We hired a launch, driven by a one-cylinder engine, from a man named Wantz, and in it proceeded up the river, taking the owner along to run the boat. It was paid for by the day, and I was warned before I started that Wantz had his own ways of lengthening journeys. I soon discovered that this was true. Before starting I had indicated the settlement which must be reached before dark, but the engine soon began to wheeze and thump dolefully. It happened that I knew something about gasoline engines, and this one sounded to me as if it were running with the spark advanced too far, but I could not discover the adjusting mechanism, so exercised diplomacy, involving Wantz in a discussion of the intricacies of modern gasoline engines, and stating that I had an automobile with a very convenient attachment for advancing and retarding the spark. He promptly and proudly showed me the device on his engine for the same purpose. It was hidden away where I could not have found it. After he had instructed me in its operation I quietly retarded the spark, and the engine began to work in a most cheering manner. In order to punish Wantz, I insisted that we keep on until we reached our prescribed destination, in spite of the time we had lost.
We had a prophet of evil on board who predicted that Wantz would certainly have the engine thoroughly stacked by the next morning, and he did. We had planned to start at daylight, but, when we climbed down to the boat in the gray dawn, found him puttering over its machinery. He said that the cylinder was “froze up.” As the temperature did not seem to warrant such a result, I got him to explain to me what was wrong, and after watching him put on and take off the cylinder-head several times, discovered that he had an ingenious contrivance so arranged that by giving a single push he could put the make-and-break spark connection out of commission from the inside of the cylinder. I myself adjusted it properly, compelled him to put on the cylinder-head without touching his disarranging mechanism, and we went on our way. For some time I watched him closely, and while I continued to do so, the engine ran beautifully, but ultimately I had to go ashore to inspect a rotting Manobo settlement, and while I was gone he queered it again in such a manner that I could not find the cause of the mischief. We had speedy revenge, however, for while we were negotiating a swift rapid the engine died, with the result that the launch nearly turned turtle and narrowly escaped being wrecked. This frightened Wantz, and after a few mysterious manipulations on his part the engine began to “put, put, put” again most cheerfully, and we ascended the rapid without difficulty.
On the evening of the third day we reached a Filipino settlement called Talacógon, seventy miles up the river. Wantz began to complain that he was sick, and as Talacógon would have been a very comfortable place to lie over, I opined that his ailment would become acute before morning. At four o’clock I sneaked down to the river bank by a back street to see what was going on. He was whistling cheerfully. I beat a careful retreat, then came ostentatiously down the main road to the pier. Sepulchral groans were now issuing from the launch, and Wantz was not visible. I found him writhing on its bottom in assumed agony. By this time I had become convinced that a native banca with a few good oarsmen would be better than a launch with such an engineer, so told him I was sorry he was ill, gave him permission to return to Butuan, and offered to pay what I owed him on the spot. When he found that it was not my intention to pay for the time consumed by the return trip his symptoms became less alarming, and he expressed hope of ultimate recovery. Interrogated as to the probable date when he would be prepared to continue the journey, he put it three days ahead. I told him that I could not wait so long. Gradually he reduced to half a day the time which the reëstablishment of his health would require, but I told him that I could not wait, and that his recovery must be immediate if he was to continue with us. This was too much of a jolt to his pride, and when we were ready to embark he was still too ill to start! We accordingly loaded our belongings into two bancas each some sixty feet long, lay down on our backs in their little cabins, and continued on our way upstream.
The trip up the Agusan River is a most wonderful one. Nothing could surpass the magnificence of the tropical vegetation along its banks. The sportsman finds himself constantly diverted. Great fruit pigeons and huge hornbills frequently fly over one’s boat, or perch in trees where they can be shot from the river. Monkeys abound. Huge crocodiles may occasionally be observed sleeping on the banks. Wild hogs are plentiful, but usually keep out of sight. The trees are hung with a marvellous drapery of vines, orchids and ferns, and, as the stream is so broad and deep as to render its navigation easy, one can lean back and enjoy to the full the beauties of nature displayed in prodigal abundance on every side.
We found the human inhabitants of this wonderful region a highly unsatisfactory lot. The Manobo families were living either singly, scattered along the river, or grouped in little villages composed of a dozen or two rotting huts and surrounded by the accumulated filth of years. As was to be anticipated under the circumstances, most of the people were full of malaria, and many suffered from repulsive skin diseases. They had little cultivated ground. The growing and cleaning of hemp was their only resource, and they had become so accustomed to having the products of their labour taken from them by the people of Butuan that they had almost given up working. They listened with dull, uncomprehending hopelessness to our story of better days to come, and it soon became evident that nothing but practical experience would convince these helpless people that times were going to change.
The Filipinos of Talacógon were an especially lazy, vicious lot, who did no work themselves, but sponged or stole a living from their non-Christian neighbours. Forest trees were springing up on the plaza of this town. Its streets were deep in mud, and its sanitary condition beggared description. I was really afraid to stay overnight. I ordered the people to clean up, and they laughed at me. I ultimately made them clean up, but they successfully resisted my efforts to do so longer than the people of any other town ever did, and several years passed before I was at all satisfied with results.
Our progress up the river was unimpeded until we reached what is shown on the maps of Mindanao as a series of extensive lakes, but is in reality a huge and trackless swamp. Some years before a very severe earthquake had caused the subsidence of a vast forested area along the banks of this portion of the Agusan River, with the result that the old river-bed was completely broken up, and the river below this point reversed its flow for some time until the depressed region had been filled up by the water which entered it from all sides. There were no well-established channels through this submerged forest, and navigation in it was dangerous unless one had experienced guides.
In order that such guides might be always available, the Spaniards had compelled a number of them to live on the outskirts of the swamp at a place called Clavijo. The ground on which their houses stood was under water most of the year. They were a miserable, sickly lot. Most of them were suffering acutely from malaria, and all were very anxious to abandon the ill-fated site of their village,—a thing which, it is needless to say, they were promptly permitted by us to do. Having secured the services of several of them, we continued our journey toward Bunauan, but found the stream which we ascended after extricating ourselves from the swamp so choked with rubbish that it was frequently necessary either to clear channels or to haul our heavy boats over masses of dead tree trunks, branches, bamboo, etc. From Bunauan we returned to Butuan and sailed for Cagayan de Misamis.
While passing along one of the main streets of the latter town on my way to the provincial building, I discovered Bukidnon people buying vino by the demijohn. The law prohibiting the sale of alcoholic liquors to members of non-Christian tribes was then in effect throughout the archipelago. One of the first questions which I put to the Filipino governor was whether he had taken the necessary measures to see that this law was enforced. He replied in the affirmative. I asked him what he had done. He said that he had sent letters to the several Bukidnon settlements telling the people that they must not buy vino. I asked him if he had warned the dealers in his own town that they must not sell to the Bukidnons, and he replied, “It has not occurred to me to do that!”
Having explained to the governor the terms of the law establishing the province of Agusan, and the reason for its adoption, I proceeded across the bay to a barrio which then was, and still is, the point of departure for the interior, planning to start at daylight the following morning. I had with me my private secretary Mr. Zinn, and Mr. Frederick Lewis, who had just accepted appointment as lieutenant-governor of the sub-province.