On reaching Mindanao, the land of the Moros, we went ash.o.r.e at Camp Overton, where we were met by army officers and dougherties drawn by teams of six mules. After a hand-shake at the commanding officer's home, we were furnished with a big escort of cavalry and started climbing up, up, among the hills. Soldiers were hidden in the tall gra.s.s all along the way to make sure that nothing would happen to "the great White Sultan with the big Red Flag," as the Moros called the Secretary. Army men could not go out alone, even in those days, for they were attacked by bands and killed, princ.i.p.ally to get their weapons, which the Moros were very keen to possess. The _datos_, the head men of the Moro tribes, were allowed to have guns, but none of the other natives. A storm came up, however, not long ago on Lake Lanao, at Camp Keithley, and for fear that his boat would upset, General Wood had a great deal of ammunition thrown overboard, which, it was discovered, was subsequently fished up by the natives.

The Moros are Mohammedan Malays. They came in their boats from islands further south, and in 1380 were converted to Islam by an Arab wise man, Makadum,[26] who made his way to Sulu and Mindanao.

One hears then of Raja Baginda, who came from Sumatra in 1450; his daughter married Abu Bahr, the law giver, who established the Mohammedan Church and, after his father-in-law's death, became sultan and founded a dynasty. In the old days the Moros were all pirates and slave traders.

Both Spanish and American authorities have tried to suppress slavery, but it still exists. It is said a woman will bring about forty pesos.

A dato's slaves to-day are well treated, and form part of the family. A slave, moreover, has a chance to rise in the social scale, for Piang, whom we met, was once a slave, but became a powerful chief and a friend of the Americans.

The ruler of all the Moros is the Sultan of Sulu, whom we did not see because he was in Europe at the time we were in the Islands. It is said that a few years ago he would sometimes appear in the market on the back of a slave, with an umbrella held over his head. Here he would stay while the people kissed his hands and feet. He may have changed his customs since his trip.

Dampier, who visited the northern islands of the Philippines, has also left us notes of his stay on Mindanao, which are still true in the main.

He says:

"The island of Mindanao is divided into small states, governed by hostile sultans, the governor of Mindanao being the most powerful. The city of Mindanao stood on the banks of the river, about two miles from the sea. It was about a mile in length, and winded with the curve of the river. The houses were built on posts from fourteen to twenty feet high, and in the rainy season looked as if built on a lake, the natives going their different ways in canoes. The houses are of one story, divided into several rooms, and entered by a ladder or stair placed outside. The roofing consists of palm or palmetto leaves.... The floors of the habitations are of wicker-work or bamboo.

"A singular custom, but which facilitated intercourse with the natives and vice versa, was of exchanging names and forming comradeship with a native, whose house was thenceforth considered the home of the stranger."

Alimund Din's name stands out in this meager Moro history beyond all others, for he was the first and only Christian ruler in this land. Even before he became a Christian he was a reformer, and suppressed piracy.

He not only coined money but had both an army and a navy, and lived in such splendour as probably has not existed since those days, among the Moros.

Alimund Din ruled about the middle of the eighteenth century, in the time of Philip V of Spain. In return for ammunition to enable the Spanish to keep down piracy, he allowed the Jesuit fathers to enter his country. In time, however, they caused trouble among the Moros, and civil war broke out, as Bautilan, a relative of Alimund Din's, preferred the Mohammedan religion to the new ideas of the Jesuits. Alimund Din and his followers took flight in boats, and in time reached Manila, where they interceded for Spanish protection. The Spaniards showered him with presents, gave him a royal entrance into the city, and finally converted him to Christianity. Later, he was sent back, escorted by Spanish ships, but Bautilan's fleet attacked them. As the Spaniards suspected Alimund Din of becoming a Christian not entirely for Christianity's sake, they threw him into prison. The throne was restored to him in 1763 by the English, who occupied this part of the island for a short time.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A MORO GRAVE.]

The Moros are not supposed to eat meat or drink wine, although they have been known to drink whiskey and soda with Americans, as well as eat pork and beans on occasions. There are no mosques in this region or holy dancing-girls (who can do no wrong) but there are Moro priests or _panditas_ who go from house to house. They have little education, but some of them have traveled. It is the custom for a relative of the deceased to watch and protect a Moro grave for many months. Such a mourner can sometimes be seen squatting near by under a yellow umbrella.

The Moros have as many wives as they can afford, but not more than they can afford, for it is an insult to speak of a man's wife as "begging bread."

The Moros are smaller than the East Indian Mohammedans, but are strong and slight, and have fine features. They appear especially cruel and determined because their teeth are black from _buyo_. In war time, many of the women fought beside the men, and it is supposed to be they who mutilated the Americans found dead on the field after battle. The people whom we met on the road with their ponies loaded with hemp seldom smiled and did not bow, but they looked us straight in the eye, and there was no touch of sulkiness about them.

It is very difficult to distinguish the men from the women, as they dress much alike. But you see few of the latter on the road, for being Mohammedans, most of them are kept at home. They are not veiled like other Moslem women, except when first married.

The costumes of the Moros differ to such a degree--and for no reason that I could discover--that it is difficult to describe them. Many wear tight trousers, which are something like those of the Spaniards--so tight that they are sewn on the men and never come off until worn out--and are often bright red or yellow in colour. On the other hand, some wear very loose, baggy trousers or skirts of different shades.

Indeed, they are the most gaily dressed people I have ever seen, and their brown skins set off the vivid yellows and greens and reds and magentas and purples of which their trousers and jackets and turbans and handkerchiefs are made. The jackets have a Chinese appearance. The turbans might be old Aunt Dinah's of the South. The sashes, which are woven in the Moro houses, are of silk, bright green and dark red being the predominant colours. They are knotted on one side, generally a kriss or a bolo being held in the knot, and are tied about the waist so tightly that the men look almost laced, and perhaps that accounts for their womanish appearance.

When the American army first occupied this region they treated the Moros well and found them friendly. Take for instance Zamboanga in the south, an especially interesting region. When the American soldiers entered, the Spanish guard left the garrison, and the Spanish population and the priests followed. The Americans found outside the town gates a large barbed wire bird cage, where the Moros had been compelled to leave their arms before entering the town at night, to avoid an uprising. The government of Zamboanga at this time was reorganized by the American officers. A Filipino presidente was appointed, a dato to head the Moros, and a Captain Chinese, as he was called, to manage his people, who were mostly merchants and pearl fishers.

Mindanao was under a military-civil government that worked wonders, for in a few years many of the Moros were brought under control, and they became loyal Americans, although they had always been bitter enemies of the Filipinos and the Spaniards. They say they have found the Americans brave, and have not been lied to by them, and so they seek our protection. Although the Moro and the head-hunter are so different, they are alike in one respect--if they care for an official and have confidence in him they do not want him changed. It is the man they are willing to obey rather than the government. Of course, there are thousands of them, fierce as ever, back in the mountains, and they are still fanatic and wild. Even among those who are under control, the greatest care has to be exercised, for they have the hatred of the Christian deep in their hearts, and they may run amuck at any moment and kill till they are killed; but this is a part of their faith, they ask no quarter, and nothing stops them but death.

Besides the danger of their attack by religious mania they have a great desire for rifles, as I have said, and they are always "jumping" the constabulary, attacking small parties suddenly from ambush and cutting them down with their knives, or killing sentries; so that constant care has to be used, and the sentinels walk at night in twos, almost back to back, so as to have eyes on all sides. A few weeks before we arrived there had been several cases of "jumping."

An American army officer told me the fights with the Moros generally occurred on the trails among the hills; as the foliage is so thick, it is easy for the natives to conceal themselves on either side, sometimes in ditches, and give the Americans a surprise. For this reason, a drill was found necessary for single file fighting. Every other soldier was taught to respond to the order of one and two. When an attack was made, the "ones" shot to the right, the "twos" to the left. This proved successful. The same officer said the Moros would often use decoys to lead the troops astray. Seeing fresh tracks, they would hasten on in pursuit, and be led away from their supplies, while their enemy would be left behind to attack them in the rear. Walking on the mountain trails was very hard on the soldiers' shoes, and on one of these expeditions their boots gave out, so they were obliged to make soles for their shoes out of boxes and tie them on with leather straps.

Up, up we drove; the clatter of the cavalry could be heard in front and behind, and the dougherty, how it did rattle! It was a pretty sight to see the party traveling through the tropical forests and winding across the green uplands, with their pennons and the Secretary's red flag (which made a great impression on the natives, we heard), and the wagons rumbling along, with a rearguard behind and the scouts in the distance.

John, the coloured man, snapped his whip, and the mules trotted along, and the air became cooler, and we drove over a plain where real mountain rice was planted. Occasionally a Moro shack could be seen in the distance.

At an outpost, where we stopped to change mules, we saw a beautiful waterfall, perhaps the loveliest that I had ever seen, called Santa Maria Cristina. From a greater height than Niagara it plunged down into a deep valley of giant trees. It reminded me of a superb waterfall near Seattle.

At last we reached Camp Keithley, on the mountain plain, a forlorn lot of unpainted houses with tin roofs and piazzas, but beautifully situated, like some station in the Himalayas. There was splendid mountain scenery disappearing into the distances, and views of the ocean far away, and, on the other side, the great lake of Lanao, an inland sea more than two thousand feet above the ocean, with imposing ranges about.

This lake, which has always been the center of Moro life, is surrounded by native villages, and the military post is important and much liked by the officers quartered there.

The Secretary, my husband and I were billeted on Major Beacom, the commanding officer--Mrs. d.i.c.kinson had not felt quite equal to the trip.

The Major's house was very attractive, and his little German housekeeper gave us excellent food and made the orderlies fly about for our comfort.

We went almost at once to the market place, which was intensely interesting. The gorgeous colours and gold b.u.t.tons of the costumes were magnificent. Bra.s.s bowls for chow were for sale, and betel-nut boxes inlaid with silver, and round silver ones with instruments attached to clean the ears and nose. There are four compartments in these betel-nut boxes--for lime, tobacco, the betel nut, and a leaf in which to wrap the mixture called buyo.

Here we saw the spear and shield dance. The dancer had a headdress that covered his forehead and ears, making him look quite ridiculous, absolutely as though he were on the comic opera stage. With shield and spear he danced as swiftly and silently as a cat, creeping and springing until your blood ran cold, especially as you knew he had killed many a man.

In the afternoon, after reviewing the troops and inspecting the quarters, we crossed a corner of the lake and landed at a Moro village.

It was raining hard and the mud was deep. We waded through a street, followed by the people in their best clothes--one in a black velvet suit, another in a violet velvet jacket. I saw only two women in the streets; they were not veiled nor brilliantly dressed, but had red painted lips and henna on their nails. The Moro constabulary here wore red fezzes and khaki, and the officer in command at the time was of German birth.

After we had pa.s.sed through a bamboo trail, we came into a little open place with three fine Moro houses about, set up above the ground on great posts made of tree trunks. Unlike Filipino houses, they had facades all carved in a rough and handsome sort of arabesque, painted in bright reds and blues, and with pointed roofs and coloured cloths fluttering out of the open s.p.a.ces, they made fine effects. The long cracks in the walls served as peepholes, where the snapping black eyes of the many wives of the datos were peering out at us. In front, in the little green s.p.a.ce, pennons were planted and there was a huge Chinese-looking sea serpent, or dragon, on wheels, with a body of gaily coloured stuffs, and a rearing movable head. This cavorted about in time to the endless noise of the tom-toms. A crowd of natives stood round in their fanciful raiment.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A MORO _DATO'S_ HOUSE.]

Into one of these houses we were invited. We mounted the ladder to the one large room in the front, into which the sliding panel shutters admitted the air freely, so that it was cool and shaded. Here sat the wives and the slaves in a corner, playing on a long wooden instrument with bra.s.s pans, which they struck, producing high and low sounds, with a little more tune than the Igorots. The big room was bare, except for a long shelf on which was some woven cloth and a fine collection of the native bra.s.s work, for this is the center of the bra.s.s-workers.

We moved on through the little town of nipa houses to visit old Dato Manilibang, whose house was not as fine as those we had seen before, but where we were admitted into two rooms. From the entrance we streaked muddy feet across the bamboo-slatted floor into his reception room, where a sort of divan occupied one side--on which the Secretary was asked to sit. Behind this cushioned seat were piled the boxes with the chief's possessions, and here he sits in state in the daytime and sleeps at night. The women, who were huddled together on one side of the room, wore bracelets and rings, and one was rather pretty.

At dawn we were up and off again. What a day! We had two hours on a boat crossing a lovely lake, surrounded by mountains, on the sh.o.r.e of which some of the wildest Moros live. Our boat was a big launch, a sort of gunboat, which, strangely enough, the Spaniards had brought up here and sunk in the lake when the war came on, we were told, and which had been resurrected successfully. It was a steep climb up the opposite side of the lake, but most of us scrambled up on horses, till we topped the ridge and came to Camp Vickers, a station with fine air and outlook but rather small and pathetic.

The picturesque Moros had gathered here to greet the Secretary, and their wail of welcome was something strange and weird. A dato would come swinging by, followed in single file by his betel-box carrier, chow bearer and slaves. Some of the chiefs rode scraggly ponies, on high saddles, with their big toes in stirrups of cord almost up under their chins, and with bells on the harness that rattled gaily. And, of course, the tom-toms kept up their endless music.

We had two more hours of horseback riding--we hoped to see a boar hunt, but owing to some misunderstanding, it did not come off. Then, after a stand-up luncheon at Major Brown's, we started down the trail again in a dougherty.

[Ill.u.s.tration: BAGOBO MAN WITH POINTED TEETH.]

It was a beautiful drive through this forest on the island of Mindanao.

We first crossed open gra.s.sy uplands, then dipped down through the great glades of the most tropical forest I have ever seen, with towering hard woods and tree ferns, with bamboos and clinging air plants and orchids, and there was mystery and wonder about the giant growths. The trees seemed taller than the elms of New England or the cedars of Oregon. They dripped with huge-leaved, clinging vines, which grew higgledy-piggledy, covering everything. The gra.s.s, too, with waving purple ta.s.sels, grew higher than a man's head, twice as high as the pigmy brown people who have their houses in these trees.

The tree-dwellers just referred to are the Man.o.bos and the Bagobos with pointed teeth--for Mindanao is not entirely inhabited by Moros; there are supposed to be no less than twenty-four tribes on this island alone.

They build in trees, to escape the spear thrusts of their neighbours through the bamboo floors. We were to make their acquaintance later.

A drenching rain came on that afternoon, through which the escort jogged along, while we clung in our dougherties, nearly shaken to pieces, and reached Malabang, on the other side of the island, as much fatigued as if we had been on horseback all the way. The military post here was most attractive, with the prettiest of nipa houses for the officers, and the parade lined with shading palms, and flower-bordered walks--a charming station. We were quartered with Lieutenant Barry and his wife, a delightful young couple, in their thatched house, and dined with Major Sargent, the commanding officer, who has written some good books on military topics.

The Celebes Sea was calm and lovely when we left Malabang. We pa.s.sed along the coast of Mindanao toward a long lowland that lay between the high mountains of the island. This was the plain of the Cotobato, a great river which overflows its banks annually like the Nile and has formed a fertile valley that could be turned to good account. The mouth of the river is shallow, so that we were transferred to a stern-wheel boat that was waiting, and began to work our way up, against the rapid current, past low, uninteresting banks that were proving rather monotonous, when suddenly we turned a point and saw the town of Cotobato.

The Moros and the other tribes were in their full splendour here. Soon, down this tropical river, where crocodiles dozed and monkeys chattered and paroquets shrieked, there came a flotilla from the Arabian Nights, manned by galley slaves. On the masts and poles of one of the barges floated banners, and under the canopy of green sat a real Princess. Some of the boats were only dugouts with outriggers, but they were decorated, too, and all the tribes were dressed in silks and velvets of the brightest colours.

There was great excitement and much cheering as we approached the landing stage, and the troops stood at attention, while the rest of the sh.o.r.e was alive with the throng of natives in all the colours of the rainbow. The Secretary inspected the troops, and we saw for the first time the Moro constabulary, wearing turbans and sashes, but with bare legs; nevertheless, they looked very dashing. Indeed, the Moros were so different in character and appearance from any people we had seen before that they might as well have come down from the stars.

The Secretary was taken to meet the datos, as they stood in line beneath the great trees, with the motley crowds of retainers behind them, in such a medley of colours as I had never imagined before. The sunlight filtered through the trees upon the barbaric costumes, while the gaily dressed women stood behind the men and peered over them. The brown men looked dignified and very self-respecting, too, although the scene was like the setting of a comic opera, where the imagination had been allowed to run riot.

There we saw Dato Piang and Gimbungen, a very fat dato--what a delightful bug-a-boo name--also Ynock, whose ear had been cut off in a fight, we were told; but strange as it may seem, he said he had clapped it onto his face again and tied it on, and it had grown there. So it hung attached somewhere down on his cheek, and gave him a very peculiar appearance. When the Moros conquered the Filipinos, this dato had the captured women stripped and made to walk before him, and then took them off to the mountains. When he was taken prisoner later by the Filipinos, he was compelled to work in chains in the streets.

Under a canopy the Princess received us, a native woman whose descent was traced for many hundreds of years--said to be a pure Moro, although she looked rather Chinese--and who was recognized as of the highest social superiority, but had little political power. She herself was draped in varied colours, while her chamberlain wore a brocade coat of crimson and gold cloth. Behind her stood her maids bearing the gold betel-nut boxes and chow trays and umbrellas of her rank.

Our luncheon with the commanding officer, Major Heiberg, and his wife, was eaten in delightful little kiosks of nipa and bamboo, which had been built in a small palm grove. The dancing girls of the Princess, who had long nails protected by silver covers, gave us a performance afterward.