“You may not believe it, but we treat our prisoners good,” said the Filipino. “And when I saw your brother last he was very well.”
“And where is this prison cave?”
At this the insurgent shrugged his shoulder. “Now, capitan, you are asking me too much. I am pleased to tell you that your brother is safe. More than that I cannot tell, for it would not be right.”
This was not encouraging, yet Ben could not help but admire the prisoner’s loyalty to his cause. “Very well,” he said. “I am thankful to know that my brother is well. I was afraid that prison life might make him sick.”
A little later the young captain got the chance to talk to the Spanish prisoner, who was making an application for his release, claiming that he was friendly to the United States and had never encouraged the rebels. Seldom had the young captain met more of a gentleman than Señor Romano proved to be.
“Ah, the war is terrible! terrible!” said the 261 señor, after Ben had introduced himself. “It is bloodshed, bloodshed, all the time. Where it will end, Heaven alone knows—but I am afraid the Filipinos will be beaten far worse than was my own country.”
“I think you are right there,” replied Ben. “But we can’t do anything for them now until they lay down their arms.”
“The war has ruined hundreds of planters and merchants,—whole fortunes have been swept away,—and the insurgents have levied taxes which are beyond endurance. To some, Aguinaldo is their idol, but to me he is a base schemer who wants everything, and only for his own glory. But he cannot hold out much longer,—you are pressing him into the very mountains,—and once away from the civilization of the towns, his followers will become nothing but banditti—mark me if it is not so.”
“You are a resident of Luzon?” went on Ben.
“Hardly. I belong in Spain—but I have lived here for several years.”