The small house, where the midshipmen had unexpectedly met Colonel Salas, flashed into view as they rounded a bend in the river, and from the bridge Sydney could discern with his glasses far in the distance the enemy’s stronghold, Matiginao, “the impregnable.” As the gunboat swept slowly by close inshore the soldiers waved their campaign hats in silent salute to their formidable navy ally. “This, from here on, is unknown river, sir,” Sydney reported to the general, sitting calmly talking with his adjutant-general. The general nodded and answered with a smile. “All right, admiral, I am entirely satisfied to rely upon your judgment.” Major Lukban had during the gunboat’s progress up the river stood by Sydney’s side, showing his appreciation of the lad’s navigation at intervals by a silent nod, while at the same time he kept one guarding eye upon his captive, whose crafty, sullen eyes roved incessantly along the wooded slopes of the narrowing river. “This is not new to you then, major?” Sydney asked suddenly, as he directed the ship’s head toward a large dead tree which stood out a lone sentinel on a rocky point ahead. “As a boy I was brought up on this river,” the native replied sadly. “Then many thousand of my people lived in plenty and happiness along its banks.” “Where have they all gone?” the lad inquired interestedly, his eyes gazing about for the signs of a deserted population. Lukban pointed to the tall mountains ahead of them. “Time and again the Spaniards have endeavored to drive out the outlaws from yonder stronghold, and the poor people who made their living on the river were mercilessly preyed upon by the war parties of the contending factions, until none were left. Juan Rodriguez alone has managed to remain, but only by his fearless courage and the devotion of his followers. Neither side cared to provoke him in his security until Espinosa coveted his lands and his money and, who can say, maybe his beautiful daughter.” “Maria!” Sydney exclaimed. The native lowered his voice to a whisper.