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.

THE WALLS TREMBLE.

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.

THE ENEMY'S COLORS FALL.

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 impossible.

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.

SUFFERINGS OF THE WOUNDED.

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.

THE DEFIANT SULTAN'S DOWNFALL.

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.

A GRUESOME SIGHT.

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.

REWARDS.

(PART SECOND.)

o 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