“Amigo, hua carta.”[2]
A blow from O’Neil’s revolver butt was the answer, while Phil grasped the letter which had been held in the stricken man’s hand, placing it carefully in his breast-pocket. Then a warning cry rang out, followed by a rifle-shot, the hot blast of which almost burned Phil’s cheek, while a wiry form struck boldly right and left with his keen blade in the very midst of the startled Americans.
CHAPTER VIII
THE PRIVILEGES OF RANK
“There was two of ’em, captain,” the infantry sergeant exclaimed, in that purely official calm voice for which the army non-commissioned officers are noted even under the most trying and hazardous circumstances, while he pushed away the body from beneath his feet, after making sure the native was not shamming. “They was messengers, telling the gugus of the coming of the gunboat, I reckon.”
The small band of soldiers and sailors moved cautiously through the rank grass and sparse cocoanut palms. The enemy before the town had been too much occupied to discover the disturbance in their rear.
Phil saw that the fire had grown apace and now the conflagration threatened the entire town, but the greatest danger was to the church, for the dawn breeze was carrying the hot, stifling smoke and flame high on the church walls. It would be but a matter of minutes before the church itself would be on fire. The sun was slowly approaching the horizon; Phil saw the broad white band of light stretching across the eastern sky. Out on the water to the right of the town the lofty spars and smoke-stack of the “Mindinao” were indistinctly visible; Sydney was ready to begin his allotted work when the day had broken so that he could recognize friend from foe.
“If that fellow Tillotson hadn’t funked,” the midshipman whispered fiercely, his teeth set firmly, “and we could have had his men to the right of the town, we could have flayed ’em alive. Now they’ll all escape past the gunboat—unless we let the gunboat open the ball and drive them all this way.—I’ll do it,” he cried determinedly.
They had now reached the grassy-topped mound, the Colt gun placed in battery, and the first string of cartridges fed into its steel maw.
“Sergeant,” Phil commanded tersely, “deploy your men to the right and left, and take shelter. Don’t fire without orders.”
The sergeant saluted and gave a quick, sharp command. The soldiers melted from sight. This was a new experience for them. Six months in the islands and the only real fights they had seen were included in a few shots at the disappearing brown men after they had fired their volley from ambush, killing and wounding several of their comrades. Now here were over five hundred yelling natives worked up to the wildest pitch of savage triumph before their eyes, within range of their trusty guns, and as yet no orders to fire.