A Lost Tribe and the Servants of Mohammed.
Wandering, always wandering through the mountains and forests since
the years began,--destined to wander till the forests fall.
Throughout the archipelago, in the dense mountain woods, sleeping
in trees or on the ground, straying away in search of game, without
a fixed place of abode, live the Negritos, aborigines, the pigmy
vagrants of the Philippines. These little men, molesting no one,
yet considering the rest of mankind as their enemy, and wishing only
to be left alone, have hidden in the unexplored interior. Where
they have come from is a mystery. It might have been that, in the
ages past, the chain of islands from Luzon to Borneo was a part of
Asia, an extensive mountain system populated by the tiny men found
there to-day. If so, then they were driven to the highlands by the
cataclysm that in prehistoric ages might have broken up the mainland
into islands, leaving only the summits of the mountains visible.
Or otherwise, might not these wanderers, who have their prototypes
among the pigmies of dark Africa, or in the dwarfs inhabiting New
Guinea--might they not have set sail from Caffraria, New Guinea, or
the country of the Papuans, long years before the Christian era, like
the "Jumblies," in their frail canoes, perhaps escaping persecution,
driven by the winds and currents, to land at last on the unpeopled
shores of Filipinia?
In time came the Malayans of low culture, now the pagan tribes of the
interior, and a conflict--primitive men fighting with rude weapons,
clubs, and stones--ensued for the possession of the coast. In that
event the smaller men were driven back into the territory that they
occupy to-day. The races intermingled, and a medley of strange,
mongrel tribes resulted. They have wandered, scattering themselves
abroad about the islands. Influenced by various environment, each
tribe adopted different customs and built up from common roots the
different dialects. These tribes have always been, and always will
be, mere barbarians and savages. In the pure type of Negritos,
spindle legs, large turned-in feet, weak bodies, and large heads
are noticeable. Shifting eyes, flat noses, kinky hair, and teeth
irregularly set,--these are Negrito characteristics, though they
frequently occur in the _mestizo_ types. The Igorrotes of Luzon,
whose ancestors were possibly the aborigines and the worst element of
the invaders, are to-day the cannibals and the head-hunters of the
north. In Abra, province of Luzon, the Burics and their neighbors,
the Busaos, both of a Negrito-Malay origin, use poisoned darts, tattoo
their bodies, and adorn themselves with copper rings and caps of rattan
decorated with bright feathers. The Manguianes, of the mountains of
Mindoro, dress in rattan coils, supplemented with a scanty apron.
These Malayan races were, in their turn, driven back by later Malays,
who became the nucleus of the Tagalog, Bicol, Ilocano, and Visayan
races, taking possession of the coast and mouths of rivers, and
governing themselves, or being governed by hereditary rajas, just
as when, three centuries ago, Magellan and Legaspi found them. The
Moros, or Mohammedan invaders, were first heard from when, in 1597,
Spain first tried to organize them into a dependent government. These
treacherous pirates, the descendants of the fierce Dyacs of Borneo,
had begun still earlier to terrorize the southern coasts, raiding the
villages and carrying off the children into slavery. In 1599 a Moro
fleet descended on the coast of Negros and Panay, and would, no doubt,
have occupied this territory permanently had not the arms of Spain
been there to interfere. Hereafter Spanish galleons were to oppose
the progress of these pirate fleets, while troops of infantry were to
defeat the savages on land. The Spaniards early in the seventeenth
century succeeded in establishing a foothold on the island of Jolo
and at Zamboanga. It was Father Malchior de Vera who designed the
fort at Zamboanga, which was destined to become the scene of many an
attack by Moro warriors, and to be the base of military operations
against the surrounding tribes. A Jesuit mission was established in the
sultan's territory after the defeat of the Mohammedans by Corcuera. In
the interior, around the shores of Lake Lanao, the fighting padre,
Friar Pedro de San Augustin, backing the cross with Spanish infantry,
carried the Christian war into the country of the infidels, continuing
the conflict that for many years had made a battleground of Spain. It
was in memory of their old enemies, the Moors, that when the Spaniards
met the infidels in eastern lands, they named them Moros (Moors).
The war between Spain and the Moros was relentless. Time and again the
pirates had been punished by the Spanish admirals, until, in 1725,
the sultan sent a Chinese envoy to Manila to negotiate a truce. A
treaty was ratified, but broken, and again the Sulu Moros learned
what Spanish hell was like. In spite of this continual warfare the
Mohammedans grew stronger, and in 1754 the ocean was infested with
the Moro _vintas_, till another friar, Father Ducos, in a sea-fight
off the coast of Northern Mindanao, sunk one hundred and fifty of
their boats and killed three thousand men. Bantilan, the usurper of
the Sulu throne, was one of the foremost of the mischief-makers who,
in 1767, sent a pirate fleet as far north as Manila Bay. Although the
Spaniards had repeatedly won victories in Jolo, Zamboanga, and Davao,
and by treaties had made all this country vassal to the crown of Spain,
up to the time of the evacuation of the Philippines, when, as a last
act, they had sent their own tiny gunboats to the bottom of Lanao,
they never had become the undisputed masters of the territory.
One of the pleasantest friends I had while I was in the Islands was
Herr Altman, an orchid collector, who had risked his life a hundred
times among the savages of the interior in the pursuance of the passion
of his life. "One afternoon," he said, "when we were in the forests
of Luzon, my native guides approached me with broad grins. I thought,
perhaps, they had discovered some new orchid; so I followed them. But
I was unprepared for what they were about to show me. Since then I have
had much experience among the wild tribes, but at this time everything
was new to me. They motioned silence as, with broadening grins, they
now approached what seemed to be a clearing in the woods. I could not
think why they should be amused; but they are very easily delighted,
just like children, and I thought that it would do no harm to humor
them. Then I was startled by the howling of a dog and a strange sound
coming through the woods.
Still following my guides, I brought up in a growth of underbrush on a
small precipice that overlooked an open space among the trees. Looking
in the direction in which they pointed, I beheld a group of tiny black
men dancing in a circle around what seemed to be a section of a fallen
tree. Off to the side, the women, slightly smaller than the men, were
cooking a wild hog on a spit, over a smoking fire. Their hair was thick
and woolly and uncombed. Their arms and ankles were adorned with copper
bracelets. Some of the men wore leather thongs that dangled from their
legs. There were a few rude shelters in the clearing, merely improvised
affairs of branches. As the men danced they sent up a song in a high,
piping voice, and several hungry dogs, who had been watching enviously
the roasting meat, howled sympathetically and in unison. It finally
occurred to me that we were the spectators of a funeral ceremony;
that the section of a tree was nothing less than the rough coffin of
the dead Negrito. We continued to watch them for a time, while, having
finished dancing, they began their feast. The only dishes that they
had were cocoanut-shells, out of which they drank immoderate amounts
of _tuba_. The funeral ceremony, as I understand it, lasts for several
days--as long as the supply of meat and _tuba_ lasts. The coffin,
which appeared to me a hollowed log, is but a section of a certain bark
sealed up at either end with wax. The burial is made under the house
in the case of those tribes living near the coast; or in a stockade,
which protects the body against desecration from the enemy."
It was with feelings such as one might entertain when looking at a
mermaid or an inhabitant of Mars, that I first saw a genuine Negrito
in a prison at Manila. The wretched pigmy had been brought in to the
city from his inaccessible retreat in the great forest; he was dazed
and frightened at the white men and the things they did. He was a
miserable little fellow, with distrustful eyes, and twisted legs,
and pigeon toes. He died after a few days of captivity, during which
time he had not spoken. A dumb obedience marked his relations with the
guard. The white man's civilization was as disagreeable and unnatural
to him as his nomadic life would be to us. A fish could just as well
live out of water as this pigmy in the white man's land.
A few of the Negritos near the coast, however, have been touched by
civilizing influences. They inhabit towns of small huts built on poles,
which they abandon on the death of any one within. The house wherein
a death occurs is generally burned. They plant a little corn and rice,
but often move away before the crop is harvested. They are too lazy to
raise anything; too weak to capture slaves. During the heavy rains,
when the great woods are saturated, they protect themselves against
the cold by wrapping blankets around their bodies. At night they
often share the tree with birds and monkeys, sheltered from rain and
dampness by the canopy of foliage. They have a head man for their
villages--sometimes a member of another tribe, who, on account of his
superior attainments, holds the respect of all. They hunt with bows
and arrows; weapons which, by means of constant use, they handle with
dexterity. At night their villages are located through the incessant
barking of the hungry dogs, which always follow them around. Sleeping
in huts, in order to prevent mosquitoes from annoying them, they
often build a fire beneath them, toasting themselves until their
flesh becomes a crust of scales.
In the south Camarines, and in Negros, they will often come down to
the coast towns, trading the wax and sweet potatoes of the mountains
for sufficient rice to last them several days. They sometimes work a
day or two in the adjacent hemp or rice fields, receiving for their
labor a small measure of the rice. When they have eaten this, they
fast until their hunger drives them down to work again. Their marriage
relations are peculiar. While the father of the family has but one true
wife, a number of women are dependent on him, widows or relatives who
have attached themselves to him. The children receive their names from
rivers, animals, or trees. If they were taken out of their environment
when very young they might be educated, as experiments have shown that
the Negrito children have the same impulses of generosity, the same
attachment to their friends, the same joys, sorrows, and sensations,
that belong to children everywhere. Only their little souls are lost
forever in the wilderness.
Neither the pagan tribes nor the Negritos read or write. The Moros,
too, are very ignorant, only the priests and students being able
to read passages from the Koran and make the Arabic characters. The
latest Malay immigrants, who had been influenced by Indian culture,
introduced a style of writing that is very queer. Three vowels
were used,--a, e, and u. The consonants were represented by as many
signs that look a good deal like our shorthand. Although there were
three characters to represent the vowels when used alone, whenever a
consonant would be pronounced with "a," only the sign of the consonant
was used. In order to express a final consonant, or one without the
vowel, a tiny cross was made below the character. If "e" was wanted,
a dot would be placed over the letter that expressed the consonant,
or if the vowel was to be "u," the dot was placed below.
Some rainy day, when you have nothing else to do, you can invent
some characters to represent our consonants, and with the aid
of dots and crosses, write a letter to yourself, and see how you
would get along if you were forced to use that kind of alphabet at
school. The natives use the Spanish alphabet to-day, which is much
like our own. Their language, being full of particles, sounds very
funny when they talk. All you would understand would be perhaps, pag,
naga, naca, mag, tag, paga; and all this would probably convey but
little meaning to you. It is a curious fact that while the dialects of
all the tribes are different, many of the ordinary words are common,
being slightly changed in the transition. The language is of a Malayan
origin, but has a number of Sanskrit words as well as Arabic. From
studying these dialects, comparing the construction of the sentence
as expressed by different tribes, and by comparing the inflections
of homogeneous verbs and nouns, one might arrive at the conclusion
that these tribes and races, differing so strikingly among each other,
mutually antagonistic, all belong to one great family and have a common
origin. But that is a question for the anthropologists to settle; one
that will give even the professors all the trouble that they want,
and make them wrinkle up their learned foreheads, while among them
they arrive at widely-varying decisions, which will be as mutually
exclusive as the tribes themselves.
It was a rainy day in the dense woods along the Iligan-Marahui
road. The soft ground oozed beneath the feet, and a continual
dripping was kept up from the low-hanging, saturated foliage. The Moro
interpreter, in a red-striped suit and prominent gilt buttons, had come
into camp with the report that one of the dattos at Malumbung wanted
the military doctor to come up and treat his child, who was afflicted
with a fever. The datto had offered protection for the "medico," and,
as a fee, a bottle of pure gold. The guides and soldiers, who were
waiting in the forest, would conduct the doctor to Malumbung if he
cared to go.
"This sounds like a pretty good adventure," said the commanding
officer to me. "How would you like to go along?" The doctor had
accepted the offer of the Moros, and he now reiterated the commanding
officer's invitation. "It's going to be a rather long, stiff hike,"
he said. "We'll have to sleep to-night out in the woods, and there's
no telling whether the Moros mean good faith or not. Remember that,
in case the child should die while I am there, the Moros will believe
that I have killed it, and will probably make matters more or less
unpleasant for us both. I operated once upon a fellow over in Tagaloan
who died under the knife. As soon as the spectators saw that he was
hardly due to come to life again, they crowded around me with their
bolos drawn, and if a friend of mine among them had not interfered,
I would have followed my subject very speedily."
It was arranged that we take with us a small squad of regulars to
carry the provisions and go armed, "in case there should be any
game upon the way." As this arrangement seemed to satisfy the Moros,
though it did not please them much, we started, covering the first
half mile along the clayey road through driving rain, and turning
off into the Moro trail around the summit of the hill. The Moros led
the way with their peculiar lurching stride that covered a surprising
distance in a very short time. Soon we were in the heart of the vast
wilderness. We passed by colonies of monkeys, who severely reprimanded
us from their secure retreat among the tree-tops. One of the soldiers
killed a python with his Krag--a swollen creature, that could hardly
be distinguished from the overhanging vines--that measured twenty
feet from head to tail. The Moros silently unslipped their knives,
and dextrously removed the skin. We camped that night in shelter tents,
although the ground was soaked, and a cold breath penetrated the damp
woods. All night the jungle-fowl and monkeys kept up an incessant
obligato, and the forest seemed to re-echo with mysterious and far-off
sounds. At daylight we pushed on, and late in the afternoon arrived
at the small Moro settlement. The tiny _nipa_ houses, set up on bamboo
poles, were rather a poor substitute for shelter; but on reaching them
after our two days in the forest, it was like arriving in a civilized
community. The doctor went immediately to the datto's house, a large
one with a steep roof, where he dosed the infant with a little quinine.
There were about five hundred Moros in the village under the datto,
who ruled absolutely as by hereditary right. While he, of course,
was feudal to the nearest sultan, in his own community he was a
lord and prince. Most of the people were his slaves and fighting
men. His private warriors, or his bodyguard, were armed with krisses,
_campalans_, and spears, with shields of carabao hide, and coats of
mail of buffalo-horn, as defensive armor. The favorite weapons of
the datto were elaborately inlaid with the ivory cut from the tusks
of the wild boar. His dress was also distinctive, and when new must
have been very brilliant. It was fastened with pearl buttons, while
along the outside seams of his tight pantaloons a row of smaller
buttons ran. A dirty silk handkerchief wound around his head, the
corner overlapping on the side, made an appropriate and fitting
headgear. He had several wives, for whom he had paid in all a sum
amounting to a hundred sacks of rice and twenty cattle. He had lost
considerably on his speculations, having divorced three wives and
being unable to secure a rebate on the price that he had paid for them.
As soon as the doctor had completed his attentions to the patient, the
_pandita_ (priest) appeared, and asked him to account for the strange
happenings that had occurred in the community. The village was in a
state of panic, and unless a stop were put to the proceedings soon,
there was no telling what the end might be. It seemed that during
the night a number of children had been murdered secretly. Their
mutilated bodies had been left at morning at the gates of their
respective dwellings. These murders had been going on for several
days, and though the houses had been guarded by a man armed with a
_campilan_ at night, the children would be mysteriously missing in the
morning. It was evidently, said the priest, the work of devils. A big
hand had been seen to snatch one of the children from its parent's
arms; and under the houses of those afflicted could be seen a weird
fire glowing in the dead of night.
The people claimed the murderer was none else than the big man of the
woods, whose footprints, like the impressions of a cocoanut-shell, had
been discovered in the soft ground near the border of the forest. There
was a crazy prophet living in a tree, and he had seen the wife of
the big man, half black, half white, wandering near the territory of
the lake. The prophet had also seen a star fall from the sky, and
he had followed it to see where it had struck the earth. He found
there a huge stone, which, as he looked upon it, changed to a wild
hog. Then the wild hog had vanished, and a flock of birds had risen
from the ground. In place of the rock, a stone hand now appeared, and
breaking off a finger of it, the prophet had discovered that, when
burnt, its fumes had power to put the whole community to sleep. In
this way had the big man of the woods been able to defy the guards
and to assassinate the children at his will.
The doctor, thinking that these deeds had been performed by
somebody impelled by lust--the lust of seeing blood and quivering
flesh--determined to investigate. Suspicion pointed to the crazy
prophet, and the guards directed us to his impossible abode. The
prophet was accused directly of the crime, and, being convinced
that he was found out by the white man's magic, he confessed. The
datto sentenced him to be beheaded, and seemed disappointed when
we would not stay to see this operation. He even offered to turn
the victim loose among the crowd, and let them strike him down with
krisses. Had we desired, we could have had the places of honor in
the line, and used the datto's finest weapons. The people, he said,
were puzzled at our lack of interest, for the occasion would have
been a sort of festival for them. But seeing that we were obdurate,
the datto served our farewell meal--baked jungle-fowl and rice--and,
after offering to purchase our Krag-Jorgesens at an attractive price,
he bade us all good-bye.
On the way back, our guides surprised us by their climbing and
swimming. There was one place where the Agus River had been spanned by
jointed bamboo poles; while we crossed like funambulists, depending
for our balance on a slender rail, the Moros leaped into the rushing
torrent, near the rapids, swimming like rats against the stream,
and reaching the other side ahead of us. One of the guides went up
a tall macao-tree, pulling himself up by the long parasitic vines,
and bracing himself against the tree-trunk with his feet, to get an
orchid that was growing high among the foliage. Though we expressed
our admiration at these feats, the guides preserved their customary
proud demeanor, and refused to be moved by applause.
Their active life in the vast wilderness has given them athletic,
supple bodies, which they handle to a nicety when fighting. Although
the Moros build stone forts and mount them with old-fashioned cannon;
although their arsenals are fairly well supplied with Remingtons and
Mausers, their warriors generally prefer to fight with bolos. These
weapons never leave their side. They sleep with them, and they are
buried with them. Their heavy _campalans_ are fastened to their hands
by thongs, so that, in case the hand should slip, the warrior would
not fall without his knife. The Moros in a hand-to-hand fight are
extremely agile. Holding the shield on the left arm, they flourish the
bolo with their right, dodging, leaping, and jeering at the antagonist
in order to disconcert or frighten him.
While their religion and fanaticism render them almost foolhardy in a
battle, if a Moro sees that he is beaten and that escape is possible,
he will avail himself of opportunities to fight another day. If brought
to bay, however, he is desperate, and in his more religious moments
he will throw himself on a superior enemy, expecting a sure death,
but confident of riding the white horse to paradise if he succeeds
in spilling the blood of infidels.
Although distrustful, lazy, and malignant, the Moro is consistent in
his hatred for the unbeliever, and untiring on the war-path. Scorning
all manner of work, he leads an active forest life, killing the
wild pig, which religious scruples prevent his eating, and waging
war against the neighboring tribes. He is a born slave-catcher and a
pirate. He will drink sea-water when no other is available. He shows
a diabolical cunning in the manufacture of his weapons. Nothing can
be more terrible than the long, snaky blade of a Malay kriss. The
harpoons, with which he spears the hogs, come apart at a slight
pull. The point of the spear on catching in the flesh holds fast. The
handle, however, becoming detached, though held to the barbed point
by a thong, catches and holds the hog fast in the underbrush. The
head-ax is a long blade turned at just the proper angle to decapitate
the victim scientifically.
Ignorant and perfectly indifferent to the observations that their
creed prescribes, the Moros gather at the rude mosque to the beating
of a monstrous drum. Seated around upon straw mats, they chatter and
chew betel-nut while the _pandita_ reads a passage from a manuscript
copy of the Koran. These copies are guarded sacredly, and only the
young men who are studying for the priesthood are instructed from
them. The priests of the first class are able to read and write,
and it is better to have made the pilgrimage to Mecca. The birth of
Mohammed is celebrated by a feast at harvest-time. Another occasion
for a feast is given by the marriage ceremony. Bridegrooms are
encouraged to provide these banquets by the administration of a
beating if delinquent, or in case the food provided fails to meet
the expectations of the guests. On the completion of this function,
the bridegroom bathes his feet; then chewing _buya_, seated on a mat
beside the bride, his hand and hers are covered by a napkin while the
priest goes through the proper gestures and recites a verse from the
Koran. The wedding celebration then degenerates into a drunken dance.
The bodies of the dead are wrapped in a white shroud, and buried in a
crescent trench, together with enough meat, fruit, and water to sustain
the spirit on its trip to paradise. The priest, before departing,
eats a meal of buffalo-meat or other game above the grave. The grave
is then turned over to a guard of soldiers, who remain there for a
few days, or as long as they are paid.
Though the Americans have tried to deal in good faith with these
fanatics, little has been accomplished either in the way of civilizing
them or pacifying them. The Moro schools at Jolo and at Zamboanga
have been failures. Teachers of manual training have been introduced
to no avail. The Moro could be no more treacherous if his ancestors
had sprung from tigers' wombs. A Moro boy, employed for years by one
of my American acquaintances at Iligan, rewarded his master recently
by cutting his throat at night. As superstitious as he is fanatic and
uncivilized, the Moro is a failure as a member of the human race. Even
the children are the incarnation of the fiend. There was that boy
at Iligan who worked at the officer's club, and who hung over the
roulette-wheel like a perfect devil, crowing with demoniac glee when
he was lucky. These are our latest citizens--this batch of serpents'
eggs hatched out in human form; and those who have seen the Moro in
his native home will tell you that, whatever his latent possibilities
may be, he can not yet be dealt with as a man.