Spell of the Hawaiian Islands and the Philippines — 19-The Philippines, Ch.9 The Moros pt 2

We had two more hours of horseback riding--we hoped to see a boar hunt, but owing to some misunderstanding, it did not come off.

Then, after a stand-up luncheon at Major Brown's, we started down the trail again in a dougherty.

[Illustration: BAGOBO MAN WITH POINTED TEETH.

] It was a beautiful drive through this forest on the island of Mindanao.

We first crossed open grassy uplands, then dipped down through the great glades of the most tropical forest I have ever seen, with towering hard woods and tree ferns, with bamboos and clinging air plants and orchids, and there was mystery and wonder about the giant growths.

The trees seemed taller than the elms of New England or the cedars of Oregon.

They dripped with huge-leaved, clinging vines, which grew higgledy-piggledy, covering everything.

The grass, too, with waving purple tassels, grew higher than a man's head, twice as high as the pigmy brown people who have their houses in these trees.

The tree-dwellers just referred to are the Manobos and the Bagobos with pointed teeth--for Mindanao is not entirely inhabited by Moros; there are supposed to be no less than twenty-four tribes on this island alone.

They build in trees, to escape the spear thrusts of their neighbours through the bamboo floors.

We were to make their acquaintance later.

A drenching rain came on that afternoon, through which the escort jogged along, while we clung in our dougherties, nearly shaken to pieces, and reached Malabang, on the other side of the island, as much fatigued as if we had been on horseback all the way.

The military post here was most attractive, with the prettiest of nipa houses for the officers, and the parade lined with shading palms, and flower-bordered walks--a charming station.

We were quartered with Lieutenant Barry and his wife, a delightful young couple, in their thatched house, and dined with Major Sargent, the commanding officer, who has written some good books on military topics.

The Celebes Sea was calm and lovely when we left Malabang.

We passed along the coast of Mindanao toward a long lowland that lay between the high mountains of the island.

This was the plain of the Cotobato, a great river which overflows its banks annually like the Nile and has formed a fertile valley that could be turned to good account.

The mouth of the river is shallow, so that we were transferred to a stern-wheel boat that was waiting, and began to work our way up, against the rapid current, past low, uninteresting banks that were proving rather monotonous, when suddenly we turned a point and saw the town of Cotobato.

The Moros and the other tribes were in their full splendour here.

Soon, down this tropical river, where crocodiles dozed and monkeys chattered and paroquets shrieked, there came a flotilla from the Arabian Nights, manned by galley slaves.

On the masts and poles of one of the barges floated banners, and under the canopy of green sat a real Princess.

Some of the boats were only dugouts with outriggers, but they were decorated, too, and all the tribes were dressed in silks and velvets of the brightest colours.

There was great excitement and much cheering as we approached the landing stage, and the troops stood at attention, while the rest of the shore was alive with the throng of natives in all the colours of the rainbow.

The Secretary inspected the troops, and we saw for the first time the Moro constabulary, wearing turbans and sashes, but with bare legs; nevertheless, they looked very dashing.

Indeed, the Moros were so different in character and appearance from any people we had seen before that they might as well have come down from the stars.

The Secretary was taken to meet the datos, as they stood in line beneath the great trees, with the motley crowds of retainers behind them, in such a medley of colours as I had never imagined before.

The sunlight filtered through the trees upon the barbaric costumes, while the gaily dressed women stood behind the men and peered over them.

The brown men looked dignified and very self-respecting, too, although the scene was like the setting of a comic opera, where the imagination had been allowed to run riot.

There we saw Dato Piang and Gimbungen, a very fat dato--what a delightful bug-a-boo name--also Ynock, whose ear had been cut off in a fight, we were told; but strange as it may seem, he said he had clapped it onto his face again and tied it on, and it had grown there.

So it hung attached somewhere down on his cheek, and gave him a very peculiar appearance.

When the Moros conquered the Filipinos, this dato had the captured women stripped and made to walk before him, and then took them off to the mountains.

When he was taken prisoner later by the Filipinos, he was compelled to work in chains in the streets.

Under a canopy the Princess received us, a native woman whose descent was traced for many hundreds of years--said to be a pure Moro, although she looked rather Chinese--and who was recognized as of the highest social superiority, but had little political power.

She herself was draped in varied colours, while her chamberlain wore a brocade coat of crimson and gold cloth.

Behind her stood her maids bearing the gold betel-nut boxes and chow trays and umbrellas of her rank.

Our luncheon with the commanding officer, Major Heiberg, and his wife, was eaten in delightful little kiosks of nipa and bamboo, which had been built in a small palm grove.

The dancing girls of the Princess, who had long nails protected by silver covers, gave us a performance afterward.

Curiously enough, their dance was very Japanese in character.

Then some Manobos, picturesque in short, skin-tight trousers and bolero jackets, with bags and boxes beautifully worked in bright beads, danced a graceful, monotonous step.

The women have a swaying, snake-like dance with waving arms and jingling of bracelets and "hiplets," if I may be allowed to coin the word.

At last, after so many adventures, we found ourselves again on board the _Rizal_.

An enchanting spot on this boat was a projection over the bow, on which one could sit curled up high above the water.

On this perch we felt like the red-winged sea gulls that circled far above us.

We passed over a sea of polished jade, which at night shone with phosphorescence like gleaming silver.

Next morning, August 23d, we approached Zamboanga.

Five American ships, all decorated, came steaming out to meet us and fell in behind in order, making a lovely sight on the bright, smooth seas.

As we neared the town, we suddenly saw a large flotilla of native boats, with tom-toms beating and thousands of flags fluttering--such a gay sight!

Banners of all shapes, streaming and flapping and waving, and such colours and combinations of colours--stripes of green and purple and orange in designs of lemon and red and magenta, serpentine flags and square ones, hung in all sorts of ways, and brightly coloured canopies under which sat the sultans, and green umbrellas and yellow and--bang!

off went their small lantankas, tiny native-made cannon--a most exciting reception!

We landed under triumphal arches and were driven in state carriages through lines of school children, who sang and threw us flowers from old Spanish gardens.

The post was really beautiful, for it had much left from old Spanish times, and what had been done over had been done with taste.

The green parade had a terraced canal passing through it, and avenues of palm; the officers' quarters, smothered in flowering plants and fronting out over the glittering blue sea, were large and airy and finer than any we had seen before.

It is considered one of the best posts in the Philippines, and seemed cool and pleasant.

[Illustration: BAGOBOS WITH MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS.

] There was the usual procession--first, the troops of the garrison and the constabulary, then thousands of visiting Moros, Bagobos and Manobos, of every colour of skin and clothes, many of them whooping and leaping, and then a tiresome following of hundreds of Filipinos, who had joined in to make a political demonstration.

It is said the Filipinos did not wish the Moros to take part in the procession.

Exciting times followed at the meeting after this parade, where both Filipino and Moro speakers were heard.

Said a Filipino, addressing the Secretary: "You have just visited our province and have just learned its conditions; at such places in it through which you have passed you must have seen quite a number of Moros, but I believe that a separation ...

could very well be established, to the end that both people, the Christian Filipino and the Filipino Moro, might have the government that corresponds respectively to each of them, for it is a very regrettable thing that on account of the presence of the latter we Christians should be unable to enjoy the liberties that reason and right would grant us....

"I think it is my duty to advise you that the Moros who filed past the grandstand were brought from remote and distant places with the exclusive purpose of giving greater éclat to your reception.

Moreover, it must be borne in mind always, in dealing with the affairs of this province, that the Moros have no political influence, possess no property, nor help pay the expense of the government."

Then Dato Mandi spoke: "I am here, El Raja Mura Mandi, representing the Moros.

As I look about, I see far more Moros than the Filipino contingent, and if that is so, that is the reason it is called the Moro Province.

(Tremendous applause from the Moros.

) "When first the Americans came here, from the very beginning, whatever they asked me to do I did.

I was loyal to them ever.

Now I have heard a rumour that we Moros are in the hands of the Filipinos....

"If the American Government does not want the Moro Province any more they should give it back to us.

It is a Moro province.

It belongs to us."

(Tremendous applause by the Moros.

) Dato Sacaluran threw down the Moro challenge: "I am an old man.

I do not want any more trouble.

But if it should come to that, that we shall be given over to the Filipinos, I still would fight."

(Applause.

) But Hadji Nangnui, who spoke of himself as "a Samal," made the clearest statement of the Moro position: "The Secretary of War must look the matter in the face.

We are a different race; we have a different religion; we are Mohammedans.

And if we should be given over to the Filipinos, how much more would they treat us badly, than they treated even the Spanish badly who were their own mothers and their own fathers in generations?

How did they treat them?

Think about it!

Think twice!

We far prefer to be in the hands of the Americans, who are father and mother to us now, than to be turned over to another people."

(Applause.

) In the evening we dined delightfully at the Pershings'.

After dinner, the Moros danced in the garden the spear and shield dance, and the Bagobo women gave the scarf dance.

The Bagobos still offer human sacrifices.

Their caps, if tied in a certain way, show how many men they have killed.

Their dress is made of cloth which they weave from carefully selected and dyed fibers of Manila hemp, and it is treated with wax in such a way as to make it very smooth and durable.

In the glow of the red light from Chino Charlie's famous lanterns, their picturesque costumes, gleaming with bead work, added much to the brilliancy of the scene.

They love music and make some large stringed instruments.

They also play the flute from the nose, with one nostril stopped up, like the Hawaiians.

The dancing under the palms in the garden, by the rippling seas, where the moonlight flooded down radiantly, was quite like a strange dream.

At this dinner I was told the story given by Dean Worcester by which the Moros explain why they do not eat pork: "Mahamoud had a grandson and a granddaughter....

As he was king of the world, Christ came to his house to visit him.

Mahamoud, jealous of him, told him to prove his power by 'divining' what he had in a certain room, where, in fact, were his grandchildren.

Christ replied that he had no wish to prove his power, and would not 'divine.'

Mahamoud then vowed that if he did not answer correctly, he should pay for it with his life.

Christ responded, 'You have two animals in there, different from anything else in the world.'

Mahamoud replied, 'No, you are wrong, and I will now kill you.'

Christ said, 'Look first, and see for yourself.'

Mahamoud opened the door, and out rushed two hogs, into which Christ had changed his grandchildren."

[Illustration: BAGOBO WITH NOSE FLUTE.

] Some verses recited at General Pershing's dinner showed the feeling of army officers about their life in the Philippines.

A stanza runs: "What is it makes us fret so hard In this benighted land?

It isn't lack of courage And it isn't lack of 'sand.'

It isn't fear of Moros Or Bagobos from the hills-- It's the many great discomforts And the many, many ills."

It is interesting to read in a recent number of the Manila _Times_ that Zamboanga, which seemed so like a picture handed down from Spanish days, has absorbed a good share of American progressiveness and is said to stand in a class by itself among Philippine towns.

Waterworks and a hydro-electric plant are under construction, the water for which is to be brought along the mountainside, a part of the way through tunnels.

To dig these, "experienced Igorot tunnel makers from Benguet were imported," who are getting along amicably with the Moros.

At Jolo, or Sulu, we were again greeted by a Moro fleet and some diving girls and boys.

This seemed the culmination of the picturesque in our trip.

The mountains of the island are not high but rather cone-shaped, and as we approached the town we could see behind it the forested slopes of steep Bud Dajo, where the great fight took place in 1906 and many Moros were killed in the crater top of the volcano, to which they had retreated, and from which they challenged and threatened the American forces.

It is an island of fierce, piratical Moros, and even the Americans had not tried to do much there.

It was dangerous to go outside the little walled town at all, and all the natives coming in were searched for their weapons, which were taken away at the gates.

Only a few months before, a fanatic Moro tried to attack the gate guard, but fortunately was killed before fatally injuring any one.

[Illustration: MORO BOATS.

] The walled town is a most artistic little Spanish place, built once upon a time by the exiled Spanish Governor Asturia, who made it a gem of a town, with small balustraded plazas and a hanging-garden sea wall, and a miniature wall with battlements and gates, and streets set out with shading trees.

The pretty Officers' Club and quarters overhung the wall.

The gates of the town are closed at night, and all the natives must leave for their houses outside before the "retreat," but there is a native market and a town built out on piles over the water, which we visited.

We drove out to a plain, palm-fringed and backed by mountains, that overlooked the sea, where there was a review of the cavalry and a large company of mounted Moros, who carried many American flags among their waving banners.

Within the walls, in a grandstand in the little plaza, where the natives thronged, there was a meeting between the Secretary and the chief datos; and the Hadji, who had been Vizier of the Sultan, made a wise speech, full of promise of loyalty.

Our Governor had won the good will of the people about him and the Hadji said that when his people were certain of our good intentions they would come in willingly and be loyal--but, for so many years, they had been misled by previous rulers.

We amused ourselves by going to Chino Charlie's and buying lanterns, and lunched at the Officers' Club.

Afterward we went out on the pier inhabited by the Chinese and looked for pearls--Jolo pearls are famous--but we saw none of real value.

We watched the Chinamen drying copra, and went through their market, where water slugs were for sale.

Finally, we sailed across the bay.

Our visit to the Moros was full of colour to the end, for the sun was setting gorgeously as we put out to sea.

CHAPTER X