CHAPTER XI.
NORTH-BOUND
The controversy over the distribution of the fund in Manila for thedeath in any form of General Lawton permitted the unholy scheme tosimmer its way into publicity. The United States authorities employedsecret detectives to investigate the matter and if possible to locatethe persons who claimed to be responsible for the act. Marie soonfound herself under surveillance and she quickly left the city.
Making her way north on horse back along the same route she had takenwhen on her way to Baler about a year before, she came to the cityof San Miguel where one of the hardest battles of the war had beenfought. The troops engaged in this fight had become so disorganizedthat all formation by regiments, companies, etc., had been brokenup. Unfortunately, one of the Americans' dead privates could not beidentified. He was buried where he fell, and a board tombstone wasplaced at the head of his grave, on which was carved this lonely word,
"UNKNOWN".
As Marie passed over the old field, she saw this grave and read thesolemn word on its headstone. "Alas!" she muttered, "I wonder if thesame sad fate will some day overtake me."
The body of this "unknown" soldier was exhumed by the government a fewmonths later and brought back to the United States for burial. Uponits arrival the following pathetic poem appeared in "Leslie's Weekly";
JUST AN "UNKNOWN"
After the fight was over, They found him stark and dead, Where all the bamboo thicket Was splashed and stained and red. No name was missed at roll call, Not one among them knew The slender, boyish figure Arrayed in army blue.
Among our fallen soldiers They brought him o'er the deep, And with the nation's heroes They laid him down to sleep. A starry flag above him, And on the simple stone That marked his final bivouac, The single word, "Unknown."
Perchance a mother watches, Her eyes with weeping dim, Or sweetheart waits the postman In vain for news of him. While snow of winter freezes, And April violets thrust Sweet blossoms through the grasses Above his nameless dust.
But when the last great trumpet Shall sound the reveille, And all the blue battalions March up from land and sea, He shall awake to glory-- Who sleeps unknown to fame, And with Columbia's bravest Will answer to his name.
Her personal safety demanded that she continue her journey northward,without delay; also her inclination to rejoin Aguinaldo and histroops--although his exact whereabouts were unknown--invited her inthis direction.
At San Isidro, from which place Aguinaldo had been driven, shesaw some American soldiers administering the water cure to someFilipinos in order to make them reveal the whereabouts of their wilygeneral. Marie was angry. She yearned to shoot, but she was no longeron the aggressive; she was now a fugitive from justice. At thisplace she inspected the old Filipino prison and on its walls foundthe names of Gilmore and his party, whom she had helped to capture atBaler, who had been imprisoned there, and who were still alive whenAguinaldo was driven from the city of San Isidro by the approach ofthe Americans. She determined to take her revenge on them for thiswater cure punishment, if she ever found them. But the opportunitynever came. So journeying on toward the northern part of Luzon she hadmany experiences, and she came in contact with tribes whom she hadnever seen before and whose dialect was foreign to her. Many thingscombined to retard her progress. Often she grew very weary and wouldhave turned back, except for fear.
Following up the valley of the Pampanga river and thence on northwardalong the Barat, she passed through the province of Nueva Ecija,crossed the Caraballo mountains which form its northern boundary,and then entered the province of Nueva Vizcaya, where she came uponthe head-waters of the Rio Magat river.
In crossing the Caraballo mountains she made her way through a deepgorge at night. It was now about the middle of February. A full moonshone at its best. The weather was ideal. Journeying was abnormallypleasant. Under favorable conditions, during times of peace, the tripshe was taking would have been a delightful outing. Just now thingswere different. Small garrisons of American soldiers had crowdedforward and were occupying the largest cities along her route. As yetshe had not gotten beyond them. "A guilty conscience needs no accuser";everywhere that she went she imagined herself to be under suspicion.
Far up in the Caraballos she came across a little mountain torrentwhich leaped down over the mountain side from one rocky ledge toanother at quite regular intervals in a series of waterfalls until itbeat itself into a turbulent spray in the bed of the chasm below. Thelaughing moon filtered its beaming rays through the thin sheet ofshimmering water as it danced down its course from precipice toprecipice, and seemingly converted it into a great silvery stair-wayconnecting earth with heaven. Marie's heart throbbed with emotion. Thedashing of the falling water on the rocks below in the bed of the canonmade a hollow sound as its echoes reverberated through the gorge above.
A half mile farther up, the valley widened somewhat; and finding heresome grass for her pony to forage on, she stopped for the night. Theflimsy saddle was removed from her horse and converted into a crudepillow, in true cowboy style. Marie was uneasy. This was the firstnight in all her adventures that she had been absolutely alone,separated from both friends and foes, with no house to shelter herweary head, with the cloudless canopy of the silent heavens archedabove her, the silvery moonbeams dancing in her face, and withno voice, save the echoes of her own, to answer back the whispersof night.
It is often only in such a silent nook as this, with no one presentbut God and self, that humanity asserts itself and the tenderestportions of the human soul become paramount and give rise tosacred thoughts. Even the savage cannot escape it, for he, too,feels his responsibility to something outside of self. No doubt theself-conscious criminal would be the most susceptible to it.
What a night for Marie! Solitude gave rise to fear; fear, to consciouscriminality; a sense of wrong-doing, to grief. Would morning nevercome? Every time she fell into a doze her sleep was disturbed by dreamsof the past. Recollections of her dying benefactor in the woods bythe San Mateo river, of Gilmore's comrades bleeding by his side, andof Lawton in the arms of his aide, filled her soul with remorse andsuggested to her with an unspeakable vividness that in all probabilityshe would pay the penalty on both sides of the grave. Awakening fromone awful dream, she would, after listening to the stillness of thenight for a time, lapse into another. Again she would suddenly awakeand begin to fumble her rosary and repeat selections from a Catholicprayer book. Would she dare to turn back? Behind her was certain death;before her, the possibility of life. She resolved to go on.
The night whiled away. Her pony ate his fill and lay down torest. Beaded dew drops collected themselves in close proximity uponthe grasses and foliage about her feet. The cool mountain air fromwithout and fear from within caused her to shiver a great deal. Dayfinally came; Marie rode on.
Following the Magat river she finally reached the city of Bayombongwith a population of 20,000 people. Here she learned from the nativesthat Aguinaldo and a loyal remnant of his appointed congress hadpassed through the city ahead of her, en route northward.
At Bayombong she was advised to follow down the Magat river fortwenty miles, then to bear to the northeast along the pathway made byAguinaldo and his followers in their recent retreat. This she did,crossing another range of mountains near Fort Del Pilar, which hadbeen erected by the Filipinos to circumvent as well as to prevent theprogress of the Americans, should they attempt to follow them. Onthe farther side of this slope she came upon the headwaters of theRio Grande de
Cagayan river, which she followed on to the north forseveral weeks, enjoying the hospitality of the natives along thecourse, until at last she came upon the beautiful city of Ilagan atthe confluence of the Cagayan and Pinacanalan rivers.
It was now late in April. Marie was tired and needed rest. At Ilaganshe was cordially received by the curious natives who were eager tolearn some news concerning the war which was being conducted severalhundred miles further south. Marie grew cheerful. There were noAmericans in the city, and nobody knew of any within the valley. Shefelt that at last she had successfully eluded her supposed pursuers andthat she was safe. Ilagan is the capital of Isabella province. It hasa population of approximately 60,000 people. Marie's natural ability,information gathered in the school of experience, knowledge of thedetails of the war, and her willingness to talk (quite a number atIlagan could speak Spanish) made of her a sort of responsive idolfor the entire populace.