The Campaign of the Jungle Part 22

"They say General Lawton puts it down as a regular Indian campaign.

But then the rebels don't do much fighting in the dark."

"They are sick of it, Gilmore. I believe they would give up in a minute if the leaders were only a.s.sured that they would come out whole, as the saying goes."

"Well, they've gone too far to come out whole, captain. General Aguinaldo may mean well, but he never went at this thing right. He ought to know that he isn't dealing with some third-rate power."

On went the regiment, about four hundred and fifty strong now, for men were dropping out every day on account of fever and other tropical troubles. Ben had had a little fever himself, but had dosed himself with quinine before it had a chance to permeate his system and bring him down on his back.

The advance led the regiment along a small stream lined with fading flowers and wild plantains and the ever present thorns and trailing vines. Birds were numerous, and here and there a sporting soldier could not resist the temptation to bring one of the feathered tribe down, to be cooked at the next resting place. Once the regiment stirred up a flock of wild turkeys, and a charge was made to capture the prizes, a charge that was as enthusing as one on the rebels.

Soldiers are but human and must have their fun, no matter under what difficulties.

"It's a fine turkey dinner we'll be afther havin' to-day," remarked Dan Casey, as he hung one of the birds over his shoulder. He had scarcely spoken, when pop-pop went several Mausers in a thicket beyond, the bullets singing their strange tune in the leaves over the advancers' heads.

"Forward!" shouted Major Morris, who was in temporary command of the regiment, and away they went once more, to suddenly find themselves on spongy soil which speedily let them down to their ankles. In the meantime the insurgents' fire became thicker than ever, and it looked as if they were caught in an ambush.

"Fire at will!" came the order. "To the left, boys, and make every shot tell!"

A roar of musketry drowned out the words, and immediately Ben's company found itself all but surrounded. To go into this quagmire had certainly been a grave error, but all leaders make mistakes sometimes; and Major Morris was suffering as greatly as his men.

The next half hour was one Ben never forgot. The rebels evidently thought they had the Americans at their mercy and pushed in closer and closer, until more than half of the contestants were fighting hand to hand. Many had exhausted their ammunition, and were using their bayonets or else handling their guns as clubs.

"Die!" cried one tall Tagal, as he flashed up before Ben with a b.l.o.o.d.y bolo. "Die!" he repeated in bad English, and made a lunge at the young captain. But Gilmore had his eye on the man, and the lieutenant's sword cut the bolo from the rebel's grasp.

"Good for you!" cried Ben. Then he drew a long breath, to think of the narrow escape he had had. The native, his hand flowing with blood, retreated as suddenly as he had approached.

The tide of the battle was now taking Americans and insurgents toward a cane-brake. The rebels still fought desperately, but they were beginning to lose confidence, for the Americans were pushing them hard.

But now came a cheer from the rear, and Company B rushed up to the aid of Ben's command. To the young captain's astonishment, Gilbert was in command, all the upper officers being either killed or wounded.

"Gilbert!" he called, but had no time to say more. But the young Southerner heard and waved the sword he had picked up. Soon the two companies were fighting shoulder to shoulder, and the enemy were driven out into the cane-field, and then into a meadow. Here they tried to make a stand, around an old rice-house, and it took another half hour to dislodge them. But when they did retreat at last, they went in great haste, many leaving their weapons and outfits behind them.

The fighting over, Ben started to find the major. Gilbert accompanied him. Their first hunt for the commander, however, was unsuccessful.

"It's queer," was Ben's comment. "I trust he isn't dead in the bushes."

The hunt gradually brought them to a trail through the jungle, and presently Gilbert heard a faint moan for help. Running in the direction, they found a soldier of Company C lying on some moss, his knee shattered from a Mauser bullet.

"Oh, the pain!" groaned the poor fellow. "Help me, won't you?"

"We'll do all we can for you," answered Ben, and while he went to work, Gilbert ran back to bring up the hospital corps with a stretcher.

"You want to go after Major Morris," said the wounded soldier, as soon as he felt comfortable enough to talk.

"We are looking for Major Morris," replied Ben, much astonished.

"Where is he?"

"He was knocked over by one of the Dagos, and then three of 'em carried him away."

This was certainly news, and Ben waited impatiently for Gilbert to get back. As soon as the young Southerner returned, both asked the wounded soldier in what direction the captured major had been taken.

"They went through the cane-brake," was the answer. "You'll find the trail easily enough, I think, if you look for it. One of the rebs wore boots with high heels, so you can't miss 'em."

The wounded man did his best to point out the right direction, and was then taken back to the hospital tent. Without delay Ben called Ralph Sorrel and half a dozen others to his aid.

"We must go after Major Morris, and at once," he said. "Are you ready to undertake the work? It may be a dangerous proceeding."

"We're with yer, cap'n," answered Sorrel, and his sentiment was that of all of the others.

The trail into the cane-brake was followed without much difficulty, and the party of eight advanced as rapidly as the nature of the ground permitted. The storm had cleared off the night before, and the sun shone down hotly, making the air in the brake suffocating.

"This yere is a putty big cane-brake, an' no error," remarked Sorrel, after a quarter of a mile had been covered. "Cap'n, it won't do fer us to turn ourselves about an' git lost."

"We'll stick to the one trail," answered Ben. "As yet I've seen no side trails, although I've been watching every foot of the ground that we crossed."

"Nor I, cap'n,--an' don't wan't to, neither," added the tall mountaineer.

A little further on was a clearing, in the centre of which stood a small cane-house. Halting on the edge of the opening, they beheld several Filipinos on guard outside the house. In the doorway, with his back to the opening, stood Major Morris, his hands bound behind him.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE TORNADO IN THE CANE-BRAKE

"I reckon we have got 'em tight, cap'n," came from Sorrel, as the party of Americans came to a halt and surveyed the scene before them.

"It depends upon how many of them there are," answered Ben. "Sorrel, supposing you skirt the clearing and try to count noses."

The Tennesseean was willing, and started off, taking Gilbert with him.

He was gone probably ten minutes.

"Not more than ten at the most," he reported. "And of that number two are wounded and have their arms in slings."

"Any other prisoners besides Major Morris?"

"Not that we could see," came from Gilbert. "We could rush them easily enough if it wasn't for the major," he added.

"We don't want any harm to befall Major Morris," said Ben, thoughtfully.

"If we-- The rebels have discovered us, look out!"

Ben had scarcely finished when a report rang out and a bullet whizzed over their heads. One of the soldiers outside of the cane-house had seen two of the Americans and had fired upon them.

The discharge of the firearm caused Major Morris to turn around, and as he did so Ben waved his cap at his commander, and was recognized.

Then two of the insurgents hurried the major out of sight.

The Americans were not slow to return the fire; and, although n.o.body was struck, the insurgents lost no time in disappearing from view. A lull followed, as both sides tried to determine what was best to be done next.