The troops were given five days in which to rest and recuperate, for the
reader can easily imagine the hardships, privations, and sufferings
which are undergone by soldiers while on the march, especially where
there are no roads of any description, save the narrow, rugged, and, in
many places, impassable trails, which are met with all through the
island of Mindanao.
Therefore it was practically necessary that, after six days of
continual marching through the thick brush of this island, they should
be given ample time in which to attain that standard of physique which
is the most characteristic mark of the American soldier.
It was the morning of the 28th of September, the bright sun had risen
gorgeously over the white tented plain, the azure blue sky was now
clear, save a few clouds that still rested lazily on the hill-tops, and
all nature's splendors and attractions were everywhere to be seen.
To the inexperienced observer it would seem that the Moros and Americans
were living together in happy unison with each other in this, the most
remote of American garrisons. But this was not so, for ere another hour
had dragged itself lazily into the dim, misty past, the sons of fair
Columbia were in complete readiness to march from the camp over many a
weary mile to measure the cold steel with the defiant, haughty, and
semi-savage Sultan of Maciu, and proud to state, under command of
Captain John J. Pershing, to whom is justly attributed the success, the
achievements, and all conquering abilities of the brave soldiers under
his command at Camp Vicars.