“Come on,” yelled Phil, leading the way on a run, followed by his men. “We can bag them all in that swamp.” But the lad did not realize what fear can do for a native Filipino. The Colt gun on the left where O’Neil had advanced it on the run, and the rifles of the threescore jubilant soldiers lent wings to their enemy’s feet as those finding themselves miraculously spared from instant death plunged into that impenetrable mangrove thicket. Volley after volley was fired in the direction in which they had disappeared, and the crash of the bullets could be distinctly heard, but no white man could have followed where they fled.
The sun was now above the horizon and the light of day showed a gruesome sight to Phil’s eyes. Many hundreds of natives lay dead or in their death agonies on the sandy soil. The doctor from the garrison and his assistants attempted to help the sufferers, but after one hospital man had been maimed for life by a wounded native to whom he was administering, there could be little more to do. Graves were at once dug in the little cemetery back of the church and there they were placed one on top of the other in long rows and then the earth was thrown on top and covered with rock to keep out the hungry mongrel dogs, more savage even than their masters.
The fight had hardly terminated before a small boat came quickly ashore from the gunboat. Phil’s good spirits left him as he saw Lieutenant Tillotson come swaggering up to the group of soldiers and sailors. Sergeant Sweeney, who had been in command of the small garrison, had been excitedly giving Phil the details of the attack, when the lieutenant’s flushed, angry face brought him to a sudden stop.
“Well, sergeant,” he cried in an insolent harsh voice, “make your report to me; I am in command here; this man has no standing.”
Phil was so stunned at the words that he didn’t understand or at least realize its meaning.
Then his righteous anger and loathing welled into his throat.
“I AM IN COMMAND HERE!”
“How dare you talk of me that way before your men?” he cried, his face pale as death, and his strong fists clinched.
“Well, who are you, anyway?” Tillotson exclaimed swaggeringly. “A midshipman!—ashore you have no status, so from now on please mind your own business.”