SULU
That popular opera "The Sultan of Sulu" has made the island of Sulu
one of the most-talked-of places on the map of our new possessions,
but in the Philippines it is rarely called Sulu, being better known by
its Moro name of Jolo, this being pronounced with the accent on the
last syllable, so that it sounds not unlike that vulgar salutation
of our Western World, "Hello!"
As first seen from our quarter-deck the village of Sulu was a thing
of beauty, with its vivid tints of green and gold and amethyst, its
red-sailed boats on the sunlit bay, and over all the strongly blue
sky. Nor was this enchantment due entirely to distance, for on going
ashore in the late afternoon, we found the town even more attractive
than we had thought it from the sea.
On drawing up to the pier in the ship's launch, all were surprised to
find it built solidly of brick and stone, a rare departure in these
waters, while at one side rose a round watch-tower, the architectural
evidence of Spain's ultimate victory, after numerous and heart-breaking
failures, in establishing a fort at Sulu. Above this watch-tower, which
might have been taken bodily from the stage-setting for a melodrama,
floated Old Glory against the sunset sky; Moro fishing-boats, the
breeze in their crimson sails, dotted the flushed bay; and to the
north and east small, detached islands, tinged with a translucent
purple like the skin of a grape, faded into the horizon.
Within the town's mediæval loopholed walls everything adds to this
picturesque effect, for the streets are laid out in broad boulevards,
with here and there a park or plaza, riotous with bloom; the houses are
large and well built, there being no nipa shacks within the four walls,
and the only church of the place is refreshingly simple in design.
During our first morning ashore we visited the market, and found it a
most interesting sight. The Moros, in their parti-coloured raiment,
were squatted on the ground in a great circle, buying or selling
fruits and vegetables, while under a covered shed at one end of the
plaza stood those dealing in fish and crustaceans of all kinds.
These marketmen were eminently good to look upon from an artistic
standpoint, and as they lounged around in groups or singly, one
longed to imprison them on canvas in all the gorgeousness of their
tropical colouring. One fishmonger, whom I especially remember,
sported a ravishing costume, consisting of bright green trousers,
skin-tight of course, a purple coat, and a high peaked hat of silver,
gilt, and crimson. He might better have been in comic opera than in
the humble occupation of selling crabs and lobsters.
The Moro women were particularly interested in the _Burnside_ feminine
contingent, but not to the extent of dogging our footsteps as did
the natives elsewhere, several American women in town having helped
satiate their curiosity. But they stared at us, nevertheless, with
a deep and absorbing interest, the quartermaster's wife, as usual,
being the cynosure of all eyes, because of her exceptional height and
slenderness, not to mention that astounding walking-skirt, which had
apparently grown upon her, there being no visible means by which it
could be put on and off.
It was that morning most of us saw for the first time the durian,
of malodorous fame, whose taste is said to be as delicious as its
smell is overpowering. The fruit was for sale in the market at a few
pennies apiece, and had banishment from Sulu not been threatened as
a punishment, I should certainly have tasted one, that I might more
accurately describe it.
"If you're bound to eat one of those nasty durians," said a friend
living in the town, "please take it on the ship and have the captain
anchor out farther at sea. If you attempt to open one here, you'll
have the Sanitation Committee after you hotfoot!"
So I desisted, but looked at the durians so wistfully that the Moros
put them down in price to a penny apiece, evidently thinking that
monetary considerations prohibited the purchase.
In appearance the durian is green and prickly, about the size of a
small melon, and even through the tough outside rind one can notice
a faint nauseating odour. It is said that when one is opened in the
market it takes but a few moments to clear the vicinity of Americans,
while if a man be courageous enough to brave the strong smell and take
a bite of the fruit, his presence will be unwelcome in polite society
for some time thereafter; yet the durian is delightful to the palate,
and would doubtless be oftener eaten did not one become so steeped
in its anything but Sabean odour.
That first morning in Sulu, after a jolly breakfast with some of our
army friends, a post officer took me into the Moro village of Tuli,
just south of the walled town. There we visited many native house,
climbing up steps made of circular logs, which were hard to navigate
in shoes, and in every instance the natives greeted us with the
utmost cordiality.
In one of the tumble-down shacks near the sea we found the Sultana,
Inchy Jamela, mother of the present Sultan, who had preceded her son to
Sulu on a little visit. She was a most repulsive old hag, blear-eyed
and skinny with blackened teeth, from which the thin lips curled away
in a chronic snarl, but she rose on her elbow from the couch where
she was reclining, and shook hands in good American fashion. Then she
threw us each a pillow, indicating that we, too, should lie down and
take it easy, but we preferred our perpendicularity, and sat upright
on the edge of her couch, this being the only article of furniture
in the room.
As the old lady could not speak Spanish, she leered at us pleasantly
from where she lay, occasionally muttering something in her native
tongue, that might have been a tribute to our charms of mind or person,
but which sounded more like an incantation. I felt she was a veritable
witch, and at any moment expected to find myself changed into some
animal or other under the baleful light of her eyes. If she had said,
"Rumpelstilzchen, rumpelstilzchen," or any other cabalistic thing
the witches in our fairy tales used to say, I should not have been
surprised; and I tried to smile as pleasantly as I knew how, for
fear she would think me bad tempered, and so change my every word
into frogs and toads, instead of diamonds and rubies.
After a particularly scintillating burst of silence the Sultana
offered me some _buyo_, or betel-nut, to chew, and on my refusing it,
placidly put a large hunk into her own mouth, and chewed it until the
red juice stained her lips as if she were suffering from a hemorrhage.
The dais on which she lounged was as large as a small room, and was
raised about three feet from the ground, it being covered with pillows
and hand-woven mats of straw and bamboo. Around this thronelike couch
were grouped her slaves and attendants, all armed with _barongs_
and _krises_ stuck into their wide sash belts, and attired in
many-coloured garments that gave one the impression, both from fit
and odour, of being on terms of long and close acquaintance with their
wearers. The inevitable naked, brown babies staggered around the room,
their little stomachs, in many instances, being swelled frightfully
from a diet of too much rice and fish.
When the Sultana wanted privacy a drapery of red and white stuff,
hung from the ceiling, could be let down, but otherwise she was
constantly in the presence of her slaves and retainers, having the
alternative of being smothered to death in privacy or bored to death
in plenty of fresh air. We were told the Sultana was a power in the
State and a diplomatist of no mean order, but it was hard to believe
this in the royal presence, unwashed and unlovely as it was. Still,
I remember seeing in a Philadelphia paper that some American living
in Sulu had described the Sultana as being "an agreeable, refined,
and charming Oriental diplomat." Her personality was quoted as most
attractive, "uniting a rare combination of Oriental elegance and modern
grace." She would be, it was said, in bearing and appearance, a credit
to an American drawing-room. Heaven forbid! Unless the writer possibly
meant that after due training she would grace the drawing-room in cap
and apron, wielding a duster in lieu of her inherited rod of empire.
On the day of our visit, Her Majesty was attired in garments of decided
dinginess, soiled and faded, with here and there an ill-made patch,
or perhaps a fresh hole, like a gaping wound, in the cloth. But it is
said that on the grand occasions when she honours the post with her
presence, she is attired in a splendour before which the lilies of the
field wilt with envy. Rainbow effects predominate, and much gilt and
silver embroidery, the ravishing impression being further enhanced
by a pair of white cotton mitts drawn over her bird-claw hands. On
these occasions of state the Sultana rides into town on the back of
a slave, with another slave holding a parasol over her august head,
and accompanied by several outriders, or rather outwalkers, attired
in few clothes of many colours.
The Sultan, too, rides pickaback when he comes to town, and as it is
considered a great privilege for a Moslem to have kissed the Sultan's
hand or foot, he is often gracious enough to sit astride a slave's
shoulders in some public place, the palms of his hands and the soles of
his bare feet obligingly outstretched, so that the thronging people can
come by fours and do homage to his state as expeditiously as possible.
One of the officers stationed in Sulu told us of a hunting trip which
he and several other men had taken with the Sultan and a high-ranking
datto, a royal hunt through royal preserves. To the intense amusement
of the Americans, the Moros insisted on taking their respective harems
with them on the chase, and at night all slept in one large room,
the three factions being separated only by curtains around raised
platforms.
For some time the harems and their respective lords called back and
forth to each other quite audibly, until the officers, worn out with
their day's shooting, fell asleep. About midnight the Americans were
awakened by such frightful shrieks and blood-curdling yells that each
instinctively felt for his revolver or rifle, fearing an attack from
the fanatical Moslems. It transpired, however, that it was only a
slave girl singing the Sultan to sleep! The officer described this
musical effort as a most hideous uproar, saying that a note would be
held almost to the bursting point, the breath being regained by an
agonized, strangled sob, or else a bar would be yelled explosively
between hissing, indrawn breaths, the effect not conforming to the
laws of harmony as understood by Europeans.
On other hunting trips, when the Americans had been accompanied by
Moro guides, great difficulty was found in procuring food suited to
Mohammedan restrictions, the Moros even refusing bread because there
might be lard in it, or because they had seen the soldier cooks grease
the pans with that abomination; sardines were also prohibited for fear
they had been soaked in animal fat; and bacon was of course accursed.
The officers were in despair until one old Moro came across some cans
of baked beans among the rations. Beans! Assuredly a clean vegetable,
and as such to be partaken of freely. So there they sat, good Moslems
all, regaling themselves out of cans marked plainly on their gaudy
labels, "_Pork and Beans_." Moreover, they averred that the American
article had an exceptionally fine Bavour, not in the least like the
Philippine variety!
So strong is the Moros' aversion to even touching pork, that while
they will guide Americans where boar may be found, they themselves
will take no part in the sport nor help carry the game home, and even
when offered American prices a pound for the meat, that representing
fabulous wealth to a Moro, he will not defile himself by so much as
selling it.
Mr. Dean C. Worcester, in his delightful book, "The Philippine
Islands," gives a most interesting legend in explanation of the Moros'
aversion to pork. He says he made numerous attempts in Mindanao,
Basilan, and Sulu to find out the origin of this curious distaste,
but without avail, until one day the minister of justice, under
"his Excellency Paduca Majasari Malauna Amiril Mauinin Sultan Harun
Narrasid," committed a bibulous indiscretion, and when the vivifying
spirits were well amalgamated with his own he contributed the following
narrative:
"Jesus Christ, called by the Moros Isa, was a man like ourselves,
but great, and good, and very powerful. He was not a son of God. The
Moros hate and kill the Christians because they teach that men could
punish and kill a son of God.
"Mohamoud had a grandson and a grand-daughter, of whom he was very
fond. As he was king of the world, Christ came to his house to
visit him. Mohamoud, 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' (_divinar_). Mohamoud 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.' Mohamoud replied, 'No, you are wrong, and I will now
kill you.' Christ said, 'Look first, and see for yourself.' Mohamoud
opened the door, and out rushed two hogs, into which Christ had
changed his grandchildren.
"Moros are forbidden to tell this story to infidels, because it shows
that Christ outwitted the great prophet. When my informant sobered
up and realized what he had done, he hung around day after day,
beseeching me not to let any one know what he had done, from which
fact I inferred that _he thought_ he had told me the truth, and not
a fable invented for the occasion."
That first morning in Sulu, after having paid our respects to
the Sultana, we called upon the next greatest personage in town,
a Hadji but lately returned from his pilgrimage to Mecca. He was a
most intelligent man, with regular features, fine eyes, and a flowing
beard, impressively patriarchal. He was a priest as well as a Hadji,
and, we were told, had a mighty following among the faithful. Both he
and his wife were most hospitable in their manner and courteous in
their speech, she beaming toothlessly upon us throughout the call,
and as we left they pressed upon me a handful of rather rare shells
as a memento of the visit.
The small boy of the family, a youngster of seven or eight, stared
at us continually from the moment of our entrance into the house
until our exit, seeming especially taken with the young officer; so
much so, in fact, that on our leaving, he followed us to the door,
and there climbed upon a high seat, from which point of vantage he
seized the young man's hand, kissed it very reverently, and then
laid it against his forehead. This was all done so solemnly and with
such a calm dignity that even the youngster's entire lack of raiment
could not detract from its impressiveness or the significance of the
action. It was evident that he imagined the big, blond lieutenant
was a Serif, a direct descendant of Mohammed, or perhaps even a Habi,
which means a Serif who has been to Mecca, or a Hadji and Serif in one,
than whom none but the Sultan is so great, so good, so omnipotent. I
dared not laugh at the child's earnestness, though I had some trouble
in controlling my risibles, the aforesaid young officer not having
a reputation for excessive holiness.
Long before reaching the Moro school for boys, which we next visited,
we could hear the voices of the pupils in a treble uproar, for they
all and individually studied aloud, rocking back and forth in their
seats, so that at first the sound was an unintelligible jumble,
which finally resolved itself into bits of the multiplication table,
detached letters of the alphabet, and pages from geography or history.
As we entered the door, the scholars looked up expectantly from their
work, glad of an interruption, and at a sign from one of the Mohammedan
teachers, they sprang to their feet with the uniformity of a machine,
fairly yelling their "Good morning" at us. Fine little lads they were,
all being of Moro, Chinese, or Filipino stock, with here and there
a fascinating combination of the three nationalities in one.
Of course the children were put through their paces for us, and,
as each recited in turn, he would preface his remarks by a profound
bow and a little speech, the words of these formal introductions
being exactly alike, as if ground out by a phonograph, and beginning
"Ladies and Gentlemen," till I wondered if perhaps the children saw
us double. They were not in the least abashed, these little savages,
and in their quaint English recited selections from Eugene Field
and James Whitcomb Riley, some of these efforts being in dialect,
which must have been a trifle puzzling to one not acquainted with
the vagaries of the language.
Finally an arithmetical problem on the board caught my eye, and was
surreptitiously transferred to my note-book for future reference. It
ran something like this: "A poor old lady owns one thousand cents. She
loses 189 of the cents. How many left has she?" The master, observing
my interest in the financial difficulties of the aged and destitute
lady, had the little slates brought up that I might see there were
still 811 pennies to her credit. I inquired of some of the boys how
much 811 pennies put into dollars and cents would amount to, but all
were so visibly embarrassed that I, remembering my own mathematically
tortured childhood, desisted before the schoolmaster could hear. On
leaving, the boys again jumped up as one, and shouted their unanimous
"Good-bye," and long after we were out of sight, we could hear their
high young voices studying aloud, each for himself, and apparently
undisturbed by the scholastic outburst of his neighbour.
Half a mile outside the walled garrison of Sulu, to the west, is a
strong outpost built of stone, and still farther out yet another. These
outposts are always occupied by American soldiers, not originally
because of any expected trouble with the Moros, but because if our
men did not occupy them the Moros would, thus giving them an almost
invincible stronghold against us in case of some sudden fanatical
uprising. Among the Moros, as in Granada, "Love laughs with a grip
on the knife," and preparedness is as essential as good government.
Near these outposts may be seen some very fine kitchen gardens,
kept by the frugal Celestial, the Chinaman of Sulu being much more
energetic commercially than the Moro. It is from the "Chino" the
American housewife buys her fresh fruits and vegetables, while the
Moros bring in fish and the Filipinos chicken and game, thus ensuring
a well-stocked larder independent of the supply-ships from Manila. In
fact, so delightful a place is Sulu, that if fever were not prevalent
there at some seasons of the year, it would be a veritable Paradise;
but even the sanitary measures taken by the great Spanish General
Arolas have not quite stamped out that scourge to white men, which
long made Sulu the most undesirable military station in the islands.
Everybody in the Philippines knows the story of General Arolas, and
of how, at the close of a brief republican administration in Spain, he
was practically banished to Sulu, there to die by fever or be killed by
the Moros. But Arolas, instead of settling down into an inactive life
awaiting what seemed the inevitable, occupied himself in building up
the town, fortifying it strongly, and at the same time making it more
beautiful by laying it out in broad streets and avenues, interspersed
at regular intervals with flowering squares and plazas. By draining
these streets well, building water-works, and establishing a fine new
market, he changed its reputation as a fever hole and made Sulu one of
the most desirable stations in the south. By his relentless attitude
he gained the respect and fear of the Moros, and only once during his
administration did a fanatical _Juramentado_ gain access to the town.
But Arolas was probably less popular with the Mohammedans than was
the American officer in command at the time of our visit. Indeed,
he had been _legally_ adopted by the royal family, the fierce old
Sultana calling him "Brother," and the Sultan referring to him as
"Papa," while a greater proof of their affection may be found in this
extract of a letter written to General MacArthur on the Moros being
told that they were soon to lose their first American governor.
" ... I hereby bring to your notice that I have heard that our father,
Major Sweet, Governor of Jolo, will be taken away from us. This is
the reason of my writing to you, because you are the parent of the
Moro people, and it is known to us that you will always do your best
for us, as you have done hitherto. Therefore, I beg to you anyhow
for the present not to remove Major Sweet from here, as he has been
very good to us, and he is very well known to everybody. He is like
a parent to us Moro people. It will be just like a child who is left
by his parents; he will fret and be longing for the one he loves;
the Moro people are the same way. Even if somebody else would come,
it would not be the same, as he would be unknown; he will be another
man for that reason. To tell the truth, our father, Major Sweet,
has opened our eyes; he has been the man to show us the right way
to come up to the white man's ideas, and there are many cases where
he has shown us his good-will. Therefore, I, the Sultan of the Jolo
Archipelago, am seeking that whatever is good for my people. It is
my sincerest wish that my country should go ahead.
"Since Major Sweet, our father, has been in command of Jolo
Archipelago, no disturbance of any description has occurred; the reason
is, that he has taken great interest in our country and its people. He
was the man who saw our poverty, our incapability of paying customs
duties, as more than one calamity has befallen our islands; therefore,
we thank him and we trust him, although not knowing what he will do in
the future, if it will change or not. Therefore, I and my people ask
you to consider the removal of Major Sweet, we ask you to leave him
here; we would like him to teach us the customs of the white people."
This, signed by the Sultan himself, is surely documentary evidence
of successful American administration with the Mohammedans, who were
counted by the Spaniards as quite ungovernable.
Socially, we found Sulu delightful, and in our few days there had
many pleasant dinners both on and off the ship, a little dance at the
club-house, and a tennis tea. The women all wore pretty frocks, their
houses were charming, and their servants as well trained as if they
were living anywhere but on a dot of an island in the Sulu Sea. All of
which goes to show what American women can do in all circumstances,
especially army women. It was often hard to realize, while in Sulu,
that just outside the house which encompassed our little civilization,
barbarism lurked, but through the open windows one could see the Moros
in their picturesque colours, the more soberly dressed Filipinos,
and the thrifty Chinamen, with their long queues twisted up under
their flat straw hats, while bits of conversation in all three tongues
drifted in and mingled with our talk, as foreign to the American ear
as was the tropical foliage to the American eye.
Of course we bought all sorts of curios before sailing, embroidered
turbans, _sarongs_, _jabuls_, handsome _krises,_ chow-covers of
beautifully coloured straw, and hats of every variety, while one day,
as an experiment in shopping, I bargained for a Moro slave, a handsome,
black-eyed boy, but as he could not be purchased for less than ten
dollars gold, I informed his owner that he was too expensive. This
transaction was carried on with great seriousness by the elderly
Mohammedan, while the youngster himself showed great interest in the
proceedings, and looked a little disappointed when he found he was
not to belong to the _Americana_ after all.
Slave-raiding has of course been forbidden since American occupation,
but the authorities have not yet been able to entirely do away with
slave-trading, polygamy, nor other like peccadilloes, religious
toleration being the password to the ultimate civilization of our
new citizens.
Meanwhile the Signal Corps had entrenched the cable, and connected it
by a short land line with the telegraph office, which was established
in short order, everything being in perfect condition for the return
trip to Zamboanga by the afternoon of the 28th. At daybreak on the
following morning, we sailed for Zamboanga, only to find orders
awaiting us there to proceed at once on a wrecking expedition to
Bongao, on Bongao Island of the Tawi Tawi group, a small launch,
the _Maud_, being foundered there on a coral reef. Thus were we
hoist by our own petard, for over the cable just laid came the order
postponing our return to Manila; but as it meant yet another chapter
in a delightful experience, few of us were averse to that.
So, between nine and ten o'clock that night, we sailed for Tawi Tawi,
passing east of Basilan and Sulu. The ship, relieved of nearly all
its cable, rolled a great deal, both on our way up from Sulu and that
first night out from Zamboanga, but on the two succeeding days the
weather was calm, the air cool, and the "Sultan's Sea" a gigantic
mirror reflecting every cloud in the sky on its glassy surface. All
on board were idle then, and every steamer chair on the quarter-deck
was occupied.
On the first day out we saw no land at all, but the second day many
coral groups appeared to the east and south of Bongao. Among others
were Manuk Manuk, surely a name to conjure with! Then there was
also Balambing, which on our ship chart was marked PIRATES! Think of
sailing piratical seas in this prosaic twentieth century! We watched
eagerly along the coast of Balambing, to which we passed very close,
for possible crafts bearing black flags, and were rather disappointed
at not seeing even one bearded highwayman of the sea, a gleaming
knife between his teeth, his red shirt open at the throat, for, if
I remember rightly, it was so that pirates were always drawn in the
yellow-covered interdicted literature of childhood.
These southern waters were bluer than any we had seen on the trip,
excepting over coral reefs, where the blue changed suddenly to a
glittering iridescent green, sparkling and treacherous. This coral is
eminently American in its habit of expansion, and has spread itself
well over the southwest portion of the Celebes Sea.
Finally Tawi Tawi itself appeared on the horizon, and we recalled
that deep in its heart, surrounded by vast forests and jungles,
the faintly discernible ruins of Dungon exist, the ruins themselves
covered by tremendous growths of trees. This was the ancient capital
of the Moros, and there lie the remains of the first Arab Sultan,
that fierce old missionary who brought the Koran in one hand and a
_kris_ in the other to spread the light of Islam. That his converts
were many and their faith was strong and sure is attested by the
universality of Mohammedanism in these southern islands, and the
exclusive use of the Arabic characters in the writing of the people.
On the afternoon of March 3d, we anchored off Bongao. On our port
side, and well forward, lay the wrecked _Maud_ nearly filled with
water. Altogether she was in a deplorable condition, but in a few days
was raised by the combined efforts of our first officer, his crew,
and the soldiers of the fort. Meanwhile, we were all idlers on the
_Burnside_, and in consequence enjoyed our visit there to the utmost.