Great was the disappointment of Major March and his men whenthey found that neither Aguinaldo nor Pilar had fallen into theirhands. Although they had come just in time to prevent the completeannihilation of the little company, the leaders had escaped withthe remnant of their surprised forces. Scores of Filipinos werecaptured, dozens were killed and wounded. Eight of the dashing scoutswho went out with Jerry Connell gave up their lives in exchangefor the final victory.
A small guard was left at the convent to care for the wounded, thebulk of the command hurrying off at dawn to search for the routedFilipinos. Graydon Bansemer was put in charge of the conventguard. A surgeon and the application of "first aid to the injured"principles soon transformed the convent into a well arrangedhospital. Uncle Sam's benevolence was also cheerfully extended tothe wounded Filipinos. The days of the "water cure" and "ungodlybutchery" had not yet come.
Young Velasquez died soon after daybreak. He had been dying for days.His sister's grief was pathetic in the extreme--aye, demoralising,for it struck deep into the hearts of soldiers who had scoffed atthe life-blood of man, but could not brave the tears of a woman.
Bansemer did all in his power to comfort and console her. It wasto him that she clung in her despair. He had been her captor; andyet it had been he who stood forth in his might to defend her andthe loved one who was dead. At nightfall the dead were buried inthat far-off wilderness, their humble graves marked and recordedbefore the time when the government could come to give other gravesin other lands to these who had given their lives. Velasquez waslaid beside the Americans. Teresa, a shivering, sobbing littlefigure in the garb of an insurgent soldier, was supported by bigGraydon Bansemer. There was no service except the short army ritual;there was no priest or pastor; there was but one real mourner--apretty, heart-broken girl who lay for hours beside the rude moundon the hillside.
Word came back at nightfall that the detachments were to forma junction at one of the big villages westward in two days. Theinstructions were that the wounded Filipinos should be left in thevillage, where native women and doctors would care for them.
"What in thunder are we to do with the girl?" was the question thatcame from the officer in command. More than one man scratched hishead thoughtfully and looked toward the disturbing element thathad come into the army. She was sitting alone and disconsolate infront of the church.
"There's no way to send her back to her friends, and we can't leaveher here," said Bansemer.
"But, gee whiz, we can't take her on a hike like this," protestedthe sergeant. "She'll be in the way, and she'll give out, and allthat. Besides, what would we do with a woman around all the time?"
"I fancy she can hike all right," said Graydon. "Major March wouldn'texpect us to leave her behind. That would be heartless."
By the time the party and guides was ready to start on its forcedmarch, the opinion, unanimously expressed was that Teresa Velasquezshould go forward also, come what might. She had pleaded so hardand so effectually that the men were fairly swept off their feetin a storm of sympathy.
"If she gives out we'll carry her," roared a deeply impressed youngman with long red whiskers.
"And when we get up to the command we'll make them dernedcorrespondents take turn about walkin', so she can ride a pony allthe time. They've got no business ridin', anyhow."
And so with rosy confidence in the fitness of things and a justbelief in the charity of Major March, the detachment marched outinto the hills, the ward of the company trudging bravely besidethe tall and envied Mr. Bansemer--who, by the way, aside from beingpolitely attentive, did not exhibit any undue signs of exaltation.
The presence of a woman--and a very pretty one at that, witha sadness in her eyes that was appealing--served only to send histhoughts bounding back to the girl he had left behind. He grew moreand more morose and silent as the day wore on; at times the tired,lonely girl at his side lagged and cast wondering, piteous glancesat him. Her woman's intuition told her that this man did not belongwhere he was; it told her also that he had a secret and that oneof her sex was deeply involved.
The events of the next two weeks are of small consequence in thisnarrative, which deals not so much with the history and mystery ofthe campaign in the fall of '99 as with the welfare and emotionsof a single soldier at the front. Aguinaldo and Pilar had becomerefugees by this time, hunted and hounded from place to place withrelentless fervour. Pilar was somewhere in the hills with his men,the pride of the insurgent forces; Aguinaldo's remnant had scurriedoff in another direction, and General Tono was on the coast withwhat was left of the scattered force.
The net about Gregorio del Pilar was being drawn in and tightened.The closing week in November saw him driven to the last extremity.The tragedy of Tilad Pass was near at hand.
Teresa Velasquez never faltered, never tired. She proved herself tobe no incumbrance. Day after day, the officer in command expectedthe expedition which would take her back to Manila; forces came upfrom the south, but none were ready to go back.
She was an inspiration to the camp. Men who had forgotten theirmanners completely brushed them up and danced attendance upon thegirl in the Filipino uniform.
Every man prayed for opportunity to do brave deeds, and whenchance came she was permitted to witness heroism that savoured ofthe boyhood malady known as "showing off."
The reserved, but considerate Bansemer was her closest friendand confidant. One evening, as they sat side by side watching thepreparations for supper, she turned suddenly and announced thatshe knew he was dying of love for someone. He started and his handtrembled.
"Tell me about her," she commanded. There was a piquancy, a gayimpelling force in this girl that grief and hardship had not beenstrong enough to conquer. Her hours of sadness were spent alone--hourswhen she was supposed to sleep, but instead, lay awake and sobbedwithout tears.
"Nonsense!" said Graydon. "Why do you think that of me?"
"Because everybody else thinks it," she said; "and because I am avery wise person. The men are not so charitable as I, senor. Theysay that you joined the army because of some woman whom you couldnot marry. I agree with them, except that it is she who would notmarry you. Forgive me, if I have hurt you."
Impulsively, she put her hand upon his, her dark eyes full ofpleading. The touch of her hand did not send a thrill through him;such contact, however, caused the blood to tingle in the quick veinsof the girl. He merely sat and stared into space. After a moment,she drew her hand away.
"I am sorry," she said.
"There is a girl, Teresa," he said shortly.
"Yes, I know. Tell me about her."
"I can't," he exclaimed, bitterly. He arose and walked quicklyaway. Teresa's dark eyes followed him in pity and wonder, aye,affection. Then she shook her head sadly and turned her attentionelsewhere--not piqued, much to her own amazement.
Reinforcements came up two days later with the word that thecommander in chief expected the campaign against Pilar to end withina week, and that hard fighting was ahead. The Red Cross people werefollowing hard upon the heels of the regiment and field hospitalswere to be established. This information was so suggestive of fierceand final combat that the men felt their sluggish blood leap wildlyinto life.
Every man in the band of newcomers was singing the praises ofa wonderfully beautiful Red Cross nurse. The stories told of hercharms were varied, but none lacked enthusiasm. Some said she wasthe daughter of a rich magnate come to do service in the cause ofhumanity; others were sure she was a great and beautiful actresswho was sacrificing everything to conspicuous advertising. All,however, were agreed in the praise of her noble beauty.
The little detachment on guard turned up its collective nose andproudly pointed to Teresa Velasquez.
"Look at that," said Bob Spurrier. "Can she stack up with thehiking queen? Our girl is real quality. She's no common American.She's a grandee's daughter. There's royal blood in her. By thunder,gentlemen, she's blood kin to little Alfonso."
Teresa sought shelter from th
e curious though admiring eyes of thefresh arrivals.
"I don't like these new soldiers," she complained to Graydon. "Iwish they had not come. They talk of this beautiful nurse and theylaugh at me. Oh, I wish I had something else to wear."
"Don't worry, little girl, you're worth ten nurses," said he.
"Alas, though I am dressed as a man, I do not feel as bold as one,"she lamented.
The next day reinforcements came up and the whole command advancedupon Tilad Pass, where Pilar, at last, had been cornered. Onthe second of December a desperate conflict took place. Pilar wasintrenched in the Pass near the celebrated rock known as ElObispo--"the Bishop." His resistance for a time was valorous anddeadly. Corporal Parry saw him mount his horse behind the barricade,six hundred yards away. Parry was the best marksman in the regiment,and turning to his chief officer, asked if he should take a shotat him.
He fired and Pilar fell, face downward; and the Americans crushedthe little band of insurgents. Gregorio Del Pilar was dead. Hisdeath in the great hills, after a most courageous battle against anoverwhelming force, brought to an end a life that would have beenworth much to the islands in after years. In his pockets were foundvaluable papers, letters and keepsakes. The letters were from hissweetheart, Dolores Jose, who lived at Dagupan, and they were tenderin the extreme. Her lace handkerchief rested over his heart.
When the Americans, victorious and jubilant, fell back to camp, theyhad no small number of wounded to turn over to the tender merciesof the little company of Red Cross nurses and the surgeons.
One of the most dangerously injured was Graydon Bansemer. He wasone of the first to cross the danger line; a Mauser ball from adistant hill tore through his side, leaving an ugly gaping woundthat foretold certain death.
CHAPTER XXV
THE BEAUTIFUL NURSE