as uninhabited, save
by the ghosts of other days, remaining but a grim relic of the time
when Moro pirates swept terror to the hearts of all coast villages
south of Luzon. It was within those historic walls that the Signal
Corps decided to set up the cable-hut, and early the next morning
two parties were sent ashore, one to establish an office in the town,
the other to superintend the digging of a trench by native prisoners,
just outside the walls of the old fort.

Among these distinguished gentlemen was a so-called colonel of the
_insurrecto_ army who had been captured a short time before. The
colonel posed as an aristocrat, whose hands had never been soiled
by labour, and when his companions in confinement were turned out
to assist in making way for liberty by means of the cable trench,
he protested vigorously at the indignity, and averred that he was not
seeking the opportunity of reimbursing the American government with
pick and shovel for his enforced subsistence. He reiterated so often
he was an officer and a gentleman, that finally the American major
in command at Misamis mildly replied that self-appointed colonels in
self-appointed armies were not recognized by any government, and as
for his gentility, if it were the genuine article and not a veneer
like his title, it would certainly stand the strain of a little
honest labour. The arguments were cogent, and the hand of the law
more irresistible still, so the high ranking officer took his turn
in the trench with the other prisoners.

In the late afternoon we women went ashore and created even more of
a sensation than we had on the island of Negros. We were literally
mobbed by natives anxious for a glimpse of the first American
women ever seen in that part of Mindanao, and we walked up to the
Headquarters Building with a chattering, crowding, admiring horde
at our heels. There the officers held an informal reception in our
honour, to which all the socially possible of Misamis were invited,
and the native band serenaded us with such choice selections as "A
Hot Time," and "After the Ball," decidedly off the key, to be sure,
but with the best intentions in the world.

The Misamis women were charmed with their white sisters, and could
no more conceal their artless delight than so many children. They
laughed and giggled nervously. They gesticulated as they talked,
and shrugged their pretty shoulders with a grace taught them by our
Spanish predecessors. They patted