An American army officer told me the fights with the Moros generally occurred on the trails among the hills; as the foliage is so thick, it is easy for the natives to conceal themselves on either side, sometimes in ditches, and give the Americans a surprise. For this reason, a drill was found necessary for single file fighting. Every other soldier was taught to respond to the order of one and two. When an attack was made, the "ones" shot to the right, the "twos" to the left. This proved successful. The same officer said the Moros would often use decoys to lead the troops astray. Seeing fresh tracks, they would hasten on in pursuit, and be led away from their supplies, while their enemy would be left behind to attack them in the rear. Walking on the mountain trails was very hard on the soldiers' shoes, and on one of these expeditions their boots gave out, so they were obliged to make soles for their shoes out of boxes and tie them on with leather straps. Up, up we drove; the clatter of the cavalry could be heard in front and behind, and the dougherty, how it did rattle! It was a pretty sight to see the party traveling through the tropical forests and winding across the green uplands, with their pennons and the Secretary's red flag (which made a great impression on the natives, we heard), and the wagons rumbling along, with a rearguard behind and the scouts in the distance. John, the coloured man, snapped his whip, and the mules trotted along, and the air became cooler, and we drove over a plain where real mountain rice was planted. Occasionally a Moro shack could be seen in the distance. At an outpost, where we stopped to change mules, we saw a beautiful waterfall, perhaps the loveliest that I had ever seen, called Santa Maria Cristina. From a greater height than Niagara it plunged down into a deep valley of giant trees. It reminded me of a superb waterfall near Seattle. At last we reached Camp Keithley, on the mountain plain, a forlorn lot of unpainted houses with tin roofs and piazzas, but beautifully situated, like some station in the Himalayas. There was splendid mountain scenery disappearing into the distances, and views of the ocean far away, and, on the other side, the great lake of Lanao, an inland sea more than two thousand feet above the ocean, with imposing ranges about. This lake, which has always been the center of Moro life, is surrounded by native villages, and the military post is important and much liked by the officers quartered there. The Secretary, my husband and I were billeted on Major Beacom, the commanding officer--Mrs. Dickinson had not felt quite equal to the trip. The Major's house was very attractive, and his little German housekeeper gave us excellent food and made the orderlies fly about for our comfort.