bent, and the tribe lay prostrate at his feet; only old Kali Pandapatan
remained standing, eyeing Piang with satisfaction. For a full two
minutes the crowd remained motionless. The palm-trees whispered and
crackled above them, and the river sent a soft accompaniment to the
jungle music. To and fro above their heads Piang majestically waved
the branch, until finally one bold voice demanded:
"_Anting-anting!_" ("The charm, the charm!") Piang defiantly bared
his breast, exposing the sacred charm suspended from his necklace of
crocodile teeth. There was moaning in the crowd, sobs of excitement,
and protests of impatience, but every head remained lowered until
the august relic was again covered. Piang began to chant in a high,
nasal voice, and the others rose and joined in creating a weird,
monotonous drawl. Like a statue stood the boy, holding the branch
high above his head while they circled round and round him. Faster,
faster they whirled; in a frenzy they shrieked; some fell and others
tramped them in their excitement. Suddenly the boy stamped his feet,
uttering a sharp cry. Every eye turned toward him.
"To the river!" he cried and lead the way. Two boys hurried forward
and were on their knees in a twinkling, hollowing out a place in the
sand, dog fashion. With many incantations and prayers, the branch was
planted in the hole, the damp sand laid carefully around the base,
and the two proud boys left to watch. If the flowers of the fire
tree faded before the scorching sun set, it was destined that the
tribe would be unsuccessful in its ventures for the season; should
the blooms defy the rays of the sun until the dews of evening rested
on its petals, old Kali Pandapatan could sally forth unafraid to meet
his fierce brothers of the jungle.
Patiently they waited through the long, hot day; many eyes were
anxiously turned toward the sacred emblem, but none dared approach. The
little Moro boys, in whose care the branch had been left, squatted in
silent patience. No butterfly was suffered to light on the delicate
petals, no droning bee allowed to gather the honey of its cups. On
dragged the sweltering afternoon. Piang and the dato were the only
ones allowed to know that the branch was still fresh, but only Piang
knew that its flowers had been dipped into a cool stream before it
came to the tribe to foretell its victories or defeats.
"Allah, il Allah!" the call rang through the village. Sunset, the
hour of prayer! Now, now they would know. Solemnly old Pandita Asin
led the chant while the Moros prostrated themselves in supplication,
and the dying sun slipped over the mountains, touching every tree
and flower with its gold.
There was great feasting and celebration in the barrio that
night. Women donned their most brilliant sarongs, tinted their
silver-tipped finger nails with henna, and streaked their brows
with splotches of white rice paste. The men twisted their hair up in
gorgeous head-cloths, and the knot bristled with creeses. Suspended
from their many-colored sashes were barongs, campilans or bolos, and
tiny bells were fastened into the lobes of their ears. The brilliantly
striped breeches seemed likely to burst, so tightly were they drawn
over shapely limbs.
The branch had not withered. It had withstood the scorching rays of
the sun. Kali Pandapatan was invincible.
"Piang!" called Kali Pandapatan.
The noises of the barrio were hushed. Their dato had spoken. The
name was repeated, and gradually the call reached the charm boy,
idly dangling his feet in a clear brook, attracting and scattering
the curious fish. He sprang to his feet, listened, and darted off. His
sleek, well fashioned limbs glistened in the sunlight, and the sarong
that was gracefully flung over one shoulder floated out behind like a
flame fanned by the wind. Twined in his long black hair was a wreath
of scarlet fire flowers; every face brightened as he fled past.
"You have again brought the sign, Piang. When do we fight?" asked
Kali Pandapatan.
"Not until we have delivered the _siwaka_ (tribute) to the sultan at
Cotabato. The fire-tree has not yet bloomed in the enemy's country,
and we may yet pass through safely," Piang replied.
"You have spoken," said the dato and laid his palms on the youth's
head.
Though the latent passion of battle stirred in the Moros' breasts,
they were compelled to heed. Piang had proved a wise charm boy, and
the tribe must obey him. Each season the siwaka must be carried over
the steep, treacherous trail down to the coast, and those detailed
to accompany the slaves who carried the bags of rice and _comoties_
(sweet-potatoes), dreaded the trip. Added to the pitfalls of the
obscure trail, were hostile territories to be traversed, and if the
enemies' fire-tree had bloomed, they would surely be attacked and
probably despoiled of their cargo.
"We will need warriors to guard the siwaka, chief," Piang reminded
Kali, and the chief nodded and gave a quiet order. Every man
disappeared from the streets. When they returned, in place of the
gaudy, tight trousers, they were wearing loose, black pantaloons,
the garb of battle. The women, true to the feminine nature, wailed and
cried aloud, but in their hearts they, too, were glad that the quiet,
monotonous days were over, and that before nightfall they might sleep
in some strange cota (fort), slave or wife of the victorious dato.
"Piang," murmured a soft voice at the charm boy's elbow, and he turned
to find the little slave girl, Papita, timidly looking up at him.
"_Chiquita?_" ("Little one?") he questioned.
"Sicto goes with you. Beware of him, for he would kill you!"
"I am not afraid," proudly answered Piang, "but why would Sicto
kill me?"
Solemnly the little girl touched Piang's breast where lay hidden the
sacred charm.
"He would kill you so that he might be charm boy of the tribe,"
whispered the girl. Piang laughed gaily, patted his little friend on
the arm, and bounded to the head of the forming column. Nevertheless
he noticed Sicto's sly, surly glance as the slaves and warriors bent
before him.
Amid beating of tom-toms, wails of women, and howls of dogs, the
column, single file, dipped into the jungle and was lost to sight.
Anxiously Piang watched for signs of the fire-tree as they slipped
along through the enemies' country, but as yet the buds had not
stirred, and he was thankful that the warm rains had not come to coax
them into glow. That whole day the party toiled silently through the
dense cogon grass that covered the mesa. High above their heads waved
the wiry, straw-colored spines. Its sharp edges cut into the flesh,
tore through cloths, stinging and paining old wounds. Not a breath of
air reached them through the impenetrable mass, and the sun beat down
on them mercilessly. For long stretches the path tunneled through the
grass, boring deeper into the tangle, and they were almost suffocated
by the choking dust that stung their nostrils.
"_Iki!_" ("Beware!") called Sicto. Every bolo was out, every savage
ready, but the word was passed along the line that the leader,
Sicto, had stepped on a snake. Entirely surrounded by the cruel
grass the column paused. The heat, increased by the oven-like
tunnel grew steadily worse, and those in the rear gasped and fought
for breath. They could hear the scuffle as the leaders fought the
reptile, and the fetid odor of the dread creature added to their
discomfort. Sicto had been swinging along ahead, stepping lightly on
the mattress-like turf, when he felt something move under his foot. It
was well under the matted grass, but it was wise to despatch the
creature if possible. Piang came to his assistance, and the snake,
probably gorged with rotting meat, exuded a terrible odor as it was
stabbed to death. Kicking the wriggling remains out of the path the
column pushed on, wondering if they would ever come to the end of
the stifling tunnel.
"Will it rain soon, Piang?" panted Tooloowee, as he toiled along
behind the charm boy.
"I cannot tell yet, but by sunset we shall know."
Toward evening the grass thinned perceptibly, and the steaming,
aching bodies felt the cool air rustling through the stalks.
"We are near the jungle; soon we shall be cool," sighed Kali
Pandapatan. Yes, it was growing cooler; they could breathe again,
but Piang knew that before morning they would be shivering with cold,
that the rain would come in the night. He smelled it, the rain that
would not come to help them through the arduous day.
When it came, there was a shout of joy. Kali looked anxiously at his
sweating tribesmen. After the terrific heat of the day, this rain would
chill them, and fever would surely follow; he must keep them on the
move. There was a murmur of protest as the order was given to move;
they had rested a scant two hours. By nine o'clock they were under
way again, struggling with the jungle as they had fought the mesa. The
downpour was straight and steady. It burrowed through the thick foliage
and ran down the tree trunks in torrents. The footing became uncertain,
and Piang warned Kali to look out for broken limbs. For many yards the
path lay along fallen tree trunks, slippery with moss and mold. The
footing became so treacherous that the order was given to crawl on all
fours, and the progress was painfully slow and tedious. Frequently
they strayed from the path and were forced to halt. The torches at
the head of the column twinkled and flickered fitfully, but they only
seemed to make the darkness more visible; they sputtered and flared,
but the flames resisted the rain, and to the weary Moros they seemed
like good spirits sent to guide them through the terrible jungle night.
Palm leaves, strewn in the path, had long clusters of needle-like
spines at their bases that pierced their feet, and the cry "_tinick!_"
("thorns!") rang out frequently through the night. Finally it became
necessary to march close up, in solid line, each man with his hand on
the shoulder of the man in front. When the leader warned "_Cajui!_"
("Log!"), each repeated it as he stumbled over the obstacle, and if
one fell, half the line would be bowled over.
"_Tubig Malakee!_" cried Piang. ("The big water!") Yes, the dull
murmur of the river was plainly heard through the dripping rain,
and they all quickened their pace in the desire to rid themselves of
the jungle. Piang attempted to guide them across, but he walked into
the water and sank from sight, and there was a cry of horror, for it
seemed that one of the many crocodiles had dragged him under. When
he came up sputtering and splashing, none the worse for his dip,
he chided them for their little faith and pointed significantly to
his charm. He had miscalculated in the blackness of the night and
could not locate the ford. A drizzling rain was still falling; great
hairy-legged spiders skated over the water, making things grewsome;
the large lily-pad leaves moved suspiciously, so Kali gave the orders
to camp for the rest of the night.
Silently the Moros prepared their camp. Deftly the ends of low-lying
branches were pinioned to the ground with forked sticks; over these
supports hemp and banana leaves were strewn to shield the sleepers
from the heavy dew and rain. After many attempts a fire was coaxed
into life, much to the dismay of the jungle folk. A beautiful golden
fly-catcher, probably mistaking the glare of the fire for dawn, awoke
and began to sing at the top of its tiny voice; a parrot screamed
lustily. A venerable old monkey, sleepily rubbing its eyes, shook
its fist, muttering profanely. Sicto, exasperated at the persistent
maledictions, raised his bow.
"Do not kill the monkey, Sicto," warned Piang. "It is not good to
kill in the jungle except for food or self-protection!"
A scowl was the only reply, but the big mestizo lowered his bow and
turned over on his bed of leaves.
"Kali, we are no longer safe," Piang whispered as he crouched over
the improvised bed of his chief.
"Sssshhhh," he warned, finger on lip. "Do not wake the others." Then
he pointed toward a spot where hoards of fireflies clustered around
one tree, twinkling and swerving to and fro. It was a beautiful sight,
but far from a novel one to these two.
"The fire-tree!" muttered Kali.
"Yes," answered Piang. "The rain has brought the blooms to the valley,
and we will be attacked to-morrow!" Silently they gazed at the strange
tree. Fireflies abandon every tree and shrub for the fire-tree the
moment it puts forth its buds, and nothing can coax them away until
the ominous scarlet blossoms have drooped and fallen to the ground.
"We dare not cross the river now, Kali," said Piang, "but we can
build rafts and float down to Cotabato."
And so it was decided. Early in the muggy dawn the warriors set to
work constructing rafts out of bamboo and ratan (palm), and soon the
siwaka was loaded and the journey continued by water.
Arrogantly Piang rode at the head of the procession, his proud little
head crowned with a wreath of fire-tree blooms, the corners of his
raft decorated with sprigs of the flaming buds. Cautiously they
poled down the swift stream, avoiding treacherous logs and snapping
crocodiles. Piang chuckled with delight as they stole along, for the
enemy would not discover the ruse until they were far away.
It was some time before Sicto was missed. His name was passed from
raft to raft, but none had seen him that morning. At first it was
feared that one of the crocodiles had pulled him from a raft, but
something seemed to tell Piang that the wily half-breed had stolen
away to warn the enemy of Kali's strategy. Once the news of the rich
booty to be captured and the prisoners to be taken had reached the
valley people, nothing could keep them from pursuing, now that their
fire-tree had bloomed. A solemn conclave was held.
The river is almost inaccessible from the jungle except at one point,
the Big Bend. This is a favorite camping-ground of the valley people
during the combat season; here their sacrifices are offered, their
victims thrown to the crocodiles; they exercise full control of the
river. If Sicto succeeded in warning the enemy before Kali reached
that point there would be little hope of escape. Another force would
surely be posted where he had embarked, cutting Kali off from his
reinforcements at home. It was too late to attempt a retreat, however,
hampered as they were with the cumbersome siwaka. Reach that bend
first, they must.
"The charm, Piang," whispered Kali. Springing to his feet, the boy
uttered a fierce "Oola." Every head bowed, and the sacred talisman
was exposed.
"Forward, brothers!" he cried. "Forward with all your strength!"
The sun came out, and the dripping jungle began to steam. Palm leaves
were constructed into hats to guard against sunstroke. Toward sunset
they drew near the danger point. What was that monotonous sound dully
vibrating through the jungle? Anxiously all eyes turned toward Piang.
"It is well, brothers," bravely comforted the boy. "Yes, that is the
tom-tom of your enemy. Sicto has betrayed us, but have no fear. Piang,
the charm boy leads you; take courage, and Allah, the Merciful, will
give you victory." Piang commenced a murmur of prayer, and the Moros,
joining in, filled the fast-settling night with whispered invocations
which drifted off through the jungle.
Another council of war was held.
"Piang, if they have had time to lay the boom, what shall we do?"
"Go forward, Kali. Fight your way through the blockade," answered the
charm boy. "I will remain here with a few men to guard to siwaka. Do
you hide at the first bend until the moon gives you light, then
strike!"
The astonished warriors looked with misgiving from one to the other,
but Kali answered firmly:
"It shall be so, Piang."
The Moros were quickly assembled for the advance, and Kali paused by
the side of Piang's raft:
"If we are driven back, Piang, I will give three calls of the
mina-bird. Answer likewise and retreat as quickly as possible."
"Forward, Kali Pandapatan," answered Piang with great dignity. "We
will not retreat."
Like ghosts in the night the little handful of men parted from their
fellows and courageously faced the river and its dangers. The stream,
swerving to the left, flows on to the apex of the Big Bend. As
if regretting its departure from the true course, it doubles back
and returns to take up its original direction at a point separated
from its first departure by only a few rods. Between the two points
is a waste of murky soil and sand, covered by dense growths of the
jungle's choicest variety of obstacles. Gloomily Piang contemplated
the morass that lay between him and freedom. Long he sat, looking into
the distance where he could almost see the river as it completed the
curve and swept on to the ocean. What would he not give to be safely
on the other side? Suddenly he sat up very straight. Why not? The
sand was soft, the current swift. If he could only make a narrow ditch
across the flats. Pulling his raft up to the right side of the river,
he jumped to the bank, but when he sank ankle-deep in the soft, sticky
earth, he climbed hastily back. Poling along he searched for a solid
footing, but everywhere the marshy soil gave, and he abandoned his
attempts to land. The night grew deeper, blacker.
"Why not, why not?" he whispered again. The others came scurrying up
in response to his excited call.
"My brothers, Allah has sent me wisdom," he announced. "It is your
duty to obey me!" Eagerly they listened, glad of any distraction,
but when Piang explained that he wanted them to abandon their safe
bamboo floats for the treacherous flats, home of crocodiles and vermin,
there was a murmuring protest. Anger blazed in Piang's eyes.
"Am I not charm boy?" he demanded. "Any one who refuses to obey me
will be thrown to the crocodiles!" Gradually the dominant nature
overruled their timidities, and the protests subsided. Following
Piang's directions, strips of bamboo were cut, and the charm boy
constructed light frames for his feet. They looked like snow-shoes,
and when he bound one securely to each foot and jumped lightly to the
bank, there was a cry of surprise. Piang, the wonderful, was indeed
sent by Allah to guide them!
In a twinkling each Moro was supplied with similar mud-shoes, and
like giant land-crabs, they flitted off across the marsh. Too wise
to begin before reconnoitering, Piang led his men to the banks of
the stream below to Big Bend. After hasty calculations he set them
to work digging toward the head waters, following a line of ratan
which he stretched to guide them.
Faster, faster flew the scoops and broad knives; deeper, wider grew
the ditch that was to form a new river-bed. Piang was everywhere. He
flew about on his light frames as lightly as a faun, directing the
construction of new tools, calculating and measuring for the ditch.
Once he heard a call from the man guarding the rafts. A troop of wild
hogs, attracted by the comoties, was trying to reach the rafts. Piang
lighted a torch and hurled it among them. Crocodiles lurked near,
and he ordered torches kept burning to frighten them also.
New difficulties confronted Piang. Would the water not at first rush
through the ditch with such force that the rafts would be dashed
to pieces? He held a branch in the current; it was torn from his
grasp. With great foresight, he ordered all the floats to be taken
up the river and securely moored. Back to the ditch he flew. Yes,
yes, it was going to be successful! Before the attack was made by
Kali Pandapatan, Piang would have the rafts through the cut-off,
safely on their journey to the estuary. How surprised the dato would
be when Piang advanced against the enemy from the other side of the
Big Bend! He laughed softly, hugging himself in boyish delight.
Away he pattered toward some men who were apparently in difficulty.
"_Halamantek!_" ("Leeches!") they called. They were pulling the
slothful creatures off each other, but as soon as they freed themselves
from the pests, more fell from above or crept up from the mud. Piang
had foreseen this difficulty and had supplied himself with a small
gourd filled with cocoanut oil, strongly saturated with cinchona
(quinine). Offering some of his small store to the men, they gratefully
rubbed the mixture into their flesh and bent to their task again. Piang
exhorted them to work, warning them if the ditch was not completed
before moonrise, all would be lost, and off he danced blending in with
the night and its secrets like a picturesque _pampahilep_ (jungle imp).
Only Moros could have accomplished so difficult a task in the
dark. With a will they sturdily plied the crude tools and before
the blackness of the night had been lifted by the rising moon, the
excited little party was crowding around Piang as he examined the few
remaining feet to be accomplished. Like a general meeting a crisis,
Piang sharply gave his orders:
"Tooloowee, take your pole and stand on the far side of the ditch. When
I give the signal, push the dyke with all your might." He stationed
another powerful Moro opposite Tooloowee.
"Bungao, do you hasten to the rafts and prepare to resist the first
flood that will sweep through the ditch."
When all was ready Piang raised his hand and the struggle began. Little
by little the soft mud was worked away, and the current, feeling
the banks weaken, seemed to lose interest in its natural bed. At
first the stream only caressed its new-found outlet, but gradually
it concentrated its forces, and, with a mighty rush, attacked the
slight remaining resistance and went thundering off into the ditch. A
smothered cry went up from the Moros:
"Piang! Piang!" How they loved their wise little charm boy!
But the work was not yet completed. Piang let go his anchorage and
headed for the mouth of the ditch. The water was rapidly widening
the work of their hands, but in places the cut-off was barely wide
enough to let the long slender floats by, and the water was rushing
through with terrific force. The moon trembled on the brink of the
jungle. Would they reach the other side in time to aid Kali? Suppose
he was driven back before Piang and his men could attack from the
other side?
"_Ala! ala!_" ("Quickly! quickly!") Piang called softly. His raft
came up with a sudden jerk, almost throwing him into the seething,
muddy torrent. Other rafts bumped into his, and soon a blockade was
forming as the swift current bore them down upon him. Piang cut and
slashed at the banks, tearing away protruding vines and accumulating
driftwood. The moon, the moon, would it wait? Frantically he toiled
while Tooloowee held off the other rafts with his long pole. When
Piang's float was finally released, it bounded joyously along, nosing
first one bank, then the other. The river! He could see it! Only a
few rods more!
At the mouth of the ditch there was more trouble. Mud and debris had
collected along the sides, but these were quickly worked through and
they passed into the main river. Little short of a miracle had been
performed. The ditch was growing wider and deeper every moment and
judging from the enormous flow of water, it would not be long before
the river deserted its circuitous route in favor of this direct one.
"Quick! quick!" whispered Piang. "Bungao, bind the siwaka rafts
together and head for Cotabato. We will overtake you before
sunrise." A faint cry reached them. Kali had begun the attack. In
an agony of suspense the brave Moros worked their way up toward the
Big Bend. Suddenly Piang grasped Tooloowee's arm and pointed toward
a streak that ran across the river.
"The boom! We must cut it!" They made a dash toward the obstacle that
stood in Kali's path, but an arrow whizzed by their heads.
"Tooloowee, we have been discovered. I go to cut the way!" and before
the astonished Tooloowee could prevent, Piang had dived into the
water and disappeared.
"Piang, the crocodiles, the crocodiles!" wailed Tooloowee, but the
charm boy could not hear as he slipped up the muddy river, swimming
easily under water. Just as Kali was preparing to retreat, driven back
by the fierce storm of arrows, he gave the signal that had been agreed
upon. Three loud calls in imitation of the mina-bird went wailing
through the night. What was Kali's surprise to hear the answer a few
yards in front of him! And what was that dark shape bobbing up and
down on the boom?
While he watched, amazed, the big clumsy logs divided, and swung slowly
out, leaving the channel clear. Piang had severed the ratan thongs.