THE MOROS
On reaching Mindanao, the land of the Moros, we went ashore at Camp
Overton, where we were met by army officers and dougherties drawn by
teams of six mules. After a hand-shake at the commanding officer's home,
we were furnished with a big escort of cavalry and started climbing up,
up, among the hills. Soldiers were hidden in the tall grass all along
the way to make sure that nothing would happen to "the great White
Sultan with the big Red Flag," as the Moros called the Secretary. Army
men could not go out alone, even in those days, for they were attacked
by bands and killed, principally to get their weapons, which the Moros
were very keen to possess. The _datos_, the head men of the Moro tribes,
were allowed to have guns, but none of the other natives. A storm came
up, however, not long ago on Lake Lanao, at Camp Keithley, and for fear
that his boat would upset, General Wood had a great deal of ammunition
thrown overboard, which, it was discovered, was subsequently fished up
by the natives.
The Moros are Mohammedan Malays. They came in their boats from islands
further south, and in 1380 were converted to Islam by an Arab wise man,
Makadum,[26] who made his way to Sulu and Mindanao.
One hears then of Raja Baginda, who came from Sumatra in 1450; his
daughter married Abu Bahr, the law giver, who established the Mohammedan
Church and, after his father-in-law's death, became sultan and founded a
dynasty. In the old days the Moros were all pirates and slave traders.
Both Spanish and American authorities have tried to suppress slavery,
but it still exists. It is said a woman will bring about forty pesos.
A dato's slaves to-day are well treated, and form part of the family. A
slave, moreover, has a chance to rise in the social scale, for Piang,
whom we met, was once a slave, but became a powerful chief and a friend
of the Americans.
The ruler of all the Moros is the Sultan of Sulu, whom we did not see
because he was in Europe at the time we were in the Islands. It is said
that a few years ago he would sometimes appear in the market on the
back of a slave, with an umbrella held over his head. Here he would stay
while the people kissed his hands and feet. He may have changed his
customs since his trip.
Dampier, who visited the northern islands of the Philippines, has also
left us notes of his stay on Mindanao, which are still true in the main.
He says:
"The island of Mindanao is divided into small states, governed by
hostile sultans, the governor of Mindanao being the most powerful. The
city of Mindanao stood on the banks of the river, about two miles from
the sea. It was about a mile in length, and winded with the curve of the
river. The houses were built on posts from fourteen to twenty feet high,
and in the rainy season looked as if built on a lake, the natives going
their different ways in canoes. The houses are of one story, divided
into several rooms, and entered by a ladder or stair placed outside. The
roofing consists of palm or palmetto leaves.... The floors of the
habitations are of wicker-work or bamboo.
"A singular custom, but which facilitated intercourse with the natives
and vice versa, was of exchanging names and forming comradeship with a
native, whose house was thenceforth considered the home of the
stranger."
Alimund Din's name stands out in this meager Moro history beyond all
others, for he was the first and only Christian ruler in this land. Even
before he became a Christian he was a reformer, and suppressed piracy.
He not only coined money but had both an army and a navy, and lived in
such splendour as probably has not existed since those days, among the
Moros.
Alimund Din ruled about the middle of the eighteenth century, in the
time of Philip V of Spain. In return for ammunition to enable the
Spanish to keep down piracy, he allowed the Jesuit fathers to enter his
country. In time, however, they caused trouble among the Moros, and
civil war broke out, as Bautilan, a relative of Alimund Din's, preferred
the Mohammedan religion to the new ideas of the Jesuits. Alimund Din and
his followers took flight in boats, and in time reached Manila, where
they interceded for Spanish protection. The Spaniards showered him with
presents, gave him a royal entrance into the city, and finally converted
him to Christianity. Later, he was sent back, escorted by Spanish ships,
but Bautilan's fleet attacked them. As the Spaniards suspected Alimund
Din of becoming a Christian not entirely for Christianity's sake,
they threw him into prison. The throne was restored to him in 1763 by
the English, who occupied this part of the island for a short time.
[Illustration: A MORO GRAVE.]
The Moros are not supposed to eat meat or drink wine, although they have
been known to drink whiskey and soda with Americans, as well as eat pork
and beans on occasions. There are no mosques in this region or holy
dancing-girls (who can do no wrong) but there are Moro priests or
_panditas_ who go from house to house. They have little education, but
some of them have traveled. It is the custom for a relative of the
deceased to watch and protect a Moro grave for many months. Such a
mourner can sometimes be seen squatting near by under a yellow umbrella.
The Moros have as many wives as they can afford, but not more than they
can afford, for it is an insult to speak of a man's wife as "begging
bread."
The Moros are smaller than the East Indian Mohammedans, but are strong
and slight, and have fine features. They appear especially cruel and
determined because their teeth are black from _buyo_. In war time, many
of the women fought beside the men, and it is supposed to be they who
mutilated the Americans found dead on the field after battle. The
people whom we met on the road with their ponies loaded with hemp
seldom smiled and did not bow, but they looked us straight in the eye,
and there was no touch of sulkiness about them.
It is very difficult to distinguish the men from the women, as they
dress much alike. But you see few of the latter on the road, for being
Mohammedans, most of them are kept at home. They are not veiled like
other Moslem women, except when first married.
The costumes of the Moros differ to such a degree--and for no reason
that I could discover--that it is difficult to describe them. Many wear
tight trousers, which are something like those of the Spaniards--so
tight that they are sewn on the men and never come off until worn
out--and are often bright red or yellow in colour. On the other hand,
some wear very loose, baggy trousers or skirts of different shades.
Indeed, they are the most gaily dressed people I have ever seen, and
their brown skins set off the vivid yellows and greens and reds and
magentas and purples of which their trousers and jackets and turbans and
handkerchiefs are made. The jackets have a Chinese appearance. The
turbans might be old Aunt Dinah's of the South. The sashes, which are
woven in the Moro houses, are of silk, bright green and dark red being
the predominant colours. They are knotted on one side, generally a kriss
or a bolo being held in the knot, and are tied about the waist so
tightly that the men look almost laced, and perhaps that accounts for
their womanish appearance.
When the American army first occupied this region they treated the Moros
well and found them friendly. Take for instance Zamboanga in the south,
an especially interesting region. When the American soldiers entered,
the Spanish guard left the garrison, and the Spanish population and the
priests followed. The Americans found outside the town gates a large
barbed wire bird cage, where the Moros had been compelled to leave their
arms before entering the town at night, to avoid an uprising. The
government of Zamboanga at this time was reorganized by the American
officers. A Filipino presidente was appointed, a dato to head the Moros,
and a Captain Chinese, as he was called, to manage his people, who were
mostly merchants and pearl fishers.
Mindanao was under a military-civil government that worked wonders, for
in a few years many of the Moros were brought under control, and they
became loyal Americans, although they had always been bitter enemies of
the Filipinos and the Spaniards. They say they have found the Americans
brave, and have not been lied to by them, and so they seek our
protection. Although the Moro and the head-hunter are so different, they
are alike in one respect--if they care for an official and have
confidence in him they do not want him changed. It is the man they are
willing to obey rather than the government. Of course, there are
thousands of them, fierce as ever, back in the mountains, and they are
still fanatic and wild. Even among those who are under control, the
greatest care has to be exercised, for they have the hatred of the
Christian deep in their hearts, and they may run amuck at any moment and
kill till they are killed; but this is a part of their faith, they ask
no quarter, and nothing stops them but death.
Besides the danger of their attack by religious mania they have a great
desire for rifles, as I have said, and they are always "jumping" the
constabulary, attacking small parties suddenly from ambush and cutting
them down with their knives, or killing sentries; so that constant care
has to be used, and the sentinels walk at night in twos, almost back to
back, so as to have eyes on all sides. A few weeks before we arrived
there had been several cases of "jumping."
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.
We went almost at once to the market place, which was intensely
interesting. The gorgeous colours and gold buttons of the costumes were
magnificent. Brass bowls for chow were for sale, and betel-nut boxes
inlaid with silver, and round silver ones with instruments attached to
clean the ears and nose. There are four compartments in these betel-nut
boxes--for lime, tobacco, the betel nut, and a leaf in which to wrap the
mixture called buyo.
Here we saw the spear and shield dance. The dancer had a headdress that
covered his forehead and ears, making him look quite ridiculous,
absolutely as though he were on the comic opera stage. With shield and
spear he danced as swiftly and silently as a cat, creeping and springing
until your blood ran cold, especially as you knew he had killed many a
man.
In the afternoon, after reviewing the troops and inspecting the
quarters, we crossed a corner of the lake and landed at a Moro village.
It was raining hard and the mud was deep. We waded through a street,
followed by the people in their best clothes--one in a black velvet
suit, another in a violet velvet jacket. I saw only two women in the
streets; they were not veiled nor brilliantly dressed, but had red
painted lips and henna on their nails. The Moro constabulary here wore
red fezzes and khaki, and the officer in command at the time was of
German birth.
After we had passed through a bamboo trail, we came into a little open
place with three fine Moro houses about, set up above the ground on
great posts made of tree trunks. Unlike Filipino houses, they had
façades all carved in a rough and handsome sort of arabesque, painted in
bright reds and blues, and with pointed roofs and coloured cloths
fluttering out of the open spaces, they made fine effects. The long
cracks in the walls served as peepholes, where the snapping black eyes
of the many wives of the datos were peering out at us. In front, in the
little green space, pennons were planted and there was a huge
Chinese-looking sea serpent, or dragon, on wheels, with a body of gaily
coloured stuffs, and a rearing movable head. This cavorted about in
time to the endless noise of the tom-toms. A crowd of natives stood
round in their fanciful raiment.
[Illustration: A MORO _DATO'S_ HOUSE.]
Into one of these houses we were invited. We mounted the ladder to the
one large room in the front, into which the sliding panel shutters
admitted the air freely, so that it was cool and shaded. Here sat the
wives and the slaves in a corner, playing on a long wooden instrument
with brass pans, which they struck, producing high and low sounds, with
a little more tune than the Igorots. The big room was bare, except for a
long shelf on which was some woven cloth and a fine collection of the
native brass work, for this is the center of the brass-workers.
We moved on through the little town of nipa houses to visit old Dato
Manilibang, whose house was not as fine as those we had seen before, but
where we were admitted into two rooms. From the entrance we streaked
muddy feet across the bamboo-slatted floor into his reception room,
where a sort of divan occupied one side--on which the Secretary was
asked to sit. Behind this cushioned seat were piled the boxes with the
chief's possessions, and here he sits in state in the daytime and sleeps
at night. The women, who were huddled together on one side of the room,
wore bracelets and rings, and one was rather pretty.
At dawn we were up and off again. What a day! We had two hours on a boat
crossing a lovely lake, surrounded by mountains, on the shore of which
some of the wildest Moros live. Our boat was a big launch, a sort of
gunboat, which, strangely enough, the Spaniards had brought up here and
sunk in the lake when the war came on, we were told, and which had been
resurrected successfully. It was a steep climb up the opposite side of
the lake, but most of us scrambled up on horses, till we topped the
ridge and came to Camp Vickers, a station with fine air and outlook but
rather small and pathetic.
The picturesque Moros had gathered here to greet the Secretary, and
their wail of welcome was something strange and weird. A dato would come
swinging by, followed in single file by his betel-box carrier, chow
bearer and slaves. Some of the chiefs rode scraggly ponies, on high
saddles, with their big toes in stirrups of cord almost up under their
chins, and with bells on the harness that rattled gaily. And, of course,
the tom-toms kept up their endless music.
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.