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."