people that some great power had sent the white men to save them from
starvation. The interpreter had told him that the Moros all belonged
now to some nation called the United States. A fierce murmur rippled
through the crowd at this piece of news. The dato raised his hand
for quiet.
"Let us hear them through. We are hungry; let them feed us. We will
fight for our freedom later, if necessary."
Haughtily Dato Kali Pandapatan faced the newcomers and bade them
speak. The interpreter explained that the men were United States
soldiers, and that their chief had commanded them to search the
islands for starving Moros and to relieve their suffering. The crafty
dato pondered long before he accepted their offer, all the while
watching for an attack. It was impossible for him to believe their
generosity could be genuine, so used was he to the treachery of Spanish
strangers. When the pack-train loaded with supplies appeared at the
head of the steep mountain pass, a cry went up from the hungry people,
and a rush was made toward it. When the supplies had been portioned
out to each family, and suspicion banished from the minds of the
natives, the "Americanos" were hailed as their saviors. Lieutenant
Lewis, in charge of the expedition, was offered every courtesy, and
the soldiers were showered with gifts of brass and trinkets. Dato
Kali Pandapatan vowed his allegiance to the soldiers and offered the
services of his tribe.
"Ask the dato if he has heard of the mysterious rice that has been
found on Lake Lanao, Ricardo," said Lieutenant Lewis.
The interpreter addressed the dato and learned that it was a well
known fact that rice had appeared on the surface of the lake from
no apparent source. As it had never been grown in that district,
the authorities were puzzled over the persistent rumors. If it could
be cultivated there, it might be possible to supply the tribes with
enough to avoid these frequent famines.
"He says he is not sure, sir, but travelers from that section all
bring the same tales of gathering rice in an eddy at one corner of the
lake. The tribes are very fierce around there, and as they will not
tolerate interference from strangers, no one has dared to investigate."
"I can easily believe it. General Bushing's expedition through that
country met with fearful opposition. It's a wonder to me that so
many of them came out alive." The lieutenant was silent for a time,
then said:
"Ask him if he has a swift runner, some one that he can trust."
Ricardo questioned the chief.
"Yes, sir, he says there is a boy named Piang, who is fleeter than
the wind, surer than the sun."
"Ask him if he will send this boy for me to the lake to search out
the truth about this rice. Offer him fifty bushels of corn for the
lad's family and tell him I will send him twenty-five bushels whether
he is successful or not."
"Piang! Piang!" the name was on every one's lips. From out the crowd
stepped a slender faun of a youth, slim and supple as a reed. The
gaily-colored breech-cloth wound about his loins supported his bolo
and small knives, and in his tightly knotted long hair, glistened
a creese. With silent dignity he awaited his orders. No curiosity
manifested itself in his face; no question was on his lips; he simply
waited. Lieutenant Lewis marveled at the boy's indifference, but
when the mission was explained to Piang, the light that sparkled in
his eyes and the expressions of excitement and joy that chased each
other across his face removed all doubt from the lieutenant's mind.
Piang was chosen! Piang was to ferret out the secret of the lake! Piang
was to bring honor to his tribe! When it was explained to him that
his mother would be provided for, he abruptly turned from the dato
and dashed off to his hut to procure weapons and scanty provisions. A
silence held the natives as they waited for Piang to reappear. They
all seemed to sense the dangers that were confronting the boy so
eager to undertake the task. Hardly ten minutes had elapsed before
he was in their midst again. He salaamed before the dato and, without
a glance at the others, bounded up the trail, away into the jungle.
"But," protested the lieutenant, "no one has given him any orders,
any directions." The interpreter conveyed the American's misgivings
to the dato. A smile broke over his face.
"Piang needs no directions, no advice. No jungle is too thick for him
to penetrate, no water deep enough to hide its secrets from him. Piang
will bring you news of the rice. I have spoken."
"And to think of the fuss it takes to get a few dough-boys ready for
a hike!" exclaimed the amazed lieutenant.
The jungle was terrible. Everywhere Piang came across victims of
the drought. Little monkeys, huddled together, cried like babies;
big birds, perched on the sun-scorched trees, were motionless. He
stumbled over something soft. Always on the alert, his bolo was ready
in an instant, but there was no need for it. He looked down into the
dying eyes of a little musk-deer. Pity and misgiving filled his heart,
and he wondered if he would be able to reach the Big Pass before he
starved. Surely, up there it would be different; they always had rain,
and if he could only hold out.... A snuff-like dust constantly rose
from the decayed vegetation; it pained his nostrils, and he muffled
his face in his head-cloth as he penetrated deeper into the jungle. He
must reach a clearing before night; it would mean almost certain death
to sleep in the jungle's poisonous atmosphere. There was a good spot
further up, and he worked his way toward it, determined to reach it
for his first night. The liana-vine that he cut for water was dry. He
listened for the trickle of a brook. The jungle is usually full of
little streams, but no sound rewarded his vigilance. Stumbling along,
he began to think his journey would end there, when he was startled by
loud chattering. A monkey settlement was evidently near, and he knew
by their liveliness that they were not famishing for water. Spurred
on by hope, he redoubled his efforts and was rewarded by the sight
of a cocoanut grove in a clearing.
There was a general protest from the inhabitants as he made his
appearance, but he paid no attention to the monkey insults hurled at
him and gratefully picked up the cocoanuts with which they bombarded
him. Shaking each one, he tossed it from him. They were all dry. The
monkeys were too clever to waste any nuts that had milk in them. Piang
tied his feet together loosely with his head-cloth, and, using it as
a brace, hopped up one of the trees as easily as a monkey. Sitting
in the branches, he drained one cocoanut after another, and when his
thirst was slaked, he amused himself by returning the bombardment. He
was surrounded by monkey snipers and he laughingly rubbed his head
where one of their shots had struck home. With careful aim he showered
the trees, and gradually the monkeys began to disperse. He had won;
the fun was over. He watched them scold and fuss as they retreated
into the jungle, regretting that he had not kept them with him a
little longer for company.
The big sun was dipping into the trees now, and he descended to gather
material for his bed. High up in the cocoanut-tree Piang built his
couch. He selected two trees that were close together, and, cutting
strips of ratan, bound stalks of bamboo together making a platform
which he lashed to the trees, far out of reach of night prowlers. He
dipped into his scanty provisions, and then, scrambling to his nest,
covered himself with palm branches, which afford warmth as well
as protection from the unhealthy dew. Quickly Piang sank into an
untroubled slumber. All night long creatures fought below him for the
few remaining drops of moisture in the discarded shells, but he knew
that he was safe, and their snarls and bickerings did not alarm him.
Piang started guiltily. He must have overslept. The sun was high, but
for some reason the heat had not awakened him. Sitting up, he rubbed
his eyes, sniffed the air, and uttered a shout of joy. A gentle rain
was trickling through the foliage; the spell was broken; the jungle
would live again. After hastily gathering a few nuts he climbed down
the tree and prepared for his journey, thankful that the drought
was to be broken by the gentle "liquid sunshine," as it is called,
instead of by a violent typhoon. Eating what he wanted of the soft,
green cocoanut meat, he tied two nuts to the ends of a ratan strip,
and, slinging them across his shoulder, was off again, darting here
and there to avoid the stinging vines and treacherous pitfalls.
How many days was he from Lake Lanao? He counted the suns that must
rise and set before he should arrive. There were four, if he should be
fortunate enough to find the Ganassi trail. Piang had not lost time by
returning to the coast to pick up the trail, but had trusted to his
instinct to lead him aright. Surely, if he followed the sun by day,
and the big bright evening star by night, he would come upon the
trail the second day. He must avoid the lake people at all costs;
they were not to be trusted, and his life would pay the penalty if
they caught him spying. Silently the jungle child sped along. Nothing
escaped his watchful eye; no sound eluded his trained ear. Once he
darted aside just in time to escape the toils of the dread python as
it swooped from above to claim its victim. Another time his bolo saved
him, and a wild civet-cat lay at his feet. Chuckling at his prowess,
Piang drew his knife across the animal's belly, and slipped off the
skin, almost whole. It would be useful to him, and maybe he could
find the herb that is used to cure pelts.
It was very difficult traveling. The sun was not visible during the
afternoon, and Piang lost his direction. Blundering here and there,
he often came back to the same place. It was no use; he could not find
the trail without the assistance of sun or stars. Sometimes it was
days before either could penetrate the dense mist that accompanies
the tropical rains. Discouraged, he threw himself on the ground.
An unusual sound made him jerk his head up to listen. It came again,
and the boy rose quietly to his feet, focusing his senses on the
sound. Cautiously he advanced toward it. In the jungle it is always
wiser to be the one to attack. The sound was repeated, and Piang
breathed easier. It was made by an animal, not by his dread lake
enemies. Gradually he crept nearer and when he parted the bushes and
peeped through, he almost shouted in his excitement. He had reached
the Big Pass. A broad river swept rapidly by, and along the banks
wild carabao rolled and splashed, making queer diminutive sounds, not
in keeping with their ungainly size. Piang was careful to keep out
of sight, as they are apt to be dangerous when their very uncertain
nerves are startled.
For more than two days Piang fought his way through the entanglement
of cogon grass and vicious vines, cutting and hewing his way,
afraid to cross the river and follow the Ganassi trail. Finally,
one rosy dawn, he came upon the lake as it sparkled and shimmered in
the early light. The boy held his breath, delighted with the beauty
of the view. Far in the distance mountains rose in a blue and purple
haze. The lake was nestled in the heart of them, fed by many clear
brooks and springs. Its bed had once been the crater of an active
volcano, but Piang did not know this.
From his retreat, built high among the dense trees, Piang watched
the lake people ply their way to and fro across the water. Somewhere
on that lake was the secret of the floating rice, and the boy was
determined to discover the truth. He hid before dawn at the water's
edge near a spot that he had noticed was much frequented. As usual,
a swarm of natives visited it about noon. Piang watched them dip
up gourds and cocoanut-shell cups full of water. They strained it
through cloths, repeating and repeating the action. He was sure it was
the coveted rice that they were gathering and he impatiently waited
for them to go; no sooner had they departed, however, than others
arrived to take up the task. There was nothing to do, but wait again
for dawn, and Piang wriggled himself back to his grove and mounted
his platform home.
He was very restless all night and hardly slept at all, so anxious
was he for the first streaks of light. As he lay with eyes upturned,
he watched the stars grow dim: before they had entirely disappeared,
Piang was standing by the water ready for the dive. His bolo was slung
at his side, and in his mouth he carried a smaller knife. One never
knows what one may meet at the bottom of an unknown lake, and Piang
was prepared for any emergency.
At last it was light, at last he could see into the clear
lake. Climbing out on the rocks as far as he could, he let himself
down into the cool water. How he rejoiced at the feel of it and how
easily he slipped along toward the spot where he had watched the
natives the day before!
He looked for signs of rice. Seaweed tricked him; bubbles vanished
and he reached to grasp them. Round and round he swam, and finally
his hands closed over something small and slippery. Breathlessly he
fingered it, and opening his hand as he trod water, he beheld the
mushy rice grains.
Taking a long survey, he assured himself that there was no one in
sight. Yesterday the Moros had not come before noon; and if he worked
quickly, he might discover the secret to-day. Taking a long breath,
Piang dived straight down and, swimming along the bottom, examined
the rocks carefully; but he came back to the surface none the wiser
for his plunge. A puzzled look puckered his face. Tilting his head
to one side, he considered. That was surely rice; it did not grow
here, so it must come from under the water. Again he dived, but this
time he swam nearer the surface and he saw that there was more rice
floating by than he had imagined. It was not coming from the bottom,
it was drifting from the center of the lake!
Excitedly he headed in that direction, swimming under water whenever
he lost the trail of the rice. It was not strange that it only came
to the top in that one spot. There was a strong current that bore it
upward, whirling it in an eddy before it sank to the bottom. Farther,
farther he went, always swimming toward the center of the lake;
and as he went, the rice grew thicker. Eagerly he plunged forward,
keeping his eyes open, watching the rice.
He stopped. What was that dark object resting on the bottom? He
did not know how exhausted he was until he paused for breath; then,
knowing that his next dive would take him far down, he rolled over on
his back and floated quietly. Burning with curiosity, he could hardly
wait to see what was there. Slowly he swam downward. Something warned
him to be more careful, and afterward he was grateful for his caution,
for had he plunged recklessly to the bottom, in all probability in
would have been his last dive.
He was aware of a large body moving near him and he dodged just in time
to avoid a collision, striking out for the surface. Lying flat on the
water, he peered into the depth and discovered several dark things
swimming about. Frightened at first, he remembered that sharks and
crocodiles do not live in mountain lakes. Bravely he descended, but
this time he swam with his bolo in his hand. Down, down, and again he
saw the queer, square things flopping about. They were huge tortoises,
clustered around a darker object at the very bottom of the lake. Once
more Piang came to the top. He was not afraid now; tortoises do not
fight unless attacked, and the boy could easily outswim any of the
clumsy creatures. But what were they doing out there in the middle of
the lake? Tortoises live near shoals and feed on fungi and roots. As
he plunged down once more, he was met by a strong up-current and had to
fight his way through. Tiny particles stung him as they rushed by, and
it seemed to him that millions of fish were darting here and there,
snapping at something. It was rice. Gradually it dawned on Piang
that he had reached his goal; the tortoise had reached it first,
and the secret lay hidden in that dark thing at the bottom.
Frantically, but steadily, he worked his way down, avoiding weeds and
driftwood. The water grew calmer as he neared the bottom, the rush of
the current less. His breath was almost gone; he could hardly stand
it a few seconds longer, but he must see what it was there. With one
supreme effort, he struggled and reached the hard sand of the lake
floor. A trifle dazed, he looked about, and there, towering above him,
was a ship.
Piang was almost unconscious when he reached the air. Had he
been dreaming? How could a ship be resting on the bottom of Lake
Lanao? Restraining his curiosity, he forced himself to rest. Lying on
his back again, he took long regular breaths until he was entirely
rested. Slowly he descended and, avoiding contact with the loggy
tortoise, circled around the dark thing. Yes, it was a boat. Piang
had seen only one other boat like it in his life. It was only about
thirty-five feet long, but to the boy it seemed to rise above him
like a mountain. Fascinated, he sank lower until he was standing on
the deck. The tortoises and fish paid no attention to him, and he
examined it carefully. The big tube, sticking up in its middle Piang
recognized as the thing that belches smoke, and along the sides,
covered with slime and weeds, were small black objects. He had heard
that these boats hurl "hot-spit" into the jungle when they are angry,
and he supposed it must come from these ugly things. All this occupied
only a few seconds, but to Piang it seemed like years. Making a hasty
ascent, he again filled his lungs and prepared to explore farther. As
he worked his way back, he crossed the current that was bearing the
rice to the surface and remembered his mission. Following the milky
trail, he arrived at the stern of the boat and shuddered to see the
mass of animal life clustered there. Worming his way alongside, he
frightened the swarming creatures, and they scattered, leaving him a
clear view of the boat. Only one old tortoise refused to be disturbed,
and Piang watched it pull and bite at something. He was very close
to it, when suddenly something blinded him. He put out his hands to
ward it off, but the rush increased, and when he found his way to the
top his hands were full of soggy rice. The old tortoise had torn the
end of a rice-sack, and the contents were being whirled upward.
As the boy lay on the water, reviewing his remarkable discovery,
his strength almost exhausted, he was startled into the realization
of a new danger. Quickly he dived, but not before a man in a vinta,
headed that way, had seen him. Piang was caught. In his excitement
he had failed to watch for the coming of his enemies, and now he
must fight. Swiftly the vinta approached. Piang could see it through
the water and he watched until it was over his head. With a lunge,
he struck at it with all his might, upsetting it and throwing the
occupant out. With a yell the man grabbed Piang, and the startled boy
recognized his old enemy, Sicto, the outcast, who drifted from tribe
to tribe, a parasite on all who would tolerate him. He was making
his home with the lake people just now and had discovered Piang's
hiding-place. Guessing that the boy was after the secret of the rice,
he had watched his chance and had pounced on him when he was least
able to protect himself.
Over and over they rolled, splashing and fighting. Piang was struggling
for breath, but luckily he still had his bolo in his hand. The big
bully was sure to win the fight unless Piang could escape soon, as
he was already winded and exhausted. A happy thought flashed through
Piang's mind. He watched for one of the tortoises to swim near the
surface, and then shrieking "Crocodile," he pointed toward it. When
the frightened Sicto shrank from the tortoise, Piang struck with all
his might, but he was so weak and his knife was so heavy that he only
stunned his adversary.
Then he was away like a flash. Before the bully could recover, Piang
had righted the vinta and was paddling off in the direction of the
river. Sicto tried to follow him, but Piang only laughed and paddled
faster. He was free again; he had a boat, and knew the secret of the
rice. Allah was indeed good to little Piang.
Rapidly he plied his paddle. The current was against him as he headed
for the mouth of the river, but he worked steadily and soon lost
sight of the infuriated Sicto.
He paused. Coming out of the river was a flotilla of boats. They were
the usual rice-fishers, and he must pass them to gain the outlet. What
if they called to him? He could not speak their dialect, and they
would surely recognize Sicto's boat. He did not think they had seen
him, so he changed his course to the east-ward and slowly paddled in
that direction. They soon passed behind him, paying no attention to
the solitary boatman, and he thankfully headed toward the river. As
soon as the men reached Sicto, he would tell them of the fight, and
they would give chase. Piang's chances of escape were indeed slim,
but he had a little start.
Stubbornly he fought the current; patiently he worked against the
swift water. At last he was in the river, but he knew that by this
time the Moros were in pursuit. That they did not appear in the river
behind him was no reason to feel safe. He was sure they would try to
head him off by land, as the river wound round and round through the
valleys. The odds were certainly against Piang. He was in a strange
country, unfamiliar with the trails and hunted by the swiftest tribe
of Moros. The Ganassi trail was out of the question. It would be
lined with the lake people watching for him. The jungle, which he
had worked his way through, would be searched, and his recent camping
site discovered. Every passable trail to his home would be watched.
Suddenly Piang remembered the "Americano" soldiers. They
lived somewhere off in the other direction, beyond the terrible
marshlands. Without a moment's hesitation, he headed toward the shore,
pulled up the vinta, and secured it. He then plunged into the stream
and swam to the opposite shore. When the lake people found the vinta,
they would search that side of the jungle. Piang was pleased at
his ruse.
Bravely the boy faced his only avenue of escape. The journey through
the marshlands and over the mountains was considered impossible,
but Piang was not discouraged. Searching the surrounding jungle, he
made sure that he had not been discovered, and, turning his back on
his home as well as on his enemies, headed toward the distant peaks,
the Dos Hermanas.
"Halt!" The sentry on Post No. 4 wheeled and took aim. There was
another rustle in the bushes. "Halt!" came the second warning. Luckily
the man was an old soldier, whose nerves were well seasoned. There
would be only one more warning; the bullet would come then. Tensely
the sentry listened. In the jungle one does not wait long out of
curiosity. Just as he was about to utter his ultimatum and emphasize
it with lead, a slender form tottered through the bushes and fell to
the ground.
"Sure, an' he 's a-playin' dead. None of that game for yer Uncle
Dudley." The Irishman, coming to port arms, sang out:
"Corporal of the guard. Number Four!" Never taking his eyes off the
still form, he waited.
"What's up?" called the corporal, as he came running up the trail
with his squad.
"Suspicious greaser!" The sentry pointed at the prostrate
form. Cautiously they approached it. Too many times their humane
sympathy had been rewarded by treachery. The native did not stir. One
of the guard poked him with his foot. There was no resistance.
"Guess he's all in, all right," announced the corporal. "Heave him
up. Never mind the leeches; they won't hurt you." The boy was lifted
to the top of a woodpile. He bore the marks of the jungle. His hands
and feet were scratched and torn by thorns, some of which still showed
in the flesh. His ribs showed plainly through the tightly pulled skin,
and leeches clung to him, sucking the blood from his tired body. The
long hair had been jerked from its customary chignon, and was hanging
loose around his head. His thin arms hung listlessly at his side.
"Gosh, he needs a wash bad enough. Must have been starving, too." With
his bayonet the corporal removed the black hair from the face. Uttering
an exclamation, he bent over the boy.