CHAPTER X
THE INSULT TO THE FLAG
It was a deserted road over which the detachment marched.
When there is fighting in Mindanao, and troops are scurrying along theroads, those inhabitants who are non-combatants keep within theirdoors--at all events, they remain out of sight. It is as though everynative feared to be shot as a possible rebel.
But Uncle Sam's troops have no quarrel with men and women followingpeaceful occupations. If these brown natives understood our peoplebetter they would not scurry to cover when the khaki-clad men arepassing on fighting bent.
For three miles, or until Bantoc was left well behind, the quick timecontinued. Then the young lieutenant decided that it would be necessaryto slacken the pace for a while. Soldiers must not only reach theirdestination as early as possible; they must also be fit for fighting onarrival.
It was not difficult to find the way. An almost straight road led out tothe Seaforth plantation. Lieutenant Prescott had a map of the countryfor use in case he found it necessary.
Twice on the way the men halted, for five minutes each time.
Then, about eight miles out, they came upon outlying scenes ofplantation life. There were broad fields, rich with crops, but to-day nolaborers were to be seen at work.
Then the main buildings of the Draney plantation were sighted.
About the buildings, too, all was unwontedly quiet. In fact, the mainhouse was closed and had the air of being in a state of siege.
"Humph!" muttered the young lieutenant to the boyish sergeant. "If allwe hear about Draney is true, or even the half of it, he has no need tofear the Moros."
Just as the detachment was passing opposite the main building the frontdoor opened, and Draney, bearing a rifle in the hollow of his left arm,hastened out, holding up his right hand.
"Detachment halt!" commanded Prescott in a wearied tone. Then the youngcommanding officer stepped rapidly toward the planter.
"Well, Mr. Draney, what is it?" Prescott inquired.
"I'm thankful you've come, Prescott."
"Mr. Prescott, if you please," interposed the officer coldly.
"I'm mighty glad you've come. Off yonder we've been hearing firing atintervals ever since daylight."
"How recently have you heard it?" queried Prescott.
"Within ten minutes."
"Thank heaven, then!" muttered the lieutenant. "The Seaforth people areholding out."
"Is it at Seaforth's?" demanded Draney, with assumed eagerness.
"So I imagine. But I must hurry on my way. Take care of yourself, Mr.Draney."
Perhaps that last bit of advice was delivered in a tone of some sarcasm.Draney appeared to feel very uneasy.
"Prescott--Mr. Prescott--aren't you going to leave some of your men hereto protect this place?"
"I don't believe it will be necessary," replied the lieutenant, andagain, no doubt, there was some hidden irony in his words.
"But the Moros may attack us here at any moment," urged Draneypleadingly.
"I hope they won't attack you, Mr. Draney. But, in any event, I have noorders to leave any of my men here."
"Yet, surely, as an officer commanding troops in the field, you havesome discretion in the matter."
"I fear it would be an abuse of my discretion to weaken my detachment byleaving men here."
At that moment four or five shots sounded faintly in the distance.
"You must see my present duty as clearly as I do, Mr. Draney," utteredthe young lieutenant quickly. "Good-bye, sir."
"Can't you leave me even six men?"
Prescott did not reply, but called:
"March the detachment, Sergeant."
Hal gave the moving order instantly, the lieutenant cutting off thecolumn obliquely and thus rejoining its head.
"The impudence of that fellow!" growled Lieutenant Prescott, under hisbreath, but Sergeant Hal heard the words.
Two or three minutes later, when the plantation buildings were out ofsight, the young sergeant chanced to look back along the line.
As he did so something in the sky caught his attention.
"Look at that, sir," urged Hal, stepping out of the way of the columnand pointing backward.
Lieutenant Prescott uttered an exclamation of anger.
"I wish we had men to spare. I certainly would send some of them back tothat confounded Draney!" quivered Prescott.
The object at which both gazed was a blood-red kite, flying high, andapparently sent up not far from the Draney house.
"It must be a signal, sir," suggested Sergeant Hal.
"Of course it is!" stormed the lieutenant. "It's the easiest way in theworld of sending the news to the brown fiends swarming around Seaforth'sthat a military column has passed Draney's place."
"I could take a few men, sir, go back and arrest Draney and bring him toyou," suggested Hal quietly.
"What would be the use?" demanded the young officer, a scowl of disgustsettling on his face. "In the first place, you wouldn't find Draney inan hour, for probably he has hidden himself. Even if you found himsitting on his back porch he'd be prepared to swear that some native hadsent up the kite without his knowledge or permission. Sergeant, a fellowof Draney's type is always hard to catch, and it's bad judgment to tryto catch him until you have evidence enough to hang him. So, for thepresent, I'm certain that we'd better let the scoundrel go. But theflying of that kite means that there's danger of an ambuscade. This isthe first time I've commanded in the field and I don't intend to be cutto pieces in ambush."
Raising his voice, Lieutenant Prescott called:
"Detachment, halt!"
As the column of twos came to a stop Lieutenant Prescott announced:
"Men, you can see that red kite flying, back at the plantation. It's asignal to a possible enemy ahead of us. The enemy may try to ambush us.Therefore, from now on, every man will move as quietly as he possiblycan. No unnecessary word will be spoken in ranks. You will take pains tokeep your equipments from jingling. I am going to march you off the roadand send a 'point' ahead. Corporal Cotter!"
"Sir?"
"Take the first four files for a 'point' and march two hundred yardsahead of the detachment. Halt and signal back to us if at any time youhear anything, or have any other reason to believe that you are nearingan ambush. Take the first path to the left, which you will find about aquarter of a mile from here. If I have further orders for you I willsend them forward."
"Very good, sir."
"March the 'point,' Corporal."
When the last file of Cotter's men was two hundred yards in advanceLieutenant Prescott nodded to Sergeant Hal to march the main column.
Not a soldier, now, but understood that the command was probably closeto the enemy. At all events, fighting within the hour seemed almostcertain, for occasional shots still sounded in the country ahead.
No word was now spoken. Cotter found the path, and led his men into it.Prescott knew, from his map, that the path would lead his men toSeaforth's, though by a wide detour from the highway.
Sergeant Hal Overton felt a queer little thrill when he realized thatthey were now nearing an enemy reported to be much superior in numbers.The thrill was not exactly of fear, though there was some uneasiness init. Every soldier has felt this sensation when marching into battle. ButHal was curious to know how the feeling affected the other men.
If Lieutenant Prescott felt any of it, there was nothing in his face ormanner to betray the fact. He appeared to be "all business," and to havea keen sense of responsibility which, however, did not dismay him in theleast. No soldier could gaze at that young officer and feel that thedetachment was badly commanded. Such is the West Point training.
Kelly and some of the other soldiers who had seen much active serviceplodded along like so many laborers going unconcernedly to their work.
Some of the newer enlisted men, who had never before been in realaction, betrayed their newness only by the eager light that shone intheir eyes. These new men, too, took pai
ns to walk still more softlyalong the forest path than did any of the old hands at campaigning.
To any but the most hardened old soldier there is something "creepy" inplodding along over a narrow path in a rather dense forest, not knowingat what moment a lurking enemy may pour in a volley that will bowl overhalf of the command.
Yet every man clutches a rifle and feels at his belt enough ammunitionfor putting up a good and long fight. There is something exultant in theconsciousness that, if attacked, one can render back a good account ofhimself, and that the American soldier has no cause to be afraid of anytroops on earth. It is man's work--and it takes a man to do it!
To the "point," naturally, came the real danger--in the first moment ofpossible ambush along the path. It would run into trouble first. That iswhat it is for. If the "point" meets an enemy every man in it may bebowled over by a sudden shower of hostile bullets. But the main columnis warned, and the commander can bring up the bulk of his force inbattle line armed with the knowledge of where the enemy is. When the"point" marches but two hundred yards in advance of the main body of thecommand then it can be promptly supported if trouble comes.
Now the distant firing broke out again, and briskly.
"The Moro fiends are trying to rush the planter's house before help canreach him!" muttered Lieutenant Prescott to himself. "We'll spoil someof the joy of those savages when we get close enough to send them araking volley. I hope they're lined up so that we can give them a flankfire before the scoundrels know that we're on the ground at all."
Two miles covered, then a third was left behind.
Now, a nervous or too eager commander might have hurried his men overthe remaining ground, but Prescott, at West Point, had been taught thevalue of cool, deliberate work.
It was noticeable, however, that now the men marched along with morespirit and swing. Those who may have been secretly nervous were at leastcertain that soon their suspense would be over. A few minutes, and theywould be engaged in something more definite than merely tramping in thedirection of danger.
Suddenly Corporal Cotter halted his men, and the same gesture wasvisible at the head of the column behind.
"Softly," whispered Lieutenant Prescott, but his gesture carried furtherthan did his voice. The main column closed slowly up with the "point."
"I couldn't go further, sir, without running into those fellows yonder,"whispered the corporal. "I didn't know that you would want me to do it."
Cotter pointed through the rows of trees to a clearing beyond.
In the center of the clearing stood a little building--plainly theschoolhouse in which the few white children on the plantation andprobably many native children of the neighborhood were taught, five daysin the week, by some clear-eyed Yankee schoolma'am furnished by UncleSam's Government.
Seven Moros were visible at or close to the schoolhouse. All of themwere armed. One fellow was hurrying up with a can of oil, which, whilethe soldiers waited and watched, he sprinkled over the woodwork of thedoorway, carrying a trail of the oil inside the building.
"That's a Filipino estimate of the value of education," whisperedLieutenant Prescott savagely to his sergeant.
But then something happened that made Hal Overton boil with indignation.
Just as the fellow had finished scattering the oil and was about tostrike a match, one of the other Moros seized the fellow's arm, thenpointed up to the flag pole over the front of the building.
All of the brown rascals began to chuckle. Then one of them climbed up.With a keen-edged creese he cut the Flag loose, hurling it down to theground.
Now began an orgy of derision. First the Moros spat upon the Flag; then,howling gleefully, they commenced to dance upon it. Every now and thenone of the brown men bent down to slash at the Flag.
It was hard for some sixty of Uncle Sam's men to stand there, with gunsin their hands, and witness such desecration as that. Some of thesoldiers began to mutter.
"Silence!" hissed Lieutenant Prescott.
One soldier rested his rifle forward, as though bent on taking a shot,but Sergeant Hal, like a flash, knocked up his arm.
"No man is to fire unless ordered," muttered Overton, and LieutenantPrescott nodded his approval.
Soon the Flag lay torn and trampled, all but covered in the dust of theroadway before the school. Then one of the Moros again struck a match.In a moment the flames began to crackle and the smoke to ascend.
Then, as if satisfied with their work, the brown rascals set out at asteady trot in the direction of Seaforth's.
"Men," spoke Lieutenant Prescott, in a low voice, "it would have beenfine to have poured a volley into those wretches, but it would have toldtheir main body our exact location. We must sink all other feelingsuntil we have reached the plantation and rescued those imperiled there.Corporal Cotter, lead your men to the left, through the woods and aroundthe schoolhouse. On the other side you will find a path that you willfollow."
As the detachment started Hal saluted.
"Sir, have I your permission to run out into the clearing, recover theFlag and then rejoin you?"
Lieutenant Prescott shot a keen look at the Army boy, then answeredbriefly:
"Yes, Sergeant."
Hal's task was quickly executed. In the open he encountered no one; whenhe rejoined the column in the woods he reverently carried a Flag, torn,slashed and dirt-stained.
"One of these days, sir," quivered the Army boy to his officer, "I hopeto be able to teach those Moros a lesson with this very Flag!"