CHAPTER XII
SOMETHING ABOUT A POISONED WELL
After the rest at Angat, the taking of San Rafael by General Lawton’s troops was an easy matter, and on May 1—the anniversary of Admiral Dewey’s great victory in Manila Bay—the soldiers set out for the town of Baliuag, five miles to the northward.
In spite of the recent rain, the road was hard and even dusty in spots. The heat was still as great as ever, and Ben was glad to take the benefit of any shade that afforded itself as he marched along at the head of his command. The date made him think of the battle just mentioned, and this brought him around to Larry once more, and he began to wonder if his brother would ever turn up again.
“I suppose I’ll have to write to Walter and to Uncle Job about this,” he muttered dismally. “But I hate to do it, especially if Larry does turn up, for I know it will worry both of them greatly.”
The road was thick with palms and plantains and 113 trailing plants, the latter of gorgeous colorings. Nipa huts and bamboo cottages were numerous, but the inmates kept themselves well hidden as the little army passed by. In the distance were paddy-fields and cane-brakes, and along the road were numerous mud-holes, some of which had to be bridged over before the artillery could pass in safety. More than once horses and cannon got stuck, and many a shoulder had to be put to the pieces to budge them.
“If there was no war, this would be a delightful spot in which to spend a vacation,” remarked Gilbert, who had come up for a little talk, as was his habit when they were pushing ahead in irregular formation. “I reckon the natives take solid comfort in their homes.”
“I suppose it puts you in mind of the South at home,” returned Ben, with a smile, “It is nice, certainly. But I fancy this continual heat would make one mighty lazy in time.”
“Well, the natives are lazy, you can easily see that,” laughed the young Southerner. “I wish I could get a good drink of water,” he added, a minute later.