It was a desperate fight—few against many. The natives were pouring down on the little handful of men like a great avalanche. The sure and deadly aim of the Americans alone served to impede the over-powering onslaught.
Reënforcements arrived none too soon. Just as the insurgents, intoxicated on “vino,” beaten and sworn at by their officers, began a mad charge on the decimated ranks of the “Yankees,” Sever had finished the deployment of his men in battle formation, and was ready to receive them.
Meanwhile, other companies arrived and were strengthening the lines to the right and left. Then began those destructive American volleys—one following another in quick succession. No flesh and bone could live under such fire.
The more advanced of the charging column were now within a few feet of the outpost’s trenches; but here they wavered. Vacancies occurred in their ranks like the falling of grass before the blade. They hesitated. Their officers rushed wildly to and fro, excitedly waving their swords, shouting in their twangy language above the din of battle.
There was a brief halt; then the line broke, and a surging, terror-stricken mass of humanity trying to escape from this disastrous fire was all that was left of that hopeful army of insurrectos who but a moment before were so near experiencing the exhilaration of victory.
Word came down the line to cease firing. A moment later the expected charge was sounded by the Colonel’s bugler. Up rose that khaki line, and, with that terrorizing American yell, swept like a whirlwind across the fields in pursuit of the flying natives.
It was just another of the many victories. The fight was now over. The enemy was pursued for several miles beyond the limits of the American lines, losing many in killed and wounded.
Most of the troops were withdrawn. Captain Sever with his company was detailed to search the field for killed and wounded.
The outposts returned to their stations, and there was nothing but the faint groans of the wounded, and the presence of the dead, to tell that but a few short moments before a deathly struggle had occurred between two determined armies.
Sever and his men had just started on their humane duty, performing it with that tenderness and earnestness which the brave alone show to those in their power, when his attention was attracted by a low moan in the tall grass near by. He stopped and listened. Another half-suppressed groan was heard, apparently coming from the cogonales to his left. He parted the grass. There, lying in a pool of his own blood, was a Filipino soldier, frantically endeavoring to conceal himself and smother further groans. The expression on his face was a mixture of fear and pain. Seeing that he had been discovered, he put out his hand as if to ward off a blow.