crifice,
steamed back to Manila.

During the afternoon of the same day that the battle took place,
the American prisoners were ordered to march to an old bamboo church
in the northern outskirts of the little town of Baler, a mile and
a half farther on. By this time the wounded men were suffering
terribly. Little Venville's ankle had swollen badly. From his four
wounds he had bled so much that he had grown faint. Therefore, he
and several of the others had to be carried.

En route to their new destination, the Americans passed in sight of
the old stone church being used as a fortress by the Spanish garrison
whom they had originally set out to relieve. The Americans had gone
to the Philippines to fight the Spaniards. They were now sacrificing
their lives to save them.

At the bamboo church, an old Filipino with a kindly face and a manner
that elevated him above his fellow tribesmen, came in to see them. He
examined the wounded and then disappeared. Presently he returned with
some large leaves that resembled rhubarb, under his arm. Out of the
big stems of these native herbs he squeezed a milky secretion which he
permitted to drop into the gaping wounds of the Americans. The torture
of the wounded occasioned by this liquid was damnable. The men grew
deathly pale. They rolled and screamed and begged to be shot. But
it did not last long. In ten minutes the torture had ceased, the men
became quiet, the swelling around their wounds was gradually reduced,
and their temperatures soon lowered. The herb doctor evidently knew
his business.

The next day the Filipinos received orders from Aguinaldo, who,
with his appointed congress, was now at San Isidro, to march the
captured Americans to his headquarters. Accordingly, the trip
was undertaken. But the apprentice lad, Venville, was unable to
go along. Obeying the stubborn orders of the rapacious Filipinos
his comrades left him lying on the floor of the old rickety bamboo
church,--wounded--uncared for--suffering--hungry--thirsty--dying. A
year later the assistance of the entire naval organization in the
Philippines was given to the task of trying to ascertain from the
Filipinos in the neighborhood of Baler some information concerning
the lad's whereabouts or his burial place, but no trace of him,
dead or alive, could ever be found.

An aged mother, ill and bowed,
Keeps asking, "Where's my boy?"
But zephyrs from the Orient