Recollections of full years

by Helen Herron Taft

The harbour was full of curious small craft; high prowed and beautifully carved war junks, long, graceful praos and slender canoes with bamboo outriggers, nearly all carrying sails of fantastic design and brilliant hues. Indeed, there was colour everywhere. Everything afloat was decorated in gaudy silks and pennants, the American flag predominating, while all the Moros who wore anything except a loin cloth were attired in costumes which were lively and strikingly original. These were made, for the most part, of rich silks of native weave in stripes or plaids of vivid, crude greens, reds and yellows, and from neck to ankle the more elegant ones were so tight that one wondered how they stood the strain. Around his waist each man wore a bright silk sash under which was thrust a long cruel looking knife in an ornamental and curiously shaped scabbard.

The picturesque fleet quickly surrounded the Sumner and while we watched the lithe, naked boys diving into the clear depths of the bay for coins that were thrown overboard for the purpose of testing their prowess, the American Army officers came aboard to bid us welcome to Jolo.

They explained that the Sultan of Sulu had given them some diplomatic difficulties which, they were glad to say, they had been able to overcome. He had at first decided to play the haughty monarch and to extend a royal invitation to the American officials to pay their respects to him at his “palace.” But a little reasoning had convinced him that the Commissioners were the accredited representatives of the President of the United States whose sovereignty he acknowledged and that it was therefore his duty to call on them, so, it was announced, he was on his way to the landing where the officers’ launch waited to bring him out to the Sumner.

Several large war junks carrying different chiefs, or dattos, preceded the imperial visitor and these men came aboard without waiting for His Majesty. We found them extremely entertaining. They were by far the most picturesque figures we had seen, and utterly unlike Filipinos. They were of a different build, lithe, active and graceful, with a free and defiant gaze which offered a strong contrast to the soft-eyed modesty of the Christian tribes. In their sashes they all carried long knives called barongs, campiláns and krises, which Mr. Worcester induced some of them to exhibit to our delighted eyes. They were of the most exquisite workmanship and design, inlaid, some of them, with gold and silver, and with hilts of hardwood beautifully carved.

Finally the officers’ launch put out from the dock and we knew that the Sultan was approaching. As he came alongside the Sumner he received a salute of seventeen guns while we all stood by holding our ears and stiffening our nerves against the deafening shock. We were expecting some one similar in appearance to our friends the dattos, except that we were sure he would be accoutred in three times as much barbaric splendour. Fancy our disappointment then, when there emerged from the low awning of the launch a figure quite commonplace; a very short, very black little man in a heavy uniform of black cloth embroidered in gold braid, not unlike the uniform of a British Consul. He was awkward and homely and he had shiny black teeth; that is how I remember him. He had two attendants who served only to accentuate his own insignificance. The Commission got nothing out of him either. He had none of the polish and gentlemanly manners of the Filipino leaders, and conversation of any kind with him was found to be extremely difficult. Almost the only interesting remark he made was to invite the ladies of our party to call on his many wives, a thing I should have greatly enjoyed, but which was impossible because the Sultan’s “palace” was back over the hills, on the other side of the island, a long way from Jolo.

A MORO DATU WITH HIS RETINUE, AND THE FAVORITE WIFE OF A DATU WITH HER MAIDS-IN-WAITING

The problem of the government of the territory inhabited by the Moros in a measure adjusted itself. These Mohammedans have always been unruly and independent and were never wholly conquered by the Spaniards, and they absolutely refused, as they have since continued to do, to be placed under Filipino control. So it was decided to detach them from the general organisation and to place them under a semi-military system with an American Army officer of high rank in charge in the dual capacity of Governor and Commanding General of Troops in the Moro Province. This system was developed to a point where a high state of efficiency obtained in the government to the complete satisfaction of nearly everybody. To solve the problem of juramentado, or religious fanatic outbreaks, a general order for the disarmament of Moros had to be enforced, but only a comparatively small number of natives took part in the armed resistance. For all of them it was hard, no doubt, to have to surrender their beloved and time-honoured weapons, but the wisest among them recognised the necessity of obedience for the sake of the general good. If this had not been so it would have been vastly more difficult to make the order effective. These wise ones are to-day everywhere busy upholding the American policy of establishing markets and schools and honest trade relations, and in preaching to their people that, for the first time in their history, they are being fairly and justly dealt with. They cling to American protection with determined faith, telling us in plain words that if we leave them they will fight their neighbours. So, whatever we may do with the Philippine Islands we cannot abandon the Moros, and this adds a grave complication to our Philippine problem.

At Jolo we received the news of the capture of Aguinaldo and his reception by General MacArthur at Malacañan Palace. General Funston, then a Colonel of Volunteers, was a conspicuous member of a small company of Army officers known locally as “the suicide squad,” who risked their lives in one exploit after another with the utmost unconcern, not to say glee, so we were not surprised at anything he might do. But there was a real thrill in the story of his daring venture into the remote and isolated camp of the insurrecto general and Dictator, and we cheered his performance with heartfelt enthusiasm, though our ardour was somewhat dampened by doubts as to what the arch-conspirator would do in Manila. General MacArthur was not a politician; he was a soldier,—an officer and a gentleman,—and in his treatment of his captured enemy he was not likely to take into consideration the nature of the people with whom he was dealing.

However, that story has been told, well and often. We know that General Aguinaldo also was “an officer and a gentleman,” proving himself worthy of all the courtesy extended to him and accepting defeat with great dignity. He is the most striking figure in the Philippines even to-day, though one only hears of him as a peaceful and unambitious farmer in his native province of Cavite whence he emerges only on rare occasions to be present at some important social event in Manila where, among Americans in particular, he is most highly regarded. But, it must be remembered that at the time of his capture the Islands were still in a state far from satisfactory; that he had lieutenants in all parts of the archipelago endeavouring, under his orders, and by methods not counted as “civilised,” to keep alive the spirit of rebellion, and that he had an extraordinary genius for conspiracy and organisation. So it cannot be wondered at that my husband was deeply concerned and that he wished he were back in Manila where he could keep his large but gentle hand upon the delicate situation.