A CHRISTMAS COURT-MARTIAL
“The night was dark and threatening rain,
No stars were in the sky;
We caught him hiding in the pines—
A Filipino spy.
A slender youth with coal black eyes,
Brim full of frightened tears;
We turned him over to the guard,
I fear with callous jeers.
Next morning it was Christmas day,
The sun was shining hot,
A drum-head court had said, “The spy,
Is sentenced to be shot.”
Erect before the officers,
He still disdained to speak,
Although a single crystal drop,
Empearled his olive cheek.
Upon a long and hurried march,
We could not take the boy along,
So stood him near a tree;
Told off the little firing squad,
And ordered it in line.
One gun was loaded in the lot—
I hope it was not mine.
Birds in the branches overhead
Sang softly in the heat.
The grave, a trench of steaming sand,
Gaped yellow at his feet;
He faced us with a dauntless air,
Although his lips were white;—
Our grim old Sergeant turned away,
He could not stand the sight.
A flash, a roar, a cloud of smoke,
And headlong to the ground
He fell face downward in the grave,
And died without a sound.
We turned him over on his back,
And DEATH the TRUTH confessed,
For through his open jacket peeped
A Woman’s tender breast.”
Marie Sampalit had earned her doom. After her grave had been filled, the soldier boys placed at its head a cartridge-box lid on which they inscribed the pitiful word,
“UNKNOWN.”