The Philippine Islands

by Ramon Reyes Lala

The Battle of Malate.

On the night of Sunday, July 31st, occurred the first loss of life of the Americans in the Philippine Islands. They had thrown up earth-works not far from the Spanish trenches, which, soon after dark, kept up a desultory fire.

The Americans began to reply in the American fashion, the men standing up and exposing themselves to the Spanish fire. The most dangerous place, of course, was the open ground just behind the trenches; and here the greatest loss was incurred; for the reinforcements, when crossing this open space, were wholly unprotected.

Alfonzo XIII., the Boy King of Spain.

It has been said that there was no need to reply to the Spanish fire, as the intrenchment was sufficient protection. However, the First Colorado and the First Nebraska regiments, who threw up the trenches, suffered no loss whatever. No attention was paid to the Spanish fire at that time; and it is a pity that this contemptuous indifference on the part of the Americans was not maintained.

Subsequently, about the middle of July, the First Battalion of the Californians pitched their tents at Tambo. This soon came to be known as Camp Dewey. The Californians were soon joined by the other American regiments, and outposts were stationed far in front, near the insurgent line. The insurgents at this time were between the Spaniards and the Americans; but, at General Merritt’s solicitation, Aguinaldo moved his position over to Pasai, while the Americans advanced to the insurgent trenches.

These were soon found untenable, and it was Lieutenant-Colonel McAvoy, who commanded the Colorado battalions, that was the first to assume a position in front of the enemy. He advanced the line to an old Capuchin chapel, that stood in the middle of the field, between the Spanish position and the insurgent trenches.

The Colorado and Nebraska men, who threw up the new breast-works at the point that Colonel McAvoy had chosen, were occasionally fired at by the Spaniards, who had a good view of what the Americans were doing. The breast-work was about seven feet high, with notches and peepholes for the lookouts. Inside the parapet was a parallel elevation of about two feet—for the men to stand on when they wished a shot at the enemy. The old chapel itself was in the line of defense, and was used for cover; though it was nearly wrecked by the many shells that had been thrown against it.

Saturday, July 30th, two batteries were placed in position: they were A and B of the Utah Battalion. The guns of the former were placed on the right, those of the latter on the left, of the chapel.

It was, accordingly, near Pasai, about ten o’clock the same day, that the first American blood was spilt. The First Colorado regiment had just been relieved by the men from Nebraska, and were returning to camp, when a Spanish bullet hit Private W. H. Sterling of Company K. in the upper part of the left arm. The wound, however, was very slight, and Sterling was soon back in the ranks.

Saturday night the Spaniards began a lively fusillade. But this did no damage—the men were safe inside the newly-finished parapet. The rain, in fact, made things far more uncomfortable than the Spanish bullets. It fell in torrents, but the inventive Yankees tore up the floor of the old chapel, and hastily built shelters, which effectually kept off the water.

The Spanish trench was about 800 yards from the American breast-works. It extended northeast, just in front of the old fort at Malate, and was strengthened with rocks and sandbags. The land between the two trenches was low and level. On Sunday night Spaniards advanced beyond their works, began a heavy fire against the Americans, and drove in the pickets of the Tenth Pennsylvania. The bullets began to fall among the Americans, and the guns of Malate roared continuously. The night is described as awful. From the skies fell tons of water, while the wind blew with the force of a cyclone, howling and shrieking through the swaying trees.

Major Cuthbertson was in command of the Pennsylvanians, and when the pickets came in and reported that the enemy was trying to flank the Americans, he ordered K and B companies into the trench, and also commanded Major Bierer, who commanded companies D and E, to the front.

The Spaniards, meanwhile, with their Mausers, kept up a terrific fire, but the Americans and their Springfields soon began a vociferous reply. The Utah artillerymen displayed remarkable coolness, and worked their four guns like veterans. Though there was a perfect hail of bullets, only one man was hit, and he but slightly wounded. The Spanish fire was now concerted, and their bullets whistled, sang, and fell all round the Americans. Most of them, however, were too high, though they sounded dangerously near.

Across the open field, to the rear of the American trenches, now came two companies, under the command of Major Bierer. It was here in this unprotected field, swept by Mauser bullets, that the first American lost his life. Corporal W. E. Brown, of Company D, Tenth Pennsylvania, was the hero. He was shot through the body. Many others around him were wounded, and, a few minutes later, Private William E. Stillwagon was also killed. The men, notwithstanding, kept right on, and continued to shoot; though, on account of the darkness, they could not see the enemy; their fire, therefore, was not effective.

The Queen-regent of Spain.

At this juncture gallant Captain O’Hara, in command of the Third Artillery, still in camp, who knew that the boys in front must soon be in want of ammunition, ordered his command to the rescue. And they came in the nick of time. For the soldiers in the trenches had but a few rounds of cartridges left. Many of the men, too, were shooting wild; others, also, were somewhat demoralized; for the darkness, the danger, and the uncertainty of the enemy were most disconcerting to raw troops; but the example of Lieutenant Krayenbuhl and his regulars, who kept up a steady fire, had good effect upon the volunteers; they soon recovered themselves, and, with a rousing cheer, the whole command moved onward.

Meanwhile, General Greene sent other reinforcements to the front,—Colonel Smith, with part of his regiment, the First California. As Boxton’s battalion of Californians advanced through the open field, they received the terrible Spanish fire, and many were shot, and were left by the way. It was here that Captain Reinhold Richter, of Company I, was fatally shot; and here, too, First Sergeant Morris Jurth, of Company A, was killed. It was said that these Californians, not knowing of the presence of the Pennsylvanians and of the regulars in front, fired three volleys at them before the mistake was discovered. It is believed, however, that no damage was done by the firing; but it was a mistake that might have cost the Americans dearly. Meanwhile, two men were killed in the trenches: Sergeant McIlrath, of Battery H., Tenth Pennsylvania, who had recklessly exposed himself upon the parapet, and Private Brady of Company I, the same regiment.

It was at this time that Private Finlay of Company C, First California, gave proof of remarkable bravery. Finlay belonged to Major Jones’ Transportation Department, and, on account of his knowledge of Spanish, he had been put in charge of the ammunition-train that was sent forward. In the train were eight carromatas, each in charge of a native driver. Right through the open fields, where the bullets fell thickest, he drove with his carromatas. The canvas-tops of the carts were soon ripped into shreds, and one or two of the natives were wounded; but the intrepid American kept right on toward the trenches, and delivered his cartridges. But before he reached his destination one of the ponies was killed. He merely took it out of the cart, and, with the native driver, he pulled the cart up to the place occupied by the others. On his return-journey he stopped to pick up the dead and wounded that he found lying along the way, taking them to the field-hospital in the rear, then received orders to take ten carromatas and to go after all the wounded. This he did as coolly as if he were loading his wagons with hay. Still, all were tenderly cared for. The eight dead were buried in the yard of the old convent of Maribacan, back of the camp. Every man was sewed up in his blanket; to it was attached a tag with his name for identification. The bodies were then all buried in one trench, and above the grave of each man a headboard with his name.

Rear-Admiral George Dewey.

The chaplain of the Tenth Pennsylvania made careful observation of the place, and of each grave.

About 2 o’clock the Spaniards began to cease firing. The Americans, on the other hand, kept up a lively rattle for a quarter of an hour longer; but the engagement was about over; and General Greene, who had followed the men to the front, returned to the camp. A few desultory skirmishes took place for a day or two longer, in which two men were killed; but the Spanish advance had been checked by the first night’s work, and by Monday morning the battle of Malate was practically over. Altogether, the Americans lost ten killed and forty-six wounded.