The Chanute times. [volume] (Chanute, Kan.) 1897-1913, 1899-10-06

Private e. B. Willard, a member of
the Second Oregon volunteers, owes
his life to his grit. In the face of
death he played 'possum, and while
half a dozen boodthirsty Filipinos
jabbed him with bayonets, tried to
burn his hair and otherwise tortured
him he feigned death so completely
that his tormentors, believing he was
a corpse, left him on the field. Three
of his comrades had been ambushed
and cut to pieces at his side. Willard,
himself shot in the back, lay fifteen
feet from them, hearing their dying
groans. Not single moan came from
his lips. He knew better. Millard,
with twelve other soldiers, had been
sent out about 500 yards from camp
at Mariola to do guard duty. 1t was
about midnight when they reached the
outposts across the river. All this
was "fought-over territory" and a
man had to keep his eyes open. Thick
bamboo and high grass covered the
ground. 1.-THE night wore on until
about o'clock in the morning." said
Willard, speaking of his experience,
when we saw danger signals going up
from our camp. Almost simultaneous
ly Mauser rifles began to crack around
us. The rebels had crept along the
river between us and camp and we had
been surrounded. We began to retreat
southwark along the railroad track to
F company's camp, two miles away.
We could hear hundred men around
us in the brush. We had gone per-
haps 100 yards down the track when
score of Filipinos jumped up out of
the tall grass and fired volley into
our faces. Privates Paine, Berry and
Hoffman were shot and hacked to
death before my eyes. l received a
charge in my side and fell over the
roadbed into muddy ditch. I scram-
bled to the other bank and kept as
still as l could unable to rise to my
knees. Pretty soon somebody ap-
preached me and gave me kick on
the side of the head. Then another
man threw a big clod of dirt at me.
After that two or three more came
and held burning matches under my
nose to see If | was still breathing. I
tried to keep from inhaling the sui
phur. My hair was wet with mud and
water and blood, or they would have
set fire to it sure. Then Filipino
ripped out an oath, rolled me over and
began to jab his bayonet into my alb
domen and legs. Once / felt that ]
must cry out, but certain death star
ing me in the face kept me from it.
/ must have finched, but they did not
see me in the dark. All tbs time the
Filipinos were quarreling and scuf-
fling over my gun, which had dragged
across the ditch through the mud.
Somebody began taking off my belt,
and that was the beginning of another
scrimmage. They pulled and hauled
me about like a dead man, searching
my pockets and taking everything they
could lay their hands on. After that
ordeal was over they unbuckled my
suspenders, took off my shoes and
would have stripped the shirt from my
back had it not been for the blood
and mud that were smeared all over
me-. / was barely conscious of what
was going on. but there is one thought
that stayed with me until l collapsed
completely: One groan, even a sigh.
and / am a goner' ! was weak from
loss of blood and the side and back Of
my shirt was as wet as If dipped in
water. A few feet from me three or
four rebels were stripping poor Hoff-
mans body of every stitch of clothing.
That is an old trick of the insurgent
fighters. and they would have left
nothing on me had my cl>thes been
worth taking. l cannot remember
when they left me. About that time I