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.
BAGOBO MAN WITH POINTED TEETH.
It was a beautiful drive through this forest on the island of Mindanao. We first crossed open grassy 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 grass, too, with waving purple tassels, 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 Manobos 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 passed 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 shore 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.