We had so little in common to converse on, and that little had to be said through the interpreter, that we were rather glad when we were asked to take refreshments. It at least served to relieve the awkward feeling of glancing at each other in silence. Chocolate and ornamental sweetmeats were brought to us, all very unpalatable. When we were about to take our departure, the Sultan invited us to remain all night in the Palace. The leader of our party caused to be explained to him that we were thankful for his gracious offer, but that, being so numerous, we feared to disturb His Highness by intruding so far on his hospitality. Still the Sultan politely insisted, and whilst the interpretation was being transmitted I found an opportunity to acquaint our chief of my burning curiosity to stay at the Palace. In any case, we were a large number to go anywhere, so our leader, in reply to the Sultan, said that he and four Europeans of his suite would take advantage of His Highnessʼs kindness.
We withdrew from the Sultanʼs presence, and some of us Europeans walked through the town accompanied by functionaries of the royal household and the interpreter. There was nothing striking in the place; it was like most others. There were some good bungalows of bamboo and thatching. I noticed that men, women, and children were smoking tobacco or chewing, and had no visible occupation. Many of the smaller dwellings were built on piles out to the sea. We saw a number of divers preparing to go off to get pearls, mother-of-pearl, etc. They are very expert in this occupation, and dive as deep as 100 feet. Prior to the plunge they go through a grotesque performance of waving their arms in the air and twisting their bodies, in order—as they say—to frighten away the sharks; then with a whoop they leap over the edge of the prahu, and continue to throw their arms and legs about for the purpose mentioned. They often dive for the shark and rip it up with a kris.
Five of us retired to the Palace that night, and were at once conducted to our rooms. There was no door to my room; it was, strictly speaking, an alcove. During the night, at intervals of about every hour, as it seemed to me, a Palace servant or guard came to inquire how the Señor was sleeping, and if I were comfortable. “Duerme el Señor?” (“Does the gentleman sleep?”) was apparently the limit of his knowledge of Spanish. I did not clearly understand more than the fact that the man was a nuisance, and I regretted there was no door with which to shut him out. The next morning we paid our respects to His Highness, who furnished us with an escort—more as a compliment than a necessity—and we reached Joló Town again, after a very enjoyable ride through a superb country.
The Sultanʼs subjects are spread so far from the centre of government—Maybun—that in some places their allegiance is but nominal. Many of them residing near the Spanish settlements are quick at learning Castilian sufficiently well to be understood, but the Spaniards tried in vain to subject them to a European order of things.
About 20 miles up the coast, going north from Zamboanga, the Jesuits sent a missionary in 1885 to convert the Subuanos. He endeavoured to persuade the people to form a village. They cleared a way through the forest from the beach, and at the end of this opening, about three-quarters of a mile long, I found a church half built of wood, bamboo, and palm-leaves. I had ridden to the place on horseback along the beach, and my food and baggage followed in a canoe. The opening was so roughly cleared that I thought it better to dismount when I got half way. As the church was only in course of construction, and not consecrated, I took up my quarters there. I was followed by a Subuano, who was curious to know the object of my visit. I told him I wished to see the headman, so this personage arrived with one of his wives and a young girl. They sat on the floor with me, and as the cacique could make himself understood in Spanish, we chatted about the affairs of the town in posse. The visiting priest had gone to the useless trouble of baptizing a few of these people. They appeared to be as much Christian as I was Mahometan. The cacique had more than one wife—the word of the Pandita of the settlement was the local law, and the Pandita himself of course had his seraglio. I got the first man, who had followed me, to direct me to the Panditaʼs house. My guide was gaily attired in bright red tight acrobat breeches, with buttons up the side, and a jacket like a waistcoat, with sleeves so close-fitting that I suppose he seldom took the trouble to undress himself. I left the cacique, promising to visit his bungalow that day, and then my guide led me through winding paths, in a wood, to the hut of the Pandita. On the way I met a man of the tribe carrying spring-water in a bamboo, which he tilted to give me a drink. To my inquiries if he were a Christian, and if he knew the Castilian Pandita (Spanish priest), he replied in the affirmative; continuing the interrogation, I asked him how many gods there were, and when he answered “four,” I closed my investigation of his Christianity. My guide was too cunning to take me by the direct path to the Panditaʼs bungalow. He led me into a half-cleared plot of land facing it, whence the inmates could see us for at least ten minutes making our approach. When we arrived, and after scrambling up the staircase, which was simply a notched trunk of a tree about nine inches diameter, I discovered that the Pandita, forewarned, had fled to the mountain close by, leaving his wives to entertain the visitor. I found them all lounging and chewing betel-nut, and when I squatted on the floor amongst them they became remarkably chatty. Then I went to the caciqueʼs bungalow. In the rear of this dwelling there was a small forge, and the most effective bellows of primitive make which I have ever seen in any country. It was a double-action apparatus, made entirely of bamboo, except the pistons, which were of feathers. These pistons, working up and down alternately by a bamboo rod in each hand, sustained perfectly a constant draught of air. One man was squatting on a bamboo bench the height of the bellowsʼ rods, whilst the smith crouched on the ground to forge his kris on the anvil.
The headmanʼs bungalow was built the same as the others, but with greater care. It was rather high up, and had the usual notched log-of-wood staircase, which is perhaps easy to ascend with naked feet. The cacique and one of his wives were seated on mats on the floor. After mutual salutations the wife threw me three cushions, on which I reclined—doing the dolce far niente whilst we talked about the affairs of the settlement. The conversation was growing rather wearisome anent the Spanish priest having ordered huts to be built without giving materials, about the scarcity of palm-leaves in the neighbourhood, and so forth, so I bade them farewell and went on to another hut. Here the inmates were numerous—four women, three or four men, and two rather pretty male children, with their heads shaven so as to leave only a tuft of hair towards the forehead about the size of a crown piece. To entertain me, six copper tom-toms were brought out, and placed in a row on pillows, whilst another large one, for the bass accompaniment, was suspended from a wooden frame. A man beat the bass with a stick, whilst the women took it in turns to kneel on the floor, with a stick in each hand, to play a tune on the series of six. A few words were passed between the three men, when suddenly one of them arose and performed a war-dance, quaintly twisting his arms and legs in attitudes of advance, recoil, and exultation. The dance finished, I mounted my horse and left the settlement in embryo, called by the missionaries Reus, which is the name of a town in Catalonia.
The climate of Mindanao and Sulu Islands is healthy and delightful. The heat of Zamboanga is moderated by daily breezes, and in Sulu, in the month of June, it is not oppressive. A yearʼs temperature readings on the Illana Bay coast (Mindanao Is.) are as follows, viz.:—
| Average of | Inside the House, Fahrenheit. | Outside in the Shade, Fahrenheit. | ||||
| 6 a.m. | Noon. | 6 p.m. | 6 a.m. | Noon. | 6 p.m. | |
| Jan.–March | 73° | 84° | 83° | 72° | 84° | 80° |
| April–June | 74½° | 83° | 78½° | 74½° | 92½° | 78° |
| July–Sept. | 74° | 84° | 80° | 72½° | 88° | 79° |
| Oct.–Dec. | 73° | 85° | 80° | 73° | 83° | 78° |
The Island of Palaúan (Parágua) was anciently a dependency of the Sultanate of Brunei (Borneo), hence the dominion over this island of the Sultan of Sulu as suzerain lord of Brunei. At the beginning of the 18th century Spaniards had already settled in the north of it. It had a very sparse population, and a movement was set on foot to subjugate the natives. In order to protect the Spanish settlers from Mahometan attacks a fort was established at Labo. However, the supplies were not kept up, and many of the garrison died of misery, hunger, and nakedness, until 1720, when it was abandoned.