At day break, on March 25, General MacArthur, leaving Hall’s brigade in the trenches and placing those of Otis and Hale on the firing line, which was over seven miles in length, made a brilliant charge along the entire front on the Filipinos’ breastworks about a mile and a half distant and constructed parallel to those of the Americans’.
Before night he had cut the Filipino army into hopeless fragments; had advanced his own army over nine miles; had inflicted a terrible loss upon Aguinaldo’s troops; had demonstrated to them the difference between a determined American advance and an irresolute Spanish one; and had taken up in earnest the invasion of Luzon, the capture of the Filipinos’ temporary capital, Malolos, the overthrow of their provisional government, and the establishment of American sovereignty throughout the entire archipelago.
That night, about eleven o’clock, a nervous Filipino woman came walking down along the American out-post reserves which, during actual war, are usually only from 100 to 200 feet in the rear of the sentries. She reached Company “G’s” reserve of the 1st South Dakota Volunteers, where she was ordered to halt. She refused, but acted as though she did not understand. Drawing a large bamboo bonnet down over her face to conceal her identity, she mumbled something apparently to herself, and walked rapidly on. In a moment she was seized; her bonnet was torn off; her identity revealed: it was Marie.
She had been counting the American out-posts and the reserves to see if the defeated Filipinos, with the reinforcements which they had received, would be warranted in making a night attack.
She boldly denied her identification; fought, scratched, scrambled—making it necessary to employ two privates, a corporal and a sergeant to send her to the rear.
When she was taken before Major William F. Allison, commanding the 3rd battalion of the South Dakotas, who was acting as field-officer that night, he ordered her restrained until morning. A tired private was detailed to guard her. He gave her a rubber poncho, and insisted that she wrap herself up in it and lie down to sleep. Although she drew the poncho about her to keep herself warm (it grew very chilly before morning) she refused to sleep, and made repeated efforts to escape. Her teeth chattered and she seemed distressed—evidently through fear of what the morning might bring to her.
The next day she was set free, after taking a solemn oath to return to Manila and not take any further part in the insurrection. She pleaded earnestly for her liberty, and voluntarily promised that after her return to Manila she would do washing free of charge for the American soldiers who were sick in quarters.
After being liberated, Marie walked eastward, following an irregular sled-road; that is, a road-way used by the Filipinos for sledding their rice to market. This is done by means of a bamboo sled drawn over the dry ground by a caribou. She followed this road for over two miles until she came to the San Mateo river.
Although given a few hardtack by her captors at the time of her release, she was getting hungry. As she approached the stream she noticed an old Filipino standing near his bamboo cabin which was neatly tucked away oh the slope of a deep ravine near by. Turning from her pathway which had now grown somewhat indistinct she approached the old gentleman.
When quite close to him she said, “Buenos dias,” (Good morning in Spanish.)