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.