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 impassable 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.