Marie was well equipped by instinct and experience for a spy. The tragic nature of such work was exceptionally inviting to her. When a chance came to undertake it, she lost no time in embracing the opportunity.

After passing out through the American lines, she drove on down the slope of the hill and crossed the San Juan River on the old stone bridge where the fighting was begun that night by young Grayson of the Nebraska regiment. After reaching the Filipinos’ lines she at once reported to her uncle, Colonel Miguel, and had an extended interview with him.

Secret plans were agreed upon whereby she was to become the colonel’s chief scout. Two Filipino soldiers were sent to accompany her old mother to the little town of Angono on the eastern bank of Lake Laguna de Bay, near its northern end. A native family, quite familiar with the Sampalits and related to them, lived in this village. Marie stayed with the troops in the field. Her young brain danced at the thought of more bloodshed. She must be in the fight.

Just what part Marie took in the attack made upon the Americans by the Filipinos on the night of February 4th, and in the fighting on February 5th, the world will never know. The two main figures in these operations were Colonel Miguel, in command of the main portion of the Filipino forces, and Colonel Stotsenberg, who commanded the 1st Nebraska volunteers. Before the close of the war these men were both shot; consequently, there is no one left to tell the story, and history is silent on the point.

After the fight of February 4 and 5, the entire line of block-houses and intrenchments circumscribing Manila, were in the hands of the Americans. From the Pasig river on the east, around the city to the bay on the north, this line was commanded by Major-General MacArthur; the corresponding semi-circle on the south, by Major-General Anderson.

During the next seven weeks, fresh troops were constantly arriving. Each side was preparing for the long, inevitable conflict.

At day break, on March 25, General MacArthur, leaving Hall’s brigade in the trenches and placing those of Otis and Hale on the firing line, which was over seven miles in length, made a brilliant charge along the entire front on the Filipinos’ breastworks about a mile and a half distant and constructed parallel to those of the Americans’.

Before night he had cut the Filipino army into hopeless fragments; had advanced his own army over nine miles; had inflicted a terrible loss upon Aguinaldo’s troops; had demonstrated to them the difference between a determined American advance and an irresolute Spanish one; and had taken up in earnest the invasion of Luzon, the capture of the Filipinos’ temporary capital, Malolos, the overthrow of their provisional government, and the establishment of American sovereignty throughout the entire archipelago.

That night, about eleven o’clock, a nervous Filipino woman came walking down along the American out-post reserves which, during actual war, are usually only from 100 to 200 feet in the rear of the sentries. She reached Company “G’s” reserve of the 1st South Dakota Volunteers, where she was ordered to halt. She refused, but acted as though she did not understand. Drawing a large bamboo bonnet down over her face to conceal her identity, she mumbled something apparently to herself, and walked rapidly on. In a moment she was seized; her bonnet was torn off; her identity revealed: it was Marie.

She had been counting the American out-posts and the reserves to see if the defeated Filipinos, with the reinforcements which they had received, would be warranted in making a night attack.

She boldly denied her identification; fought, scratched, scrambled—making it necessary to employ two privates, a corporal and a sergeant to send her to the rear.

When she was taken before Major William F. Allison, commanding the 3rd battalion of the South Dakotas, who was acting as field-officer that night, he ordered her restrained until morning. A tired private was detailed to guard her. He gave her a rubber poncho, and insisted that she wrap herself up in it and lie down to sleep. Although she drew the poncho about her to keep herself warm (it grew very chilly before morning) she refused to sleep, and made repeated efforts to escape. Her teeth chattered and she seemed distressed—evidently through fear of what the morning might bring to her.

The next day she was set free, after taking a solemn oath to return to Manila and not take any further part in the insurrection. She pleaded earnestly for her liberty, and voluntarily promised that after her return to Manila she would do washing free of charge for the American soldiers who were sick in quarters.

After being liberated, Marie walked eastward, following an irregular sled-road; that is, a road-way used by the Filipinos for sledding their rice to market. This is done by means of a bamboo sled drawn over the dry ground by a caribou. She followed this road for over two miles until she came to the San Mateo river.

Although given a few hardtack by her captors at the time of her release, she was getting hungry. As she approached the stream she noticed an old Filipino standing near his bamboo cabin which was neatly tucked away oh the slope of a deep ravine near by. Turning from her pathway which had now grown somewhat indistinct she approached the old gentleman.

When quite close to him she said, “Buenos dias,” (Good morning in Spanish.)

“Magandang umaga,” (Good morning, in Tagalo), muttered the old man.

After a brief conversation during which Marie told him that she had been captured by the Americans, had been terribly misused and he had a miraculous escape, he invited her into his cabin where his aged wife gave her something to eat. This breakfast consisted of boiled rice, some fish which the old man had just brought from his set lines in the San Mateo river, and some bacon which he had found along the trail made by the American’s pack train the day before.

While the old couple were outside of their home—he breaking up some bamboo with which to re-kindle the fire, and she, cleaning the fish—Marie ransacked the house. She stole a large diamond ring which the old man had taken from the finger of a Spanish officer during the previous insurrection. She opened an old mahogany chest and took from it a rosary valued at several hundred dollars; also a gold lined cup which the old man, himself, had stolen from a Spanish priest, and some Spanish coins.

After a hearty lunch, she started on.

Crossing the river at the rapids, on the boulders which projected above the water, she quickened her steps and hurried along. Changing her course to the southward, she started for the northern end of Lake Laguna de Bay to see her mother.

She had not gone far through a small clump of timber when she came upon the corpse of a Filipino soldier who had been shot in the previous day’s engagement,—perhaps by a stray ball. Hastily stealing the cross which hung from a small cord about his neck, and a valueless ring from one of his fingers, she seized his Mauser rifle and his cartridge belt which was partly filled with ammunition, and then resumed her journey.

A short distance ahead was a large opening—an old rice field well cleared. She had scarcely begun to cross it when she heard a noise. She turned and saw the bow-legged old man whom she had robbed, with a machete in his hand, coming after her as fast as he could. He had discovered that the rosary was missing, and upon looking around, that several other things were gone; therefore he at once started in pursuit of the fiend who had just enjoyed his hospitality. Marie was not disturbed. Raising to her shoulder the rifle which she had just found, she took deliberate aim and at the first shot laid him low in death.

She reached the small native village of Angono, where her mother was stopping, about four o’clock in the afternoon of March 26th.

The old lady was wonderfully elated to receive the new jewels which Marie had stolen. She put on the rosary and danced about in the native hut like a young child on Christmas morning, when it sees the gorged stocking fastened to its bed.