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.

DESTRUCTION OF BINIDAYAN.

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.

THE CHARGE.

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 Binidayan.

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

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 worst.

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 flags.

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 REAL BATTLE BEGINS.

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.

EXCEPTIONAL COURAGE.

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 walls.

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 hill.

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.

DEFIANT TO THE LAST.

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