The following translation of a letter which Major Hugh L. Scott courteously gave me will serve to illustrate how lightly human life is appreciated by the Moro.
This letter from your son, His Highness Datto Mohammed Dahiatul Kalbi, to my father, the Governor of Sulu, Major Scott, and to my younger brother, Sali.
I want to inform you that at 7 oʼclock in the morning of Saturday, we had a fight with Tallu. I have taken his head, but if you will allow it, I will bury it, if my father will let me do that, because he is an Islam and I would commit an offence. It scared my wife very much when she looked at the head in my house. Those that are dead were Sadalani, Namla, Muhamad, and Salui. Beyond that I have not investigated.
With greetings to my father and to my younger brother, I beg you, my younger brother, to let me bury the head, if my father does not feel bad about it. If our father should not believe that the head is there, come to our house and see yourself, so to be sure. I would not soil the faith my father has in me. To close I herewith send the kris of Orang Kaya Tallu. The end of the pen. Sunday, February 23, 1904.
Whilst I was in Zamboanga in June, 1904, Datto Pedro Cuevas, of Basílan Island, sent a message over to say that there would be no more trouble with certain pirates who had been caught, as he had cut off their heads.
It would fill a volume to recount the legends of the sharks near Cagayán de Joló which wreck ships; the Moro who heard the voice of Allah rising from a floating cocoanut to urge him to denounce the Sultanʼs evil ways; the new prophet who could point at any object and make it disappear, and a hundred other superstitious extravagances.
Joló (vide p. [149]), one of the prettiest places on earth, has been improved since the American occupation. Apart from the many new buildings erected for military convenience, there is now a fine jetty with a tramway, a landing-stage for small vessels, a boysʼ and a girlsʼ school, some new residences, etc. The municipality is under the presidency of a military officer, and the clean, orderly aspect of the town is evidence of Anglo-Saxon energy in its administration. In 1904 there was only one drinking-saloon, kept by a Bohemian-born American, who paid $6,000 a year for his monopoly licence. Much to the disgust of the military, a society of well-intentioned temperance ladies in America procured the prohibition of alcohol-selling in military canteens and Post Exchanges. The eastern extremity of Joló is appropriated for military purposes, and on the rising ground is situated the stabling for the cavalry horses. There is a large military hospital, well appointed, and a club-house for whites, overlooking the picturesque harbour. Outside the town walls towards the west the dwellings of natives, chiefly from other islands in their origin, extend about a mile as far as Tulay, where the Sultan has a residence. On the way one passes through the little square, in the centre of which stands a monument erected to commemorate the landing here of Gov.-General Corcuera, April 17, 1638. During my last visit to Joló I called upon His Highness the Sultan at Tulay, accompanied by the civil interpreter, Mr. J. Schück, whose late father I had known many years before.[18] Tulay signifies bridge in Tagálog, and probably this place derives its name from the bridge spanning the rivulet, which forms a natural division between this village and the Joló ex-mural western suburb. Just across the bridge, in most unattractive surroundings, stands a roofed rough pile of wooden planks—the residence of the Sultan. At a few paces to the left of it one sees another gloomy structure, smaller and more cheerless than the royal abode—it is the domicile of Hadji Butu, the Sultanʼs Prime Minister.
Passing through the ground-floor, which serves as a vestibule and storehouse for nondescript rubbish, I was met by several armed Moros who conducted me up a dark staircase, the lid of which, at the top, was raised to admit me to the royal presence. His Highness, the Majasari Hadji Mohammad Jamalul Kiram, reclining on a cane-bottomed sofa, graciously smiled, and extending his hand towards me, motioned to me to take the chair in front of him, whilst Mr. Schück sat on the sofa beside the Sultan. His Highness is about thirty-six years of age, short, thick set, wearing a slight moustache and his hair cropped very close. With a cotton sárong around his loins, the nakedness of his body down to the waist was only covered by jábul (vide p. [146]) thrown loosely over him. Having explained that I was desirous of paying my respects to the son of the great Sultan whose hospitality I had enjoyed years ago at Maybun, I was offered a cigar and the conversation commenced. Just at that moment came the Prime Minister, who spoke a little English, and at the back of me, facing the Sultan, stood his trusted warriors in semi-circle, attired in fantastic garments and armed to the teeth. From time to time a dependent would come, bend the knee on the royal footstool and present the buyo box, or a message, or whatever His Highness called for. The footstool attracted my curiosity, and my eye was fixed on it for a while until I could decipher the lettering, which was upside down. At last I made it out—“Van Houtenʼs Cocoa.” The audience-chamber needs no minute description; it can be all summed up in bare boards, boxes, bundles, weapons, dirt, a dilapidated writing-desk, a couple of old chairs, and the Sultanʼs sofa-seat. Of course the Sultan had a grievance. The Americans, he said, had appropriated his pearl-fisheries, his tribute-money, and other sources of valuable income; they were diverting the taxes payable to him into their own coffers, with detriment to his estate and his dignity as a ruler.[19] The questions in dispute and his position generally were, he added, to be discussed between him and the Insular Government in Manila in the following month. Naturally, the study of the man and his surroundings interested me far more than conversation on a subject which was not my business. Speaking with warmth, at every gesture the jábul would slide down to his waist, exposing his bare breast, so that perhaps I saw more of the Majasari than is the privilege of most European visitors. On leave-taking His Highness graciously presented me with a handsome Moro dress-sword and a betel-cutter set in a solid silver handle, and, in return, I sent him my portrait from Manila.
Exactly a month after my visit, the Sultan, accompanied by Major Scott, the Governor and Commander of Joló, came and made a short stay in Manila, where he was conducted around town and to the presence of the authorities. Many valuable presents were officially made to him, together with ₱5,000 pocket-money to console him for the postponement sine die of the “settlement” question. Driving round in wagonettes, his retinue saw the sights of the capital and made their purchases, but the Sultan himself was strictly guarded from pressmen and others who might give local publicity to his claims.