sweat and blood pouring from theirfaces; the very air was foul from the steam from the living and thedead. They could not breathe; a sort of vertigo overpowered them,and they only kept their feet by grappling with the enemy.
To Bansemer, it seemed that all his life he had been doing nothingbut warding off and ring blows. Fighting side by side with Rogers,he saw, with horror, that the soldier's rifle had been torn fromhis hands, and that he had no weapon to defend himself; but beforehe could see just how it happened, this individual combat had alteredits aspect: Rogers had grabbed a Filipino's gun and was doing theclubbing. With renewed zest Bansemer finished with the bayonethis own assailant, and saw the man fall on top of poor Adams andRelander.
Suddenly there was an exultant yell from the enemy. InstinctivelyBansemer knew that one side of the square had given way. Quicklyturning, he rushed to give his aid, and just in time caught thearm of a native about to slash him with a huge knife. With the twogripped hands high in the air struggling for mastery, the adversariesbecame separated a bit from the rest of the chaotic mass of friendand foe, swaying out to one side of the plaza, and under the wallsof a convent. Bansemer was facing it; and just at the moment thathe felt his strength giving way and could see a grin of triumph onthe fiendish face, there carne a flash and a report, and his adversaryfell at his feet. Glancing up to ascertain who had fired the shotthat had saved his life, he thought he saw a figure disappearingfrom one of the windows. The incident acted as an inspiration.Gathering together a few men, he reached the Captain's side andcommunicated his plan. The opportunity was not to be lost. Grocegave an order; Connell repeated it. Then interpreting a temporarylull in the murderous struggle as their vantage, the men with acheer, and dragging the field piece, broke for the building; and bybayoneting and clubbing the insurgents out of the way accomplishedthe dash with slight loss. The soldiers hurled themselves againstthe stoutly barred door; it fell with a crash.
Guards were stationed and all openings and windows manned. Singularlyenough, these defensive actions seemed at least, temporarilyunnecessary, for the watchers peering out of the windows reportedthat the dead alone occupied the recent field of battle. Not asingle Filipino was to be seen on the plaza.
Every village has its convent or barrios. Generally speaking, theirsize corresponds in a certain ratio with the population. But thisparticular building was an exception. Dimly lighted, it gave theimpression of ranking in size with many of those in far largervillages Immediately the thought came to the invaders that the churchmight have sheltered the insurgent leaders. Aguinaldo or Filarmight have directed the attack from inside these walls. Orders weregiven to search every corner and crevice to ferret out concealedfoes. A rear window was open, proving that flight could have beenby that means of egress. Bansemer was almost positive that thebullet which had killed his assailant had come from one of the upperwindows, but whether from friend or foe, was undeterminable. Wasit possible that he had been mistaken? Had his eyes been so blindedwith the smoke of battle that they had played him false? Were theynot in a cunningly planned trap of some kind?
Considerably perplexed, Bansemer decided to keep on his guard. Hewas ruthlessly searching the chancel when a deep groan caught hisattention. Presently, as he paused to listen, a dark figure leapedtowards him from a recess back of the altar. The flash of a pistolblinded him, and momentarily, a sharp pain shot through his arm;but he recovered in time to throw his tall frame forward upon theslight, almost indistinguishable figure. There was a short struggle,and before his comrades could reach him his adversary was safelypinned to the floor. A moment later the torches in the hands of hisfriends were burning brightly above the figure of his captive--aslender boy who choked with terror and rage.
"Who the devil are you, my young friend?" asked Bansemer, holdingthe boy at arm's length.
There was no answer from the tightly closed lips; and Bansemer shookhim a little roughly. Then, for the first time, he perceived thathe was not a Filipino. His skin was dark, but not the skin of thenative; the handsome, boyish face had regular features, Europeanin character.
"Spaniard?" inquired Bansemer, a trifle more gently; and again theboy flashed a look of hatred into his captor's eyes.
"Look here, my young spalpeen," said Connell, gruffly; "Filipinoor Spaniard, if you want to save your hide, you'd better answerquestions--and no lies, do you hear?"
At this threat, a deep groan was heard to come from somewhere backin the recesses of the chancel. The men were startled. Involuntarily,the boy cast a furtive glance in that direction. Connell noticedit, and leaving the boy with Bansemer, hurried away and soon waslooking down into the face of a prostrate man, young, but aged withemaciation.
"You must not touch him! Don't you see that he is dying?" criedthe boy piteously in broken English. "He cannot fight you--he'sdying;" and then, in a perfect frenzy of rage to Bansemer: "Let mego--pig!"
Not until afterwards did Bansemer recall that in the generalexcitement it was the boy who dragged him along to the spot. Andin spite of the solemnity of the scene, there was something in hismanner of delivering the insult that amused rather than angeredthe American.
"Plucky little devil!" he said, half-aloud.
Again the sick man groaned, tried to rise from the blankets andspeak, but only to fall back moaning. Connell cautioned him againstexertion and promised that no harm should come to either of them.While he reported the discovery to Captain Groce, he had the mancarried to another part of the church and there made comfortable.For the first time now, Bansemer began to notice the pain in hisarm. Somewhat angrily, he turned to the boy:
"Come! Give an account of yourself! How came you here?"
"Prisoners," was the sullen answer.
"Of the Filipinos?" Bansemer asked, in surprise.
"Yes."
"Then why did you try to kill me?"
"I hate you both! We Spaniards, have we not as much to fear fromyou? What difference does colour make in brutes?"
"By the holy apostles! you're a gritty, young 'un!" growled thereturning sergeant. "Who's the other chap?"
"My brother--he's dying," said the boy, his voice softening. "HolyVirgin, save him! For weeks, we've been in the hands of Aguinaldo'smen. He's been so ill, all the time; have you a doctor?"
"A surgeon will probably be with us before long," was the sergeant'sevasive reply.
Bansemer looked searchingly at Connell. What he saw in the other'seyes caused him a sharp pa
ng of grief. Both men turned their facesaway for a moment and it was with a gulp that Connell continued:
"Your brother will have the best of care if we get out of thismess. You are both safe. We are not fighting the Spaniards;" andthen, pertinently: "So these were Aguinaldo's men?"
"Yes, he was here directing the fight," the boy answered.
"Aguinaldo here!" This and other ejaculations of surprise andanger burst in chorus from every throat; but as suddenly they werefollowed by expressions of chagrin. For, by contrasting the presentsituation with that which they had anticipated, this informationhad succeeded in intensifying their mortification.
But notwithstanding his share of the universal disappointment,a hasty reflection of preceding events convinced Graydon thatpersonally he had little ground for complaint against the lateoccupants of the convent. For unintentional as undoubtedly hadbeen the act through which at the very point of death his existencehad been preserved, there was no evidence to refute the hypothesisthat the shot which had killed his assailant in the plaza had beenfired by one of the insurgents under cover.
"Great Scott!" was the exclamation to which he gave utterance. "Oncemore, I suppose, I owe my life to the blundering marksmanship ofa Filipino!"
This half-hearted acknowledgment of his strange indebtedness educedfrom his companions no recognition other than a puzzled stare fromthe sergeant and an enigmatical smile on the face of the youngSpaniard. Connell proceeded with his examination:
"Why did they leave you here?"
"They had no time to take us with them when you broke in," was theboy's answer. "Aguinaldo was on his way to some village where hisfamily is in hiding. The scouts told him of your presence; thenhe determined not to wait for Pilar, but to surprise you. We neverrested day or night. My poor brother--how he suffered!"
"Yes, yes, but why are they carrying you on a march like this?"
"My brother is the only man who knows where the Spanish gold washidden when our war was ended--I mean, the gold that came up withguns and ammunition. Aguinaldo is looking for the hiding place. Myfather, a high officer in the Spanish Army, died of the fever lastwinter. We were stolen from our house in Manila by Aguinaldo'smen, and have been going from place to place ever since. We havenot told of the hiding place. The Americans do not need gold, no?"The boy laughed sarcastically.
"How many men has Aguinaldo?"
"Three hundred or more. I would advise you to look out for Pilar.He, too, may come at any moment."
Scarcely had the words left his mouth when a storm of yells camefrom outside the convent; and immediately the boy rushed to hisbrother's side.
"Great Caesar, there's a thousand of them!" cried Rogers.
Instantly every man made for the position assigned to him. The gunwas in readiness. Outside, the Mausers rattled, bullets coming fromall quarters and thumping sharply against the opposite walls witha patter that warned the Americans against standing erect.
Occasionally, a scout would peep from a window and take a shotinto the darkness, but these ventures were few. All lights wereextinguished; the men fired at the spots from which burst the flamesof rifles, then dropped suddenly. After a while the firing of theFilipinos dwindled into a shot now and them.
"Keep low! They don't dare risk a charge! Be ready to defend thedoor!" Captain Groce commanded.
The night wore on, and, with the cessation of hostilities, confidenceincreased. Reinforcements were not far off, and it did not seempossible that the sounds of battle could not be heard. The men,worn out by the exciting events of the day, were generally silent;Sergeant Connell, however, was an exception.
"Get us I Not a bit of it!" he was saying. "The dirty, little cowards!Major March will be here in the shake of a dead lamb's tail."
An hour later Bansemer, his rifle in hand, sitting near one of thewindows, suddenly felt someone tugging at his arm. Turning, he sawthe Spanish boy.
"Won't you come and help me to carry my brother behind the stonealtar wall?" he was saying. "He is exposed to the bullets and cannotmove himself."
"Willingly!" and Graydon followed his lead. As if he was a child,he picked up the gaunt Spaniard and carefully bore him to the placeof shelter. But despite all that he could do to hide his suffering,the pain in his arm, which the removal of the man had increased,was such, for a moment, that he felt faint and staggered. The boywas quick to notice it, and quickly asked:
"What is the matter? Wounded?"
"It's nothing--merely a scratch."
"Oh, I know--why, it's your arm--and I---" The boy's face crimsonedwith shame and contrition. Through the semi-darkness the blushescaped Graydon's notice, but not so the truly feminine, littleshriek of dismay, as he touched and felt the wet sleeve.
"It was I who did it! Oh, how can you ever forgive me?"
Graydon, dumbfounded, stared in wonder.
"What?" he exclaimed; "you're a girl?"
"Yes--I'm his sister," pointing to the dying man; then, with someembarrassment: "These clothes? They are the only ones they wouldgive me. You see a girl would have been a burden; a boy none atall. Do you think that had I been a man you could so easily haveoverpowered me? No!"
The slim, little figure drew itself up straight and defiant beforehim. Despite the loose, ugly garments of the Filipinos, Graydonnoticed, for the first time, that the figure was perfectly mouldedand high-bred. She swept off the wide hat she wore, and the man sawa mass of dark hair done up tightly on her head. But even whilehe gazed her mood changed; she became subserviently anxious andbegged him to let her attend to his arm. She pleaded so hard that,to please her, he yielded. Water was obtained from somewhere; theslight flesh wound washed; and then, disappearing into the darkness,to his amazement she returned almost instantly with some bandagesand dressed his arm.
While this surgical operation was going on, Graydon, for the lifeof him, could not resist the temptation to ask her again why shehad tried to shoot him. At first, so terribly in earnest did shetake the question and beg for mercy, that he smiled at her; andthen, seeing his amusement, she said, coquettishly:
"How could I possibly have known that you were so nice? Besides,I had always heard you Americans referred to as brutes."
Graydon laughed, then suddenly his face became very grave. Therealisation of her terrible situation had dawned upon him. A womanamong a crowd of rough soldiers! Her brother and protector dying!And all surrounded by hordes of savage enemies who at any momentmight kill them! The thought dismissed all pleasantry from hismind. Something must be done, and at once. Presently, he asked:
"What is your name?"
"My father was Colonel Ramos Jose Velasquez; that also ismy brother's name, except that he is not an officer. I am TeresaFortune Velasquez. My mother was English--a sister of Sir WilliamFortune. She is dead. For ten years we have lived in Manila."
"You won't mind if I call the sergeant, will you?"
The girl nodded a slightly bewildered assent as Graydon movedrapidly towards the others. Shortly, he returned with the gallantIrishman.
"Senorita," began Connell, mopping his forehead and assuming hismost polite manner; "you are perfectly safe with us, and as quicklyas possible your brother and yourself shall be sent back to Manila.You are a brave slip of a girl, and we boys respect bravery inwhatever dress--boy or girl."
She looked at him in grateful surprise and her lips trembled.
"But I am not your friend?"
"Possibly, senorita;" he bowed low with almost Chesterfieldiangrace; "but we are your friends."
Outside, once more the Mausers were rattling, and Connell, with aword of parting hastily took his leave. Graydon, on the point ofreturning to his post, was prevented by the girl.
"You were gentle with me even when I tried to---Don't risk your lifethere. Shoot from that narrow gate," pointing aloft; "it's not soexposed."
Bansemer dragged an altar chair up to the grated window and perchedhimself upon it. The girl sat below him, holding her brother's headin her lap. He was groaning and crying out to
the soldiers to killhim rather than permit him to fall into the hands of the nativesagain.
Suddenly there was a great commotion, and crashing of timbers inthe front part of the church, followed by shouts and the rushingof feet. Graydon dropped from his perch and ran forth into thechancel. As he did so the banging of rifles close at hand deafenedhim. In an instant he saw what had happened. The Filipinos hadcharged the door and had forced it. They were crowding their wayinto the church in the face of the deadly Krag-Jorgensens. Thechapel was lighted, but not from the inside. Cunning insurgents, inthe shelter of the walls, were holding great torches just outsideof the windows. Graydon could see his comrades firing at the doorfrom behind every conceivable barrier. Without hesitation he dasheddown the aisle and into the thick of the fray near the door.
The struggle was brief but fierce. The merciless fire of many Mauserson the outside opened a way through the small band of defenders,and the rush of the besiegers was successful. Through the door andwindows they came, swarming like bees. Many of them fell to riseno more, but their comrades took an eye for an eye. Once confidentsoldiers toppled over dead until but few were left. Bansemer ledthem in a quick dash for the chancel, hoping that the enemy wouldnot dare attack a place so sacred.
Captain Groce and other officers had fallen; Connell became theleader of the remnant. Bansemer stood squarely in front of thealtar and blazed away at the horde of Filipinos as they advanced.They shot at him wildly and without effect; bullets crashed intothe altar decorations behind him. He stood there as one protectedby God, unharmed in the shelter of the cross.
Behind him his comrades cowered and cursed in their dread of certaindeath. He heard the shrill cries of the girl urging him to protecther brother. She was calling upon God and the Holy Virgin to aidand shield him. And he stood there with a crazy joy in his heart,savagely pulling the trigger of the Krag-Jorgensen. Finally thehammer snapped with no report. As he turned back in consternation,a small figure leaped to his side with a fresh weapon.
He shouted a word of warning to her and wheeled again to confrontthe foe. Even as he raised the gun a great shout arose above thenoise of conflict. There was a mighty rush, a new banging of guns,a sudden stampede and--the chapel was filled with men in khaki!
CHAPTER XXIV
TERESA VELASQUEZ
Jane Cable Page 23