Chapter II: Part 2

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.

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 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 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, 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 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 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.

ENCAMPED FOR THE NIGHT.

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.

FIRED UPON.

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 upon.

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 murmur.

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 enclosure.

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.

THE 27TH INFANTRY.

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.

THE 25TH BATTERY OF FIELD ARTILLERY.

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 Artillery.

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

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.

"THE MOUNTAIN BATTERY."

(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.