2
THE CHEMAWA AMERICAN.
would have been safer, as "mishaps"
usually brought American punish
ment on the place. Here the inhab
itants had little to lose. However
the local President received me well
enough, and after supper I turned in
and soon fell asleep.
I was awakened by the clanging of
a church bell. In the Philippines it is
the custom to hold mass at midnight
on Christmas eve. Once awake I de
termined to attend mass.
Not having undressed, I was soon
ready. Outside I met several natives,
and together we went across the little
plaza to the church.
The inside was lighted by candles
and about 100 natives were kneeling
there, services having already begun.
The little priest was no Latin scholar,
so he spoke in Spanish. Thus I un
derstood him, and became interested
in his simple words. A choir of na
tive girls sang, and the service alto
gether was rather impressive for its
simplicity.
For this reason I had not turned
my head when I heard the muffled
steps of many feet behind me, and
the thud of numerous metallic bodies
against the stone floor. It was long
afterward when I turned, and started
nervously at what I saw. Behind me,
stretched from wall to wall, knelt a
company of insurgent soldiers, their
heads uncovered and bowed, their
guns before them on the floor.
All religious emotions left me at
once, and I thought only of getting
out of the side door mid reaching my
horse. Quietly, slowly I edged my
way over to that small door. No one
heeded me, although all must have
known by my khaki uniform that I
was one of the hated Yankees.
Finally, just as the services ended,
I reached the door, and bolted out in
to the darkness.
I ran toward the President's house,
but my haste to reach my horse made
me incautious, and at every few steps
I stumbled.
Suddenly I fell over a stone wall.
For a space I lay on the ground stun
ned by my fall. I arose at last stiffly
and much dazed. I must have reach
ed the President's house by a round
about way,for I was only conscious of
seeing it before me as if it had come
to me. The room I had slept in was
lighted, as I had left it, by a small
lamp. I had left my saddle bags
there, so ran up stairs to get them.
At the table sat a young native in
an insurgent Lieutenant's uniform. I
turned quickly and at the foot of the
stairs stood an armed soldier. Real
izing my helplessness I walked in.
The insurgent officer arose, but ap
peared to feel no surprise at seeing
me.
"Christmas greeting, friend," he
said calmly. "What is the matter
with your head?"
I raised my hand to my forehead
and found it bleeding. Meanwhile
the insurgent seated himself, I did
likewise He reached into his pocket
and pulled out a handkerchief. This
he gave to me and even knotted it
after I had passed it around my head.
I now felt firmly convinced that I was
a prisoner.
The officer and I fell into conversa
tion, but apparently by mutual con
sent, made no mention of the war,
nor my present situation.
To my surprise he did not ask for