The firing from the fort was rapid at first, but gradually diminished as the outer bombardment continued, and finally ceased altogether, for the Artillery onslaught had been terrible while it lasted, and nothing remained of that once impregnable fortress save a few shattered walls, with here and there the mangled corpse of a dead Moro.
The day was gradually drawing to a close, which made it necessary for us to establish a temporary camp for the night.
This was done, and very fortunately, adjacent to a small river, which proved to be a great convenience to both men and animals.
Natives fired frequently into the midst of the camp, but fortunately without any serious casualty to the Americans. The first faint glimmer of dawn that broke over the eastern hill-tops found us again in readiness and, after partaking of a hurried breakfast, we broke camp and again took up the trail, this time in the direction of Bayubao.
BAYUBAO VANQUISHED.
The trails were, in a great many places, almost impa.s.sable, making marching with equipments very laborious. However, we arrived at Bayubao about 2 p.m. and rested for refreshments on the top of a high hill, which over-looked the fort and the unruffled waters of Lake Lanao.
We had not been long in the enjoyment of our much needed rest, when the natives, who were until then concealed in the brush, poured a volley into our midst. The entire column was immediately summoned to action, and a grander sight could not be witnessed than to see that body of brave and disciplined soldiers taking their respective places and falling into line for action.
The Battery was brought into action on the hill-top, with the guns carefully trained on the fort by reliable and experienced marksmen, then a noise arose which seemed to echo back from the very firmaments as if the giant and mighty mountains had left their very sockets and were tumbling in a confused ma.s.s into the deep waters of the lake below.
The Battery had cut loose and "let her go," and projectile after projectile was sent from the guns on the hill-top "straight home" and into the very midst of the fort, enveloping everything for a moment in clouds of smoke and flying fragments, which was almost suffocating.
Oh! what a strange feeling influences the soldier when he hears the first "Boom" of a cannon, for full well he knows that it is only a stepping stone leading to the midst of the fray.
The natives returned the fire slowly but steadily, and in a manner that was creditable, for they were not only taken by surprise but were at a critical disadvantage owing to the elevation. Still the firing kept up and more than one dark-skinned foeman could be seen falling, rifle in hand, lifeless on the green sward.
They were now growing confused, ungovernable, and were firing recklessly like savage maniacs at the unflinching column of brave American soldiers, who were cooly aiming and firing at the commands of the valiant officers whenever a well directed shot was to be had. It now appeared evident that before this rain of bullets from the Infantry and the bursting of shrapnel from the Artillery they could not withstand much longer, and our position was such that to hit us at such a range and elevation was almost impossible.
Again the Battery opened up with one last and mighty sheet of solid shot and shrapnel, which made the very walls tremble and shake like the leaves of a forest before a hurricane, and then deathlike shrieks could be heard from within, the stout walls had crumbled to a thousand atoms, and the Sultan of Bayubao, with many of his tribesmen, had fallen to rise no more.
IN SIGHT OF MACIU.
But was this to be our last battle with the Moros? Was this to be our last fight in the desolate island of Mindanao? No! No! far from it.
There yet remained another, and the stumbling block of them all, who was at this time bidding defiance to all invaders, in his fort across the lake, where we could see, from our present position, the red flags of battle waving before the gentle zephyrs of the orient.
This was the Sultan of Maciu, Maciu the warlike, who had hitherto held his stronghold and expansive territories with creditable success for centuries against even the haughty Spanish soldiers. But his day of gloom was fast approaching, when he and his clan of bolomen would be compelled to submit to the sons of America, as will be seen by the ensuing pages.
Soon after Fort Bayubao had been taken the column pressed onwards, down the rugged slope of the trail, leading into the fort, and here, being dust-stained, weary, and footsore, we were glad to encamp for the night.
But only a few of us slept, for the Moros delivered a steady fire on us from the surrounding brush through the night.
The welcomed morning broke bright and clear over the waters of Lake Lanao, and the soldiers of "Columbia" awoke from a dreamy and restless slumber at the first notes of the bugle. Preparations for the attack on the Sultan of Maciu were immediately begun, but with little or no success, as the trail leading through the thickly wooded flats was blocked in such a way that it was an impossibility for even the Infantry to force their way through.
The Moros, having seen the column advancing on them, set to work to block the trail leading from Bayubao to the Maciu fortress, thinking that the Americans might on reaching this now impa.s.sable entrance, decide to return again to Camp Vicars after failing to reach the much talked of stronghold.
FOOD SUPPLY EXHAUSTED.
Seeing that all else had failed, the Americans began to construct rude rafts with which to cross an arm of the lake which separated them from the Maciu territories. They succeeded in building one in which a detachment of Companies "C" and "M" attempted to cross under a continued fire from the Moros, who were entrenched on the opposite side.
They kept on, however, seemingly regardless of the rain of bullets until, after a sharp and lively encounter with the enemy, they found it would be impossible to make a landing, so decided to return, but not before they had succeeded in driving the Moros back.
This was the 22nd day of September, we were now five days on the trail in pursuit of the Moros, but had not as yet begun to show any signs of exhaustion from the march or exposure.
It was now evident that our supply of provisions could not last much longer, and in consideration of the fact that the trail, now blocked by the Moros, should be re-opened before we could reach Maciu, it was deemed advisable by Captain Pershing to return to Camp Vicars, in order to rest the troops and to procure more rations.
Consequently on the morning of the 23rd, the column began the long march from the Maciu and Sauir territory to the Camp, arriving in good military order at 7 p.m. same date, with no loss to the Americans.
Lines on the Death of Sergeant Foley and Private Carey, Company G, 27th Infantry.
(By John J. Reidy.)
Here, cold in their graves, near the spot where they fell, In the darkness of night"s dismal gloom, Rest two soldiers whose valor could not be excelled, Slumbering in their desolate tombs.
Far away from their kindred they are sleeping to-day In Mindanao"s untrodden plains, Where their comrades have laid them to moulder away Into dust, in their cold silent graves.
By Camp Vicars they fought at the dead hour of night Outnumbered by the savages wild; Until they fell, overpowered, on the sward at the feet Of their foemen, where like soldiers they died.
Perhaps far away in their own native land, In the homes of their childhood so dear, Are their mothers awaiting to grasp their kind hands-- But alas! they shall wait many years.
For their loved ones will never return again To greet them through life"s pleasant way, For they are laying in the gra.s.s-covered graves where they fell, And are sleeping long ages away.
But though death has overtaken those heroes so brave Who fell for their Country"s fame, Yet their memory shall always live on the b.r.e.a.s.t.s Of their comrades, whom they perished to save.
THE BATTLE OF MACIU.
A MUCH NEEDED REST.
The troops were given five days in which to rest and recuperate, for the reader can easily imagine the hardships, privations, and sufferings which are undergone by soldiers while on the march, especially where there are no roads of any description, save the narrow, rugged, and, in many places, impa.s.sable trails, which are met with all through the island of Mindanao.
Therefore it was practically necessary that, after six days of continual marching through the thick brush of this island, they should be given ample time in which to attain that standard of physique which is the most characteristic mark of the American soldier.
It was the morning of the 28th of September, the bright sun had risen gorgeously over the white tented plain, the azure blue sky was now clear, save a few clouds that still rested lazily on the hill-tops, and all nature"s splendors and attractions were everywhere to be seen.
To the inexperienced observer it would seem that the Moros and Americans were living together in happy unison with each other in this, the most remote of American garrisons. But this was not so, for ere another hour had dragged itself lazily into the dim, misty past, the sons of fair Columbia were in complete readiness to march from the camp over many a weary mile to measure the cold steel with the defiant, haughty, and semi-savage Sultan of Maciu, and proud to state, under command of Captain John J. Pershing, to whom is justly attributed the success, the achievements, and all conquering abilities of the brave soldiers under his command at Camp Vicars.
THE EXPEDITION STARTS.
The expedition is complete and after being inspected by the Commanding General is not only complimented by him on their general uniformity and appearances, but are also p.r.o.nounced fit to compete with the most sanguineous and daring adversary.
At 8 a.m. the command "Forward March" was heard by every anxious soldier who was to be a partic.i.p.ant in the coming event, and amid the cheers, farewells, and good wishes of our comrades, we advanced in single file from the camp over the now well known trail leading to the territories of the Sultan of Maciu.
The expedition was composed of the same troops as that of the preceding campaign, except in addition there was Troop "A," 15th Cavalry.
The men were by this time beginning to grow accustomed to this singular style of marching from previous experiences, and that, together with the impatient anxiety they had to meet Maciu"s tribe in battle, added new strength and vigor to every man as onward they pressed over high hills, through deep ravines and swift-flowing rivers until, with the fire of military and true national determination written on every face, the column arrived and halted once again on the hill-top overlooking the now fallen stronghold of Bayubao with which the reader is already familiar.