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´╗┐Title: The Battle of Bayan and Other Battles
Author: Reidy, John J., Allen, James Edgar
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

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 ||              _The Battle of Bayan                ||
 ||                and Other Battles_                ||
 |                                                    |
 | _Being a History of the Moro Campaign from April   |
 |     17, to Dec. 30, 1902. A Record of Events       |
 |     Occurring during a Period of Eight Months'     |
 |     Service in the Lake Region of Mindanao. Also   |
 |     Letters of Congratulation from His Excellency  |
 |     the President of the United States, Major      |
 |     General Adna R. Chaffee, and Others._          |
 |                                                    |
 |                                                    |
 |                       ======                       |
 |                                                    |
 |                                                    |
 |                        _BY                         |
 |                 JAMES EDGAR ALLEN,                 |
 |                (War Correspondent)                 |
 |                        AND                         |
 |                   JOHN J. REIDY._                  |
 |                                                    |
 ||                    _MANILA                       ||
 ||             E. C. McCULLOUGH & CO.               ||
 ||                      1903._                      ||

Transcriber's Note:

    Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. Archaic
    spellings have been retained.

    A table of contents, though not present in the original publication,
    has been provided below:

      The Battle of Bayan. (Part First.)
      Rewards. (Part Second.)
      Battle of Gauan.
      The Battle of Maciu.
      The 27th Infantry.
      The 25th Battery of Field Artillery.


The facts, as related in this little volume, actually occurred on the
dates herein mentioned, and anyone doubting the authenticity of this
statement can easily verify it by communicating with any of the persons
mentioned within these pages, or by consulting the files of any leading
Newspaper or Magazine, nearly all of which published accounts of the
affairs shortly after they occurred.

                                        THE AUTHORS.


_(By John J. Reidy.)_

    _The lone shades of evening have fallen o'er the white tented plain,
    And the sun has sank deep in the horizon of the watery main.
    The Camp is all silent, the banners are waving no more,
    And the sound of the waves are echoing from the far distant shore._

    _The tire-worn soldier, fatigued from the march of the day,
    Is silently sleeping and dreaming of scenes far away.
    Of his own Native Land where he spent many jovial hours,
    Of the sweetheart with whom he has roved by the shady green bowers._

    _He sees in his dreams the cherished home of his boyhood so dear,
    And the mother he loved as she sits by the fireside in tears.
    She is thinking of him who has gone from her side to the war
    To fight the bold Moros in Mindanao's island afar._

    _She is patiently waiting for the bright day of gladness to come,
    When with arms outstretched she will welcome the warrior home.
    But lo, as the darkness grows denser in Mindanao's heights,
    The loud pealing of cannons is heard in the dark stilly night._

    _The trump'ter's call, echoing loud through the hills and ravines,
    Has aroused the brave soldier from the joy of his whimsical dreams.
    He has joined his brave comrades who have formed in line for the fray,
    Then he thinks of his mother, his sweetheart and home far away._

    _The battle commences, loud crashes the bolos and spears
    And the gleam of the bayonets shine forth like the stars in the sea.
    Colonel Baldwin's command is now heard by the brave and the bold,
    As onward they charge like lions leaping mad at a fold._

    _They meet in hot conflict, they bleed in the midst of the strife,
    For their country's freedom, for their glory, their honor and life.
    The battle is over amid cheers from the victors of war,
    But alas, one brave hero has fallen with many a scar._

    _Bleeding he lays on the field in his anguish and pain,
    Whose dreams were of home, of the loved one he will never see again.
    He pictures, in anguish, his mother in sorrow and gloom,
    Vainly waiting for him who will never return to his home._

    _The black cloud of death darkens o'er the young soldier so brave,
    Then he dies, and with honor is borne to his rest in the grave.
    But the mother waits on, no news from the young hero comes,
    For he sleeps with the brave where he fell, in a warrior's tomb._


In after years, especially when one has lived to survive a great battle,
it is sometimes a pleasant thing to be able to recall to memory the
scenes of by-gone days. But this cannot always be done in the desired
form without some outside aid. Accordingly, this little volume is
published for that very purpose, and the authors earnestly hope that it
will meet with the approval of all those who were fortunate enough to
survive those memorable events.

It has been the aim of the authors to give an unbiased description of
the Battles, just as they occurred, and it is expressly desired that the
public as well may derive some satisfaction from a perusal of the
following pages.





As I sit here on the demolished walls of Fort Pandapatan, contemplating
the magnificent scene spread out before me, my mind reverts to that
awful Battle fought on the 2d of May of this year, which was rightfully
designated by General Adna R. Chaffee as the hardest fought battle of
the entire Philippine insurrection. And as I look down the grassy slopes
of Pandapatan hill, and across the open towards Binidayan hill, on which
once stood that impregnable Moro stronghold, Fort Binidayan, I can see
in fancy those advancing lines of determined men and hear the awful
screech of flying projectiles, just as if that terrible drama of reality
were being enacted over again for my own especial benefit.

And while I am in the mood and have the inspiration to do so, I shall
endeavor to convey to the reader a slight conception of what the Battle
was like, and how it appeared to me on that eventful day, and which will
go down in history as one of the most glorious feats of American arms.

I can see again, in fancy, that column of determined fighting men, at
the head of which rode General (then Colonel) Frank D. Baldwin,
struggling over the slippery mountain trails, fording the swift running
rivers, and sweltering in the hot tropical sun, just as they did on
April 17, 18, and 19, 1902.

It does not seem that several months have elapsed since General Chaffee
issued an ultimatum to the Sultan of Bayan and other leading Moros of
the Lake region, demanding the surrender of several Moro tribesmen for
the murder of Pvts. Lewis and Mooris of the 27th Infantry, in March
last, and for the return of several horses which had been deliberately
stolen from Lieut. Forsyth, 15th Cavalry, at Buldoon, a small village in
the mountains along the south coast of Mindanao.

When General Chaffee visited the little town of Malabang in the early
part of April, inviting the Sultans and Dattos of the Lake region to
come in and hold a friendly conference with him, little did he dream
that he was taking the first step in what was to be one of the most
aggressive campaigns ever inaugurated.

But when, instead of complying with the terms of the ultimatum, the
Moros insolently replied to it and defied the Americans to come and
fight, General Chaffee realized then that the situation was grave
indeed, and accordingly telegraphed to Washington immediately for
permission to proceed to the Lake region and administer a lesson to the
recalcitrant Sultans and Dattos.

But it was not until after much delay that the War Department
reluctantly gave permission to proceed against the Moros, and General
Chaffee was cautioned not to go to the extreme of warfare, until every
peaceful method had been exhausted.


Preparations were at once begun; an expedition was formed and got in
readiness, and on April 17, 1902, six companies of the 27th Infantry,
two troops of the 15th Cavalry, and the 25th Battery of Field Artillery
started for the interior of Mindanao, which had, as yet, never been
explored by white men.

The troops constituting that column were, for the most part, raw
material, having been organized but a short time previous to the time of
which I write, and had as yet seen but little of active service.

But it must not be imagined that they were all inexperienced in warfare,
for in its ranks were many who had either transferred from other
organizations or who had voluntarily enlisted in these organizations,
and who had seen service in more than one war.

It is needless to narrate how the column marched over the first great
mountain range which follows along the southern coast in a parallel
line, and then on to the enemy infested region about Lake Dapao, which
is but a forerunner of a more impregnable region, and which is now
gradually resuming its former peaceful aspect, and which in time will
develope into one of the most productive regions in the Philippine


Suffice it to say that after three days of hardships and privation,
those troops, constituting what was known as the "Lake Lanao
Expedition," encountered the enemy on a bit of rising ground at a place
known as Gadungan, and after two engagements fought, one there, and one
at a place known as Fort Pualos, a camp was established in that vicinity
and negotiations with the Moros were renewed.

These were but preliminary engagements and were merely forerunners of
what was to come.

After a useless delay and fruitless attempt to restore peace, the column
again advanced, this time for the Bayan Forts.

On May 1 the little army of American troops arrived at a point on the
south-eastern shore of Lake Lanao, overlooking the Lake and in sight of
the enemy's stronghold.

At this juncture Brigadier General George W. Davis, commanding the
Seventh Separate Brigade, and who had been designated by General Chaffee
to personally accompany the expedition, arrived from Malabang after
making a flying trip across the mountains.

A temporary camp was established and General Davis prepared messages in
Arabic writing, which were immediately sent to the Sultan of Bayan,
demanding his surrender by noon of May 2, or suffer the consequences.

These messages are known to have been delivered but they were not
replied to.


During the night of May 1, the American outposts were fired upon
frequently by the Moros, but they did not reply to the fire of the

At daylight camp was broken, and the column pushed ahead in the
direction of Bayan.

The column was halted about one half mile from the first fort.

The Moro outposts opened fire on the Americans, but they were not
replied to.

The Americans were waiting for twelve o'clock.

About one thousand yards to the right and front was a small clump of
bamboo, several natives appeared there, firing a few shots and
flourishing their weapons, all the time yelling like mad.

It was now plainly seen that the Moros were determined to have war.

The Artillery was brought into play and trained on the clump of bamboo
on the right, also Fort Binidayan, which was situated on the crest of a
high hill about fifteen hundred yards distant.

Those were indeed moments of suspense for those gallant troops, but not
a shot was fired by them, although they were under an almost constant
fire from the enemy.


But just at twelve o'clock, General Davis stepped forward, watch in
hand, and took one long, lingering look in the direction of Fort
Binidayan, and then, not seeing any signs of a peace envoy, but, on the
contrary, every indication of hostility, he turned slowly to Captain W.
S. McNair, of the 25th Battery, and gave the signal to "let her go."

"Boom," echoed the little mountain guns, and away went a shrapnel
screaming across the open and just three and six-tenths seconds after,
exploded immediately over the fort.

Instantly figures were seen hurrying to and fro about the fort.

"Boom!" went another, this time at the clump of bamboo on the right.

A puff of smoke, and then,--a cloud of dust immediately in front of the
bamboo--told the tale only too well to the gunners.

The battle of the Bayan forts had begun.

Quick movements were observed here and there, companies were being
assigned their positions, orders were being transmitted like lightning
from point to point, and in less time than it takes to narrate it, that
body of men were swung into action like the pendulum of a clock.


The work of demolishing the Binidayan Fort had now begun in earnest,
companies "F" and "G" of the 27th Infantry advanced in line of
skirmishers, while the Artillery continued a slow fire on the Fort,
company "H" joined "F," and crossed the intervening ridge and then
through the little valley, while "G" went off to the right, to flank
Binidayan and at the same time to make a demonstration against Fort
Pandapatan, which was to the right and rear of Binidayan.

Fort Pandapatan was the second fort known as the system of Bayan forts,
of which there are four.

At the base of the Binidayan hill the Infantry halted for an instant,
and then started up the hill in a long, thin line of skirmishers, with
determination written in their faces.

It was the initial event of the kind for many of them, but every head
was erect, every man in his place.

There was not a bit of confusion, simply an orderly line of men coming
up to do battle.

They were under a constant fire from the enemy while they were advancing
but they did not reply to them until they were close enough to plainly
distinguish the heads of the Moros bobbing up and down in the trenches
which surrounded the Fort.

They laid down prone on the ground then and poured a withering fire into
the fort and trenches, which quickly routed the enemy.


Suddenly, back on the ridge where the Artillery were stationed the clear
notes of a bugle were heard, sounding "Charge."

Instantly those blue shirted figures away up on the grassy slope, rose
as if by magic, and then pressed forward and upward, with a yell that
was sufficient in itself to route the enemy, and it did route them, for
the Moros were fleeing and falling back on Fort Pandapatan by hundreds.

The troops reached the very walls and there paused for an instant--to
gain breath, then a command rang out, clear and cool, and it seemed that
one mighty wave swept on and over the walls, and in an instant more,
those standing back on the ridge where the Artillery was, saw "Old
Glory" unfurled to the breeze from the shattered walls of Fort

The first position of the enemy had been taken without loss to the

But not so fortunate for the Moros, for here and there a mangled body of
a dusky warrior dotted nature's carpet, some already dead, others
breathing their last, but stubbornly defying the Americans to do their

At this stage of the battle there came a distinct lull in the firing,
and both sides took advantage of it to "take a hitch" and prepare for
the real battle, which was yet to come.

During this lull the Artillery closed up and took their new position on
Binidayan hill, a little to the south of the fort.

Floating over Fort Pandapatan there were no less than twenty large red

Most of the Moros had already fallen back on this stronghold and they
could plainly be seen, throwing up extra intrenchments.

It was now two o'clock and the real work was about to begin.

Companies "E" and "F" started straight down the Binidayan hill in the
direction of Pandapatan, while "B" Company was sent to the right.

After the Infantry had crossed the little valley in front, the Artillery
opened up and the big fight was on.


The shell and shrapnel flew fast and furious from those little mountain
guns, accompanied by the music of the "Krags."

On and on, nearer and nearer up the hillside came the crash of advancing
troops, smothering other unseen trenches on their way, until by
nightfall there was not a rifle but could shove its muzzle into the very
face of the trench behind which the Moro warriors laid in waiting,
peering down the slope between the explosions for something they feared
more than the whistling fragments of Krupp shells--the blue-shirted form
of the silent American soldier, with whom the Moros knew the ultimate
issue rested.


On they came, however, up the hill, silent and straight, hundreds of
them, right into the open below the trench from behind which the Moros
delivered a withering fire and gasped at the folly of the Americans.

Up and up they came, the lower lantacas blasting them off the face of
the earth, but still they rushed on and upward against the frowning

The mountain guns howled and roared over them, the walls grew troubled
and shaky, falling in and falling out, dimly seen between the curtain of
smoke and sheet of flame whirling about the leaping stones.

But steady eyes were gleaming where they could through the sheets of
fire, and steady fingers were pulling triggers rapidly and incessantly.

The crash came unbroken and clearly heard from the midst of the uproar
thundering up at the trench, as if the shells were bursting with a
million rattling fragments, and down the slope were tumbling the
blue-shirted figures, one under that tree, two over there by the big
boulder, another here and a dozen more down there, and during the next
two hours there was the most magnificent display of true courage and
grit ever heard of or seen.

The Artillery roared in anger and anguish, but apparently of no avail,
for the long streams of fire continued to pour from the fort with
regular intervals, and more blue-shirted figures went tumbling down the

But this did not continue very long, for the Artillery turned loose all
its little dogs of war and they barked fiercely and hurled death
projectiles into the fort and trenches with renewed vigor.

Think how you would feel if a person should hurl a stone at you with a
tremendous shout.

Multiply the stone and shout by twenty millions, add fire and smoke and
nauseous vapors, and imagine the earth trembling beneath your feet, with
the air filled with screaming projectiles, even then you cannot imagine
the terror of that Artillery assault.


But the fanatical Moros would not give up; there they stood in the very
midst of that hurricane of death, calm, immovable, and indifferent to it
all. Their resistance could not help but be admired as they stood there
calm and defiant, against that advancing, enveloping thunderstorm of
musketry. But it must not be imagined that they were idle; far from it.
If one can imagine taking a handful of pebbles and hurling them with a
strong force against a pane of glass, then, and then only, can one
imagine the whirlwind of bullets which the Moros were pouring into that
little army of Americans out there in the open.

When it is considered that the Americans were out in the open storming
this fort while the Moros were strongly fortified and deeply intrenched,
the fierceness of the battle and the heroism of the troops can be
imagined. Nothing like it had ever been seen before and nothing like it
ever will be seen again. Regardless of bullets and the flying fragments
of shell and shrapnel, Baldwin's men kept steadily onward and upward,
until they were within a few yards of that impregnable wall, through
whose portholes there poured a constant stream of fire. It was like
gazing through the doors of a red hot furnace. And all the time the
swarm of blue-shirted figures rolled on and upward until they could have
dropped a stone over the wall.

They had now gone the limit, as they were very near the dangerous zone
of the exploding shrapnel and were compelled to halt to keep from being
struck by their own men.


Suddenly, back on the hill where the little dogs of war were barking, a
command was heard, "Battery, Fire!" and the air was filled with flying
projectiles which went screaming and screeching across the open and
striking the walls of the fort with a mighty impact, that structure was
shaken to its very foundations. Even untouched, one felt shaky and
uncertain on that hillside, and one would have felt his body rending to
pieces as he looked where a shell burst in the midst of a trench, and
heard the filthy squelch and sharp cries above the roar, and saw the
awful faces through the red glare and curtain of smoke, and the mangled
corpses of dead bodies hurled high in the air.

It would make a thrilling scene for some great war drama. The history of
war has had few situations as thrilling as this day's battle.

The artillery "let itself go" again and it was impossible to stand on
that hillside, so fiercely was the breath of the shells blasting across
it in hot, staggering gusts, the tall dry grass bending before it, and
the air filled with flying debris, which followed in the wake of a shell
in little circling whirlwinds. Skimming but a few feet over the heads of
the American fighting line, the shells would burst upon the trenches or
on the ground below them, when attackers were so close to attacked that
the gush of oily smoke hid both, and both the death yell and the yell of
triumph were mingled in one mighty shout and ceaseless roaring.


Boom! went the little war dogs, then boom,--boom--boom--boom, in quick
succession, and then the wall crumbled, vanished in parts, and lo!
behold! the flags were down! Their crimson colors were dangling in mid
air for an instant, then were caught in the shower of a bursting
shrapnel and hurled to the ground.

Oh! the grandeur of that last few moments' bombardment! Not a shell went
astray; the parapet received them all full in the face. In one great
explosion the Moros stood and fired, in one atmosphere of blasted air
and filthy fumes, in one terrible shadow of the coming darkness, in one
continual earthquake. They seemed to go mad, as well they might, for
annihilation loomed in the distance for those who yet remained. As the
soldiers of America drew nearer, many of the Moros actually leaped from
their cover on to the top of the parapet and were seen against the sky
background, wildly firing down at the advancing troops, in the very
midst of the bursting shells.

Hell was surely let loose on those dusky fanatics who manned the
portholes of Pandapatan. Truly, war _is_ hell!

They fought with a fanatical frenzy, but nothing on earth could stop
that line of advancing, invincible soldiers. Up they went, until at
last, it became necessary for the artillery to cease firing.

The troops reached the very walls, and there remained, for entrance was

However, after fighting hand to hand until dark, the outer trenches were
taken. With the capture of these trenches the enemy's position was
practically won. But the Moros did not yet give up; on the contrary they
made preparations to resist to the death. They had sworn to die in
battle, and they were admirably carrying out the oath.


Darkness had fallen now and it began to rain in torrents. Night fell
terribly for the wounded out there. That awful cry, "Doctor! This way.
Help!" can be heard to this day. It continued throughout the night, but
not in vain, for the artillerymen were out there all night carrying the
wounded off the field and rendering valuable aid to the surgeons. These
men worked like heroes every one, and deserve the greatest credit for
the magnificent gallantry shown during that terrible night's work while
under a constant fire from the enemy.


It seemed that a difficult problem lay before the Americans that night.
It was proposed that a number of scaling ladders be made and that the
place be carried by assault. Accordingly, construction on these ladders
was begun at once, but they were destined never to be used, for at
daylight the white flags were fluttering over the fort and Pandapatan
had fallen.


At last the big fight was over. After nearly twenty-four hours of
continual firing the Americans had conquered. It had been a splendid
battle, and what manner of death the vanquished had suffered only those
who looked into the fort and trenches after the battle, can say. The
mangled bodies of the Moro dead were piled up eight and ten deep in
places, and only those acquainted with the technicalities of a slaughter
house can imagine the sight as it appeared the next morning after the
battle. But these people would have war, and war they got, in all its
glory. Just eighty-three survivors remained out of the hundreds that
resisted the Americans.

But it must not be imagined that this great victory had been achieved
without loss to the Americans. Their casualties were far greater than
those of an ordinary battle, numbering close to a hundred.

With the break of day the gruesome task of burying the dead began, and
continued throughout the day, and by nightfall of May 3d the Battle of
Bayan was over and passed, but I cannot say forgotten, for that can
never be, for the memory of that battle will ever dwell in the minds of
those who witnessed or participated in that never-to-be-forgotten event.

                                        JAMES EDGAR ALLEN.



To receive praise for work accomplished, no matter in what form, is
certainly pleasing to every phase of humanity. And to be rewarded for
our work gives us a certain feeling of satisfaction, and assures us that
our work along a certain line has been appreciated and admired. But to a
soldier, whose duty is to do battle, praise for his victories is more
than pleasing--it is exalting. And when after struggling along almost
indefinitely at a certain task, and finally accomplishing it with
overwhelming success, he is commended by anxious relatives and friends,
usually the height of his ambition has been reached.

But to be especially commended and congratulated for his achievements,
and by his superior officers and his commander-in-chief especially, is
one of the highest honors that could be conferred upon him.

When he has performed deeds of true valor and courage, wherein he
exhibits exceptional bravery, and is almost overwhelmingly besieged with
letters of congratulation and praise, he has received one of the
greatest of earthly rewards. But there are other rewards, such as
promotion, for instance, and one has but to consult our army records at
Washington to find that many of those who constituted what is known as
the Lake Lanao Expedition have been fittingly rewarded for their gallant
services on the 2d day of May, 1902.

That the reader may judge of the magnificent gallantry shown by those
troops on that eventful day, a few of the letters are hereby published
in full.


                              CAMP VICARS (Mind.), P. I., May 7, 1902.


    The troops of the Lake Lanao Expedition have been paraded in order
    that the following messages may be read to them:


                                                   MANILA, May 4, 1902.

    Order that the following message of the President of the United
    States be read to every company and troop in your Brigade. It will
    be published in Division Orders for the information of other
    commanders, and as a special mark and tribute to the assaulting
    force of the Battle of Bayan.

                                        (Sgd.) CHAFFEE.


                                       WASHINGTON, D. C., May 5, 1902.

    Accept for the Army under your command, and express to General Davis
    and Colonel Baldwin especially, my congratulations and thanks for
    the splendid courage and fidelity which has again carried our flag
    to victory. Your fellow countrymen at home will ever reverence the
    memory of the fallen, and be faithful to the survivors, who have
    themselves been faithful unto death for their country's sake.

                                        (Sgd.) THEODORE ROOSEVELT.


                                                  MANILA, May 4, 1902.

    Please accept my congratulations for yourself, and express to
    Colonel Baldwin and all the officers and men engaged in the Battle
    of May 2, my high appreciation of their bravery, gallantry and
    soldiery conduct. My congratulations to both officers and men. I
    sincerely regret the death of some and the wounding of others. Let
    no comfort be withheld from the latter that can be supplied them.

                                        (Sgd.) GENERAL A. R. CHAFFEE,
                                          Commanding Philippines.


                                                    CEBU, May 4, 1902.

    My sincere congratulations to Baldwin, and to the officers and men
    engaged yesterday. Also to yourself for your energetic and skillful
    conduct of the whole affair, from first to last. It was necessary to
    give the Moros a lesson, and it seems to have been done in such a
    manner that it will not have to be repeated.

                                        (Sgd.) BRIGADIER GENERAL WADE.




    Words at my command fail to convey an adequate expression of
    admiration for the gallantry and self-sacrifice which I saw
    displayed by the assaulting lines and investing cordon on the 2nd of
    May. The memory of this sanguinary action will be treasured by all
    participants and observers as long as they live. For the 27th
    Infantry and the 25th Battery of Field Artillery, Bayan will always
    be an inspiration. At this moment of exaltation and triumph do not
    forget the vanquished foe, whose persistent gallantry commanded the
    admiration of all who saw the magnificent defense of their
    stronghold. A race of men who have been able to make such a fight,
    and who have turned this wilderness into a garden, have many
    qualities which if guided right will make them and their posterity
    valuable citizens. None can doubt who have seen what they have
    accomplished without the aid which civilized people enjoy. Let no
    word or act be brought home to the American soldier that discredits
    or disparages these Moros. Let it be the unremitting effort of every
    officer and soldier to assist and elevate them, a sacred duty which
    is devolved upon the Army, an added burden which must be borne; and
    every American relies upon our troops to execute this sacred trust.
    So far there has been no act of wanton despoilment, injury or
    insult; let none ever be charged to an American soldier. Our flag is
    an emblem of freedom and honor, and it remains with you that it
    shall become such an emblem to the Moros, and ever so remain.

                                    (Sgd.) GEORGE W. DAVIS,
                                        Brigadier General, U. S. A.,
                                    Commanding Seventh Separate Brigade.


                                     HEADQUARTERS LAKE LANAO EXPEDITION,
                                CAMP VICARS (Mind.), P. I., May 7, 1902.


    The commanding officer appreciates the gallantry of his regiment.
    The encounter of the 19th, 20th, and 21st of April, ending in the
    capture of Fort Pualos, and on May 2d in the capture of nine
    fortified positions and the final overcoming of a most desperate
    enemy, in a thoroughly equipped fortification known as Fort
    Pandapatan, where our losses were far greater than those of an
    ordinary battle, is the initial event in the history of the
    Regiment, and has set a high standard of valor and courage which
    will never be lowered as long as the 27th Infantry exists. He also
    desires to express his high appreciation of the gallantry and
    devotion to duty of the 25th Battery of Field Artillery, and desires
    that they consider the foregoing remarks concerning his regiment
    apply equally to them.

                                        (Sgd.) F. D. BALDWIN,
                                    Colonel, Comd'g 27th Infantry.


Following is a copy of the admirable sermon preached by Chaplain George
D. Rice of the 27th Infantry, to the troops of the Lake Lanao
Expedition, on the Sunday following the battle of Bayan:

"I am going to speak to you to-day on courage, and how I saw it
displayed on May 2d, while you were engaged in open combat with the

"There was a time when I thought that true courage was the absence of
fear. But after witnessing the battle of this week I have seen that
which has caused me to think differently now, because you demonstrated
to me on that day that true courage is not the absence of fear, but the
conquest of it. Surely, yours was the highest order of courage.

"I recollect when 'E' Company came to re-enforce. I turned and watched
three men in skirmish line coming through the tall grass under heavy
fire from the fort. They knew they were coming into the thickest of the
fire, but the interval in that line was correct, every piece right, no
shouting or noise of any sort. Simply a perfect line of determined men
coming up to take part.

"'Tis more than courage, I thought. It is order, it is discipline and
coolness. And the wounded! Such courage! One man struck in the leg. We
would help him to the rear; but no, he could crawl and refused help.
Another hit in the right arm, and he laughed. Then a bullet struck his
left arm and he only smiled and said: 'They did not treat me like this
in the Panay campaign.'

"Lieut. Wagner was shot in the stomach and leg, and said to me: 'My only
regret is to leave the fort with my work unfinished.' I saw one soldier
whom I supposed was dead, I pulled a shelter-half over him; just then a
soldier came running by. An officer shouted, 'Where are you going?' 'My
ammunition is all gone,' replied the man. I saw the shelter-half move.
In a moment my supposed dead man was sitting upright. He removed his
belt containing a few cartridges and gave it to the soldier. I wish I
could remember this man, but there were twenty or thirty dead and
wounded near there, and they were doing brave and unexpected things like
this all the time.

"Brave Vicars fell, mortally wounded, leading 'F' Company. Lieut.
Jossman had hardly time to assume command when he, too, was shot,
leaving 'F' Company without an officer, yet his finely disciplined
company held its line perfectly. A bullet struck Captain Moore in the
head, and as he rolled into one of the ditches he was heard to say, 'Do
not retreat.' I saw a wounded soldier making a noble effort to get out
of the line of fire. Who would help him? 'I'm going to help that man if
I die for it,' I heard someone say, as the man repeatedly tottered and
fell, with a terrible wound in his side. I looked, and in a moment brave
Lieut. Bickham, tall and strong, was facing the numerous shot and shell
to save his man, and he succeeded. A bullet passed through Major Scott's
hat, grazed his head, and brought the Major to his knees, but this
officer remained on the line.

"During that awful fight I saw officers and men leave their positions in
front of those terrible portholes for two reasons only--either because
wounded or to get more ammunition.

"There were hundreds of instances of heroism occurring about that fort.
When Lieut. Fulmer called for volunteers to scale the walls, dozens of
men responded. Lieuts. Hawkins and Wilson performed noble service, and
were a credit to themselves and their regiment. Battalion Adjutant Drum,
with his face smeared with powder and the dust of battle, was as cool as
he was courageous. Captains Phillips, Rogers, Lyons and Hutton were with
their respective commands, encouraging their men and doing excellent

"It was surely a high order of courage that caused Sgt. Graves to swing
himself over the outer stockade of Binidayan when the fanatic Moro and
his knife could be seen above. It was courage of the most godly type
that took Corporal McGoveren down into the trenches to prop up the heads
of wounded men and give them water, while fighting, biting, dying Moros
occupied the same trenches. It was kingly courage on the part of Corpl.
Keeler, who, when shot in the leg, refused help, and said to me, 'I can
get to the rear alone, sir; help someone else.' It was courage of the
Christian soldier that inspired Sergt. Major Ingold and Sergt. McCarthy,
both wounded, to speak words of hope to their comrades.

"The courage displayed by the Moros was very different. The Moros were
caught in a trap. They knew it, and they fought the desperate fight of
their lives. You can drive a mouse into a corner like this, and he, too,
will turn. Bravery through necessity is not the true courage which comes
of Christ.

"Officers and soldiers of the 27th Infantry, I congratulate you to-day.
You have been tested and shown what you can do. You deserve credit for
what you did, and it is my earnest desire that the credit be equally
divided. When you write home to your people and tell them of the gallant
victory of the 27th Regiment, I want you to remember to speak of others
whose presence and deeds rendered it possible for you to accomplish what
you did. I want you to remember the officers and enlisted men of the
25th Battery. After the work of the battery was done, the members of the
battery came to the front with litters made of rifles, bamboo poles,
ponchos, and shelter-halves, with which they picked up many wounded and
took them to the surgeon. These men came to the line in squads, each
with litters, asking for wounded men, and several wounded men owe their
lives to these brave batterymen. They would go anywhere to get a wounded
man. They faced the thickest of the fire. A wounded man was pointed out
in a bunch of grass, and the bullets struck there so fast that one could
see the grass cut off. But these Artillerymen went there, and in a few
moments had the man safe in a litter. And all night these noble fellows
kept up the work. They took wounded from the jungles, the trenches and
the open, and carried them to a place of safety. Let us never forget the
work of the officers and men of the 25th Battery.

"Captain McNair, and Lieutenants Clark, Sunderland, and Deems of this
battery are worthy of our praise and thanks. Major Porter, surgeon,
tried to get on the line to treat a wounded man when a shot struck him
and brave Porter had to be taken to the rear. Just behind him I saw
hospital corps man Johnson also trying to reach a wounded man when
Johnson fell into one of the terrible and dark pitfalls of the enemy,
but got out later and did good work with the wounded. Young Dr. Allan
deserves credit for dressing numberless wounds of officers and men in
the trenches close to the fort and under fire that day. Drs. LeCompte
and Grabenstatter worked like heroes. Major Anderson, chief surgeon of
the expedition, made every preparation possible for the care of the
wounded officers and enlisted men. The entire medical corps remained up
all night attending to the wounded. They deserve great credit for their
work on that rainy, chilly and dark night under the fire of the enemy.

"And do not forget the men of the pack-train. Do you know that these men
brought a pack-train of ammunition to you over the slippery dangerous
trail that night?

"Captains Shuttleworth and Andrus, Lieutenants Peck and Fries and their
packers worked hard for you. They toiled constantly until they had every
wounded officer and man supplied with tentage, cots, blankets, and clean
clothes. Likewise, kindly remember the engineers and signal corps men.
Their work in this expedition will never be forgotten. Our commanding
officer, Colonel Baldwin, never rested that night. He was up and
planning for the morrow and for you. General Davis and his orderly and a
small guard rode many miles that night to the next camp below to arrange
for more troops to come up."

Thus spoke Chaplain Rice, equally dividing the credit of the victory,
and praising all for their part taken in the battle. But in all his
words there is one thing that he failed to do, which is characteristic
of this noble man. He failed to mention his own gallant services, of
which too much praise cannot be given. Almost from the beginning of
hostilities he was on the firing line, and up near the fort, speaking
words of cheer and comfort to the men in the trenches, and "God bless
the chaplain," are the words of every man of the Lake Lanao Expedition.

                                        JAMES EDGAR ALLEN.


It is night again, the battle of Bayan is now fought and indeed very
gloriously won. The last reports of the yet warm cannon have ceased to
echo through the distant hills and ravines. The khaki-clad warriors and
laurel-crowned victors, blood stained and weary from the struggle of the
recent battle, have sought a well earned and much needed repose. But
their sleep is not one of comfort or rest, for they have contentedly
lain down uncovered on the cold damp ground.

The shrill notes of the bugle call them from their dreamy slumbers at an
early hour and their first duty is to finish burying the dead and lend
what aid is possible to the sick and wounded, who were too sick and
exhausted at this time to be removed over the rugged trails to the
hospitals at Malabang.

To do this it was absolutely necessary to establish a camp, somewhere
adjacent to the centre of hostilities.

It was then that the post of Camp Vicars, now so widely known throughout
the nations of the earth, first had its origin. It was so named in honor
of the brave and ever dauntless soldier, Lieut. Vicars, who
unfortunately lost his life from a wound received, while heroically
engaged in the capture of the stronghold.

Everything is now placid, hostilities had ceased for a time at least,
the Moros driven as they were from their forts, and stockades, which had
been their sole protection for centuries past against all foreign
invasion, had sought shelter from the yet unconquered tribes wherever it
could be had, offering scarcely any resistance or hostilities to the
troops then at the camp.


General Adna R. Chaffee soon afterwards paid a visit to the recently
established camp, arriving with his escort May 10, 1902.

He was given a full account of the battles hitherto fought in that
region--Bayan included--from officers who themselves had been daring
participants in all the fights.

He immediately decided to send messages to the principal sultans and
dattos, who were then commanding tribes of savage bolomen along the most
impassable regions of the lake shores. The subject matter of his
messages were authoritative invitations to come into the camp and hold
a friendly conference with him.

He received favorable replies from many of them and two days later the
following named sultans and dattos decided to respond to his invitation:
Sultan of Genassi; Sultan Amai Tampugao of Tubaran; Sultan of Binidayan;
Datto Sa Bayang of Bayan; Datto Pedro of Uato; Datto Agar of Makadah;
Datto Agato of Madatlum; Datto Amay Mala-Mala of Taburan; Datto Amay
Magatano of Binidayan.

After they had reported it was thought that the greater part of the Moro
trouble had subsided. But this was not so--far from it. Their terms of
peace were, to say the least, short lived, for in the early part of the
month of July a detachment of men was brutally and unexpectedly
attacked by a band of bolomen on the trail. They were outnumbered by the
enemy, and consequently many of the Americans were wounded and some
three or four killed outright.


It was now very evident, judging from their recreant action, that the
natives had broken all treaties of peace and violated the laws of
friendship, so honorably laid down by the Americans.

This evidence of their recriminating and rebellious nature was doubly
substantiated, when on August 1st the Sultan of Bacolod, who until then
had remained peaceable, sent to Captain J. J. Pershing, commander of the
troops at Camp Vicars, the following insolent message, which is
translated below for the benefit of our readers:


    We ask you to return to the sea because you should not be here among
    civilized Moros, for you are not religious. If you stay here we will
    fight you this month, and in no event will be your friends, because
    you eat pork. We say to you that if you do not leave this region,
    come here and the Sultan will sacrifice you, and if you do not wish
    to come we will come to you and fight.

This was followed in a few days by another message to the commanding
officer, from the Sultan of Maciu, which was also of a defiant nature.

Circumstances now began to look rather grave at Camp Vicars. The
Americans had endeavored by every means in their power to prevent
further hostilities and trouble, but had failed in all their efforts to
bring about peace between themselves and the dark-skinned natives of the
trackless plains of Mindanao.


The Moros did not, however, make any advances until the night of August
12, when the most appalling and most ghastly murder that has ever been
witnessed took place about two hundred yards from the camp. The moon had
disappeared temporarily behind a dark cloud, the men had all retired for
the night, and everything seemed tranquil, when suddenly the camp was
aroused by the firing of shots in rapid succession by the members of the

The trumpeter was now calling every slumberer to arms, and in a few
moments the entire garrison was ready for action. The cries of the men
for help and the crashing of the bolos and spears could be heard in the
calmness of the dark stilly night. There was no time for idle thoughts,
no time to be wasted, for it was evident from their appealing cries that
the members of outpost No. 4 had been attacked by the blood-thirsty

Lieut. Bickham, commanding Company "F," proceeded in all haste to cross
the deep ravine and re-inforce the brave men, who, though outnumbered by
a large majority, were nevertheless fighting desperately for their

They arrived on the scene too late to prevent the massacre and death of
their fallen comrades, for the savages had by this time made well their
escape, after performing one of the most savage, most treacherous and
most blood-curdling deeds, that has ever hitherto been recorded in the
pages of bloody history.

Not content with killing their victims, they had cut them with their
bolos and long spears, until their bodies were beyond recognition. The
killed were Sergeant Foley and Pvt. Carey of Co. "G," 27th U. S.
Infantry, men whose gallantry, kindness, bravery, and social
disposition had won for them the admiration of not only the members of
their own company, but of everybody who knew them.

The wounded were Pvts. VanDorn and Christianson, also of Co. "G."


Perhaps never in the history of battles and wars did men fight with such
grim determination and fearlessness in the very face of death, as did
VanDorn and Christianson of Co. "G." Having fallen to the ground from
loss of blood and exhaustion, they still bravely clung with untiring
tenacity to their rifles and never once flinched or even thought of
retreating to a place of safety until the re-inforcements had arrived on
the bloody scene and the natives had vanished in the underbrush. An
investigation ensued which disclosed the fact that the attacking
parties belonged to the tribes of Datto Amay Grar.

Immediately afterwards what was to be the last ultimatum was issued to
the Moros of the Lake region, particularly to the Sultan of Bacolod and
the Sultan of Maciu demanding, rigidly, an explanation regarding the
recent attacks upon the Americans, as well as the immediate surrender of
the murderers in their tribes who were guilty of committing various acts
of injustice and cruelty since the historical battle of May 2.

Their replies were, as usual, of a defiant, insolent, and sullen nature.

The Americans, seeing that the restoration of peace in the island of
Mindanao could not be brought about by fair and honorable means,
decided to administer a lesson to them that they would not very readily


An expedition was organized on short notice, commanded by Capt. J. J.
Pershing, of the 15th Regiment of Cavalry, a man whose never failing
courage, valor, and ability as an officer and commander is unexcelled in
the American Army.

Every preparation was made for the coming events, and on September 17,
at midnight, what was known as Captain Pershing's expedition left Camp
Vicars under cover of darkness and proceeded through rugged trails to
Maciu's strongholds and neighboring principalities.

The expedition consisted of Companies "F," "G," "C," and "M" of the 27th
Infantry; Troop "L" 15th Regiment of Cavalry; and the 25th Battery of
Field Artillery.

On the morning of the 18th, as the first refulgent beams of "Old Sol"
had begun to illuminate the eastern horizon, the column had reached and
halted close by Fort Gauan, and ere another hour had elapsed the entire
fortification was surrounded by our troops.

The 25th Battery had halted directly in front of, and about 300 yards
from, the fort, while companies "M" and "F," "G" and "C" had formed
skirmish lines on the left and right of the fort. The command was given
for the first shot to be fired and everybody waited in silent expectancy
for the outcome. In an instant there was a flash, and "bang" went the
projectile with lightning velocity, hitting the outer breastworks of
the enclosure, from which rose vast clouds of smoke and fragments.

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.


The trails were, in a great many places, almost impassable, 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 mass 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.


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 impassable entrance,
decide to return again to Camp Vicars after failing to reach the much
talked of stronghold.


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

(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 grass-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 breasts
      Of their comrades, whom they perished to save.



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, impassable 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 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 pronounced 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 participant 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.


No time was lost until we were again encamped at the foot of the hill
about 100 yards from the lake shore. We immediately set to work to cook
our much needed supper, which was devoured greedily by every
dust-stained warrior of the command, regardless of the rules of
etiquette, after which we sought a "soft spot" on nature's expansive
bed, in which to lay our weary bones for the night.

But even a soldier's life has, despite its many seemingly insurmountable
obstacles, many a romantic charm, for who would not like to lay gently
upon the lap of earth with the soft side of a haversack for a pillow,
and the green foliage of the graceful bamboo trees for a canopy, and be
lulled to sleep by the wild rustling of the leaves wafted to and fro
before the gentle zephyrs. Everything remained at a peaceable standard
during the night with nothing to break the "chain of silence," save the
rippling of the waters in the lake below.

But even a sleep such as this, under such unusual and unaccommodating
circumstances, has an unwelcomed limit, and ours came with the first
streaks of grey dawn that broke through our foliaged canopied beds, and
again each soldier of American loyalty began to kindle his fire, with
which to cook his breakfast, for on such occasions as this each soldier
is his own cook, waiter, and dishwasher combined.

Soon after breakfast the real work of opening the trail began, rifles
were quickly supplanted by shovels, picks and axes, and in a very few
moments every soldier was equipped with tools, which they began to use
with unanimous energy and willingness during the greater part of the
day. And it was truly wonderful to see those brave soldiers working
untiringly, chopping heavy trees, digging and filling deep ravines,
leveling stout barricades, all working diligently for that one aim which
was to be the downfall of Maciu.

This work was kept up unceasingly until the passage or trail was opened
to the Maciu peninsula, a distance of two miles. It was the afternoon of
the second day, which was the 30th of September, before we finally
reached our destination, where there was an unexpected surprise in store
for us.


The natives, having known that our object was to cross through this
skirt of woodland, had awaited our arrival on the opposite side. And as
soon as the first file of the "advance guard" passed from the woods into
the open plain beyond, they met with a storm of bullets from the enemy.
They then moved forward into the open beyond as quickly as possible,
after which they unanimously returned the enemy's fire. The firing was
fast, and not without effect, for ere the gloom of night began to
descend upon us, many a native of Mindanao had sacrificed his
semi-barbarous life for his freedom.

It now began to grow dark, and fearing lest we should be overtaken by
the shadows of night in the dense woods, Captain Pershing gave orders to
the column to return to Bayubao for the night.

The trail, our most important obstruction, was now cleared and it was
with impatience and sleepless expectancy we awaited the first glimmer of
dawn. At last came the day when the true, fearless soldiers were to
march against Maciu's tribe. We shared together a hurried breakfast and
about 7 a.m. we advanced under the cool shadows of the interwoven
foliage, over many a rough boulder, until after two hours of rough
marching we arrived in the open space beyond the woods.

We had not marched over three-hundred yards of this new territory when
the natives began firing at the head of the column, but without effect,
for as soon as the smoke from their rifles could be seen, a volley was
fired at them by the soldiers. In a few moments we had gained the summit
of the hill, and here we halted to await the arrival of the Battery,
which was some distance in the rear, for not more than 400 yards in
front of the skirmish line was a fort from which shots were fired at
regular and frequent intervals. We did not return the fire this time,
knowing as we did that rifle fire was of no avail against a
fortification such as this proved itself to be.

The Battery soon arrived, and, in less time than it takes to relate it,
they were ready for action, being about 400 yards from the fort. As soon
as the first shot from the Artillery was fired the Moros began to
abandon the fort and were going in the direction of Maciu. The Infantry
had formed a semi-circular skirmish line around the stronghold and now,
the Battery having ceased firing, they began to move forward, closing
around the fort. At last they reached it and after scaling its high
walls, they found that the greater part of its inmates had fled, taking
their arms with them. The soldiers soon began to destroy the fort, and
in a very few moments it was reduced to ashes.

The column again took up the trail leading towards the lake front
destroying, as they went, everything in the shape of forts or
strongholds which they encountered, and from which they had been fired

Perhaps the reader may think or imagine our dealings with the Moros of
the Lake region to be of a cruel nature. To this I can only state that
having been amongst them since the origin of hostilities in the island
of Mindanao, up to the present date, and having become rather familiar
with their treachery and cruelties to American soldiers, wherever they
could get a chance, I think as far as my judgment is concerned that they
have been given a lesson which, to say the least, they richly deserve.

We captured some five or six minor fortifications during this day, and
towards evening we proceeded towards the lake front, to encamp for the
ensuing night, for it was an absolute necessity to procure water for the
men and horses, as quickly as possible.

That night was spent in thought, and in anticipation of the doings of
the approaching day, for it was the day designated for the capture of
the Maciu stronghold. We broke camp at an early hour and at 7 a.m. we
were again on the march, this time in a new direction. We had not been
marching over two hours when the word was quietly passed along the line
that the Maciu stronghold was in sight.

We now began to think more seriously as we were nearing our long looked
for destination, for well we knew that the Moros, having consolidated
here were determined to fight to the last.

We were, however, perfectly willing and ready to face Maciu and his
tribesmen in open combat, and meet whatever fate awaited us, without a

The column was ordered to deploy right and left in skirmish line, and
advance towards the fort, in order that they could more easily and
readily command a view of the outer surroundings of the enclosure, and
prevent, if possible, the escape of any of the blood-thirsty Moros whose
wild cries we could now hear within.

The Battery, having halted in front of the fort, was immediately brought
into action. Then suddenly a deafening noise was heard by all, the noise
which, though too familiar to many of us, was nevertheless to make even
a brave soldier tremble. The Artillery had opened up on the left. "Boom!
Boom!!" went the cannons, and a rain of solid shot and shrapnel was
hurled at the fort, and for a space of a moment nothing could be seen
but the flying fragments, and splinters of bamboo and debris hurled high
in the air.

The clouds of smoke soon cleared away and then something happened
unexpectedly, and which surprised every American soldier in that
vicinity. A thick, black volume of smoke arose in the direction of the
fortress, then a flash, and a deafening noise, as if the merciless waves
of the Pacific were beating against the granite ribbed cliffs.

They had replied to our firing. Boom! went the lantacas, followed by a
volley from the rifles, and then it behoved every true American to "lay
low" for a few moments.

It now looked as if our expectations were going to be fulfilled to the
last. There was a moment of silence and again the Battery opened up in
real earnest, and a more exciting scene could not be witnessed than to
see the havoc wrought on that fort by the guns. Bang! Bang!! went the
shots in rapid succession, and bamboo, rocks, and flying fragments were
hurled hundreds of feet in every direction, but still the Moros kept
firing and crying in wild religious ecstasy to their Mohammedan God.

Captain Pershing, who had been coolly riding about the fort to
Artillery, Infantry, and Cavalry, now decided to order two of the guns
brought to the right of the fort. This was done immediately and from
right and left they cut loose, determined to accomplish their aim.

But instead of this, they were surprised, when the Moros poured a
withering fire at them and crude lead balls and fragments of iron were
dropping in the midst of the troops.

It was now 2 p.m. and it looked as if Maciu's stronghold was impregnable
indeed, for we had been firing steadily since 9 a.m. and nothing of
importance had, as yet, been accomplished.

The Battery now moved towards the fort from both sides, until they were
within fifty yards of them, and it may be well to mention that it never
has been known in the history of battles where Artillery has engaged an
enemy at so short a range. They had now taken up their new positions and
began to fire at the fort from both sides, this time with great effect.
But still the Moros remained obstinate to the last singing wildly their
religious songs to their God "Allah" in the very midst of the struggle.

The day was now drawing to a close and yet the firing kept on. However,
at 4 p.m. the command "cease firing" was given, and with that ended that
day's struggle for us, but not for the natives, for they, thinking that
the Americans were about to abandon the fort at the approach of night,
still kept up the firing. But in this they were mistaken, for instead of
returning to the camp, the Americans still held their position, closing
in gradually on the fort, in order to prevent the escape of any of the
Moros during the ensuing night.

The commanding officer, seeing that they were determined to hold out
until the bitter end, now issued orders for the construction of scaling
ladders with which to gain admittance to the fort. Work was immediately
begun on them but they were destined never to be used for that purpose
at least, for about midnight the Moros, finding that we were still
determined to hold our positions, decided to attempt an escape from the

The night was unusually dark, and the clouds were hanging low over the
lake, rendering it almost impossible to see or distinguish an object at
a greater distance than fifty feet. The Americans had anticipated their
escape, and consequently were in constant readiness at all times during
the night. Then suddenly a shot was heard which had been fired by some
vigilant sentinel on guard, then another, and another.

It now became evident that they had charged the lines and were making a
dash for liberty. In an instant every soldier was on the alert. They
kept on coming, however, seemingly regardless of death or the rain of
bullets. But few of them escaped or even lived to tell the tale, for as
fast as they left the fort they were being shot down by a constant
stream of fire from the Infantry, and when the morning dawned it was
found that the Sultan of Maciu, with many another leader and tribesman,
had fallen, never to breathe again.

During the struggle, the Sultan Cabugatan of Maciu, seeing that his
efforts to suppress the Americans were in vain, rushed into camp, bolo
in hand, in wild, frenzied excitement, determined to slay in cold blood
everybody wearing an American uniform. But his savage intentions were
brought to a speedy termination by the troops, who, on seeing him
approach them, rushed towards him and overpowered him. However, he
unfortunately succeeded in seriously wounding one of the best and
bravest soldiers in the command, Private Richard G. Macbeth, of Co. "F"
27th U. S. Infantry, whose bravery in time of danger had made him an
unanimous favorite among his comrades. Another victim of this savage
Sultan was Pvt. James Nolan, Jr., of Co. "G" 27th U. S. Infantry, who,
having been detailed as a scout, had fearlessly advanced upon one of the
forts in order to secure, if possible, some information regarding their
position and strength. He had reached the outer entrance when he met a
storm of bullets from within, one of them hitting him in the right eye,
inflicting a wound from which he suffered great pain.

But their sufferings were doubly avenged, for many a hitherto
unconquerable Moro has fallen upon the green and now deserted
territories of the Sultan of Maciu, with the bones of his mortal
composition bleaching on the green sward, under the tropical sun of his
native skies.

    "Where once in triumph on his trackless plains
    The haughty Moro Sultan loved to reign,
    With shacks proportioned to his native sky,
    Strength in his arm, and lightning in his eye,
    He roamed with uncovered feet, his sun-illumined zone.
    The dirk, the bolo, and the spear his own;
    Or lead the combat wild without a plan
    An artless savage, but a fearless man.
    But his 'sun' of triumph, has set to rise no more
    O'er the quiet waters of Lake Lanao's shores."

It is now January 1, 1903, and the Moro campaign is drawn to a
successful and favorable close, and "Old Glory" of fair "Columbia" is
now unfurled to the gentle touch of the oriental zephyrs on the
hill-tops of Mindanao, for all time to come.

The Trumpeter's "Last Call" at Fort Maciu.

(By John J. Reidy.)

    Bleeding, sore, and wounded, and by my foes surrounded,
      The Trumpet once I sounded, no longer can be heard,
    For it lies dust-stained and gory, and by the dust corroding,
      Where once I blew melodious that call that cowards dread.

    No longer in the battles will I call the boys to rally
      Through dark ravines or valleys, for freedom and for right,
    For my life's blood fast is flowing, and I am left alone
      To die and to bemoan my fate at Maciu's fight.

    "Stay, Comrade, do not leave me alone upon the field
      Where the savage Moros wield their bolos and their spears,
    For I may yet survive to see Maciu's tribe--
      Like savage cowards--beat a long retreat."

    Again I see in fancy the scenes in dear old Boston,
      Where in childhood days I wondered free from care and strife;
    The unforgotten homestead, surrounded by the foliage.
      Where oft my welcomed footsteps have echoed through the night.

    My last hour is approaching: death's dismal cloud is o'er me;
      But being a true-blue soldier, I murmur not to die.
    To-morrow's sun shall find me far from the skirmish line--
      So to comrades left behind, I bid a long Good-bye.


It is with feelings of pride and national patriotism we have watched
through many a stormy year the steady growth and accomplishments of our
immortal Army, whose splendid display of true valor and military
discipline has attracted the attention and well-deserved admiration of
all nations through the universe, whether exhibited on the expansive
parade ground, under the balmy, azure blue skies of our Western
Continent, of perpetual freedom, or on the far away "Eastern Isles,"
under the warm rays of the tropical sun, where many a true and
stout-hearted son of "Fair Columbia" has sacrificed his young life for
his country's cause. And as we look back to the long misty vale of
tumbled years, in silent perusal and contemplation of the pages of our
nation's history, we cannot help being for the moment awestruck, as we
read from those cherished pages of the many bloody battles and more
glorious victories, which have been won at all times, adown the ages,
since first the cold, haughty invader sought to enter and deprive us of
that freedom for which so many of our revered ancestors so nobly fought
and died. But although those brave warriors of olden days have all
passed away, and the regiments, by whose gallantry our "Stars and
Stripes" was borne to victory, are now known to us only by name, yet we
are more than proud to be able to acknowledge to the world, that they
have been supplanted by regiments as noteworthy as ever faced in combat
a mortal foe. And among them, and perhaps the most illustrious of them
all, is the gallant 27th Infantry, whose distinguished achievements
since its organization at Plattsburg, New York, and Fort McFerson, Ga.,
in the early part of the year 1901, are unexcelled and unequalled by any
regiment that has been ordered forth in defence of our country and flag.

In December 1901, the 27th Regiment of U. S. Infantry was ordered from
Plattsburg Barracks, N. Y., to proceed with all haste to Manila, P. I.,
and thence to the Island of Mindanao, to aid in suppressing and
overthrowing the semi-civilized savages, whose defiant, inhuman, and
brutal treatment of the American soldiers was in every sense appalling.

They arrived in Manila on February 3, 1902, and after encamping there
for a few days, proceeded to the very centre of hostilities, which was
at that time in the Island of Mindanao.

And since then the broad road to civilization has been opened to the
hitherto savage Moro tribes, and chiefly by the brave officers and men
of the 27th Regiment.

And in conclusion we can only say that the memories of the true, loyal,
and ever dauntless heroes of this new, though historical regiment, who
gave and sacrificed their lives in the defence of, and for the glory of,
their country, shall be indelibly printed on the tablets of our memories
adown the annals of time.

                                        JOHN J. REIDY.


Under the Army Reorganization Bill, passed in 1900, provision was made
for an increase in the number of Field Batteries, three of which were to
be equipped entirely with mountain guns. These were to be known as the
14th, 25th, and 28th Batteries of Field Artillery. Two of these
Batteries were to be organized in the Philippine Islands. These were the
14th and 25th, and were organized by equally dividing the number of
members in what was formerly known as Light Battery "C" of the 7th

The two Batteries were given their authorized strength of 120 men each
by transferring the additional number of men required from the Coast

They were not organized, however, until Sept. 23, 1901. About one month
later they were fully equipped as "Mountain Batteries," and on April 1,
1902, the 25th Battery, under command of Captain W. S. McNair, was
ordered to the Island of Mindanao, where trouble with the Moros had long
been expected.

The 25th Battery of Field Artillery is equipped with four guns, which
are known as the Vickers-Maxim 75 mm. quick firing mountain guns.

This calibre, 75 mm., or 2.9 inches, will be seen to be a very little
less than that of the field gun in use in our service viz., 3.2 inches,
but the power of this gun is much less than that of the field gun, for
the following reasons:

It is necessary to make a carriage and gun whose parts shall all be
within suitable limits of weight for packing on mules. This limit,
placed on the weight, limits the strength that can be obtained, and also
the length of the gun itself. Therefore the amount of powder used in
these guns is much less than the amount used in the field guns, and the
velocity of the shot when it leaves the gun is much less (about
one-half) than it is for the field gun. The Vickers-Maxim gun is mounted
in a cradle which has on either side a cylinder of oil, through which
the gun draws a plunger in recoiling, and by this device the force of
the recoil is taken up gradually and the carriage does not run back
several feet as it would otherwise do, so that it is at once ready to
load and fire again after each discharge.

The loading of the piece is very simple. The gunner grasps a lever which
he pulls around to the right, thereby bringing out the breech-block and
withdrawing the empty cartridge shell last fired. The new round is
pushed into the gun, the gunner moves the lever in the opposite
direction, or to his left, and the gun is ready to fire.

When the gun is to be moved it is taken in parts for packing as follows:
The gun itself, the cradle, the trail, and the wheels and axle, each of
which is a load for one mule.

The men get expert at this maneuver, and pack up the guns at command in
a period of a little less than one minute, while they unpack and set up
the gun ready for action with greater speed, the record for the 25th
Battery being 20 seconds.

This gun is provided with various kinds of projectiles, the ones usually
carried being shell, shrapnel and cannister, and are known as Krupp
prepared ammunition, which can be used in the same manner as an ordinary
rifle cartridge. The shrapnel for this, as well as all field guns, is
the projectile mainly depended upon, and like all field guns, the main
work for them is to fire at the personnel of the enemy.

It is a common error amongst military men and others not well versed in
the use of Artillery, to suppose that a field gun is intended for the
purpose of making breaches in walls.

The fallacy of this idea can be seen at once by making an examination of
the projectiles, which will be found to contain only the quantity of
powder which you could hold in the palm of your hand. The shells contain
10 ounces, the shrapnel 3, the cannister a little more than 2. Thus it
may be readily seen that the guns used by the 25th Battery are not such
destructive engines of war after all, but to those who would doubt their
effectiveness, we should simply say: "Go and witness them in action."

Enough has been said to give the reader a correct idea of what a
"Mountain Battery" is, with the history of what is known as the 25th
Battery of Field Artillery, and thereby the object of the writer has
been accomplished.

                                        JAMES EDGAR ALLEN.


(Dedicated to Captain W. S. McNair and command.)

    The stout-hearted warriors who have fallen in battle
      In defence of their country, its freedom to save,
    Whose memory shall live and will ne'er be forgotten
      Though long have they mouldered to dust in their graves,

    Could they but look back from their graves of cold slumber,
      Where in silence they are sleeping long ages away,
    And see their successors, brave, bold, and undaunted,
      Who have fought the proud Moros on Mindanao's plains.

    For foremost in the ranks of victorious honor,
      Are the heroes who founded the illustrious name
    Of the 25th Battery, and one may well ponder,
      On the name of its Commander, with world renown fame.

    He has led with envious credit and valor,
      Over many mountain trails, through swamp and ravines,
    That same immortal "Battery," whose presence in battle
      Made the wild Moros tremble, like cowards in fear.

    The walls of Pandapatan's impregnable fortress,
      Which withstood all assaults from invaders of old,
    Went down like the leaves in a storm.
      When "Fire!" was his order, brave and bold.

    Even famed Bayan forts were shaken,
      And crumbled to pieces, before him that day,
    When he sent the projectiles in rapid succession
      Against those giant walls, on the second of May.

    Forts Maciu and Butig, whose histories were warlike,
      By Lake Lanao's still waters defiantly did stand,
    Until this brave Commander and his khaki-clad heroes
      Blew them to fragments, all over the land.

    In history's pages his name is recorded,
      To be linked with the memory of the true and the brave,
    Who for the honor and freedom of their glorious country,
      Have fallen to slumber in numberless graves.

    Nor must we forget the brave men he commanded,
      Whose fearlessness, heroism, and unequaled might,
    Is fresh in the memory of all Dattos and Sultans,
      And the dark-colored tribesmen of Mindanao's rugged heights.

    For to them is attributed our success in battles,
      That were fought with such glory and national pride,
    In Mindanao's valleys and on forest-covered mountains,
      Where countless Moro warriors fought and died.

                                        JAMES EDGAR ALLEN.

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