A WOMAN'S JOURNEY THROUGH THE PHILIPPINES

 Thanks are due Messrs. Harper and Brothers and the editors of "The Criterion" and of "Everybody's Magazine" for permission to republish parts of the chapters on Sulu, Zamboanga, and Bongao, respectively. 

 A WOMAN'S JOURNEY THROUGH THE PHILIPPINES

 ON A CABLE SHIP THAT LINKED TOGETHER THE STRANGE LANDS SEEN EN ROUTE. 

 By Florence Kimball Russel Author of "Born to the Blue" Etc. 

 Boston, L. C. Page and Company--MDCCCCVII

 Copyright, 1907 By L. C. Page & Company (Incorporated) Entered at Stationers' Hall, London All rights reserved

 First Impression, June, 1907 Colonial Press

 Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. Boston, U. S. A. 

 TO My Husband WITHOUT WHOSE INSPIRATION AND ENCOURAGEMENT THIS BOOK WOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN WRITTEN

CONTENTS

 I. Introductory Statements II. Dumaguete III. Misamis IV. Iligan V. Cagavan VI. Cebu VII. ZamboangaVIII. Sulu IX. Bongao X. Tampakan and the Home Stretch

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

 The Belle of Bongao Laying a Shore End in a Philippine Coast Town "Until eventide the summer skies above us slept, as sid the summer seas below us" A Philippine Coast Town Dumaguete Diving for Articles Thrown from the Ship "Hard at work establishing an office in the town" "Two women beating clothes on the rocks of a little stream" Church and convento, Dumaguete The Old Fort at Misamis "The native band serenaded us" The Lintogup River A Misamis Belle Laying Cable from a Native Schooner A Street in Iligan Market-day at Iligan "It was evident that he was a personage of no little importance" St. Thomas Church, Cebu Magellan's Chapel, Cebu Unloading Hemp at Cebu Grove of Palms near Cebu Ormoc Releasing the Buoy From the Cable in a Heavy Sea Quarters of the Commanding Officer, Zamboanga Officers' Quarters, Zamboanga A Street in Zamboanga Street Scene, Zamboanga--native Bathing-place, Zamboanga The Pier at Sulu Natives of Sulu Moro Houses, Tuli The Moro School for Boys, Sulu Chinese, Moro, and Visayan Children, Sulu Soldiers' Quarters, Bongao Natives of Bongao Toolawee Market-day in a Moro Village A Group of Moros A Collection of Moro Weapons Pasacao

A Woman's Journey Through the Philippines

Chapter I

INTRODUCTORY STATEMENTS

Life on a cable-ship would be a lotus-eating dream were it not for thecable. But the cable, like the Commissariat cam-u-el in Mr. Kipling's"Oonts, " is--

 "--a devil an' a ostrich an' a orphan child in one. "

Whether we are picking it up, or paying it out; whether it is lyinginert, coil upon coil, in the tanks like some great gorged anaconda, or gliding along the propelling machinery into some other tank, oroff into the sea at our bow or stern; whether the dynamometer showsits tension to be great or small; whether we are grappling for it, orunderrunning it; whether it is a shore end to be landed, or a deep-seasplice to be made, the cable is sure to develop most alarming symptoms, and some learned doctor must constantly sit in the testing-room, his finger on the cable's pulse, taking its temperature from time totime as if it were a fractious child with a bad attack of measles, the eruption in this case being faults or breaks or leakages or kinks. 

The difficulty discovered, it must be localized. A hush falls over theship. Down to the testing room go the experts. Seconds, minutes, hourscrawl by. At last some one leaves the consultation for a brief space, frowning heavily and apparently deep in thought. No one dares addresshim, or ask the questions all are longing to have answered, and whenhis lips move silently we know that he is muttering over galvanometerreadings to himself. During this time everyone talks in whispers, and not always intelligently, of the electrostatic capacity of thecable, absolute resistances, and the coefficients of correction, whilethe youngest member of the expedition neglects her beloved poodle, sonorously yclept "Snobbles, " and no longer hangs him head downwardover the ship's rail. 

At last the fault is discovered, cut out, and a splice made, the testsshowing the cable as good as new, whereupon the women return to theirchiffons, the child to her games, and the men, not on duty, to theircigars, until the cessation of noise from the cable machinery, or theengine-room bell signalling "full speed astern" warns us somethingelse may be amiss. 

In the testing room, that Holy of Holies on board a cable-ship, thefate of the _Burnside_ hangs upon a tiny, quivering spark of lightthrown upon the scale by the galvanometer's mirror. If this lightjumps from side to side, or trembles nervously, or perhaps disappearsentirely from the scale, our experts know the cable needs attention, and perhaps the ship will have to stop for hours at a time until thefault is located. If the trouble is not in the tanks, the paying-outmachinery must be metamorphosed into a picking-up apparatus, andthe cable already laid will be coiled back into the hold until thefault appears, when it will be cut out and the two ends of cablespliced. After this splice grows quite cool, tests are taken, andif they prove satisfactory, we again resume our paying out, knowingthat while the spot of light on the galvanometer remains quietly inone position, the cable being laid is electrically sound, and we canproceed without interruption. 

As may be imagined everyone on the ship got to think in megohms, and scientific terms clung to our conversation just as the tar fromthe cable tanks clung to our wearing apparel, while few among us buthad wild nightmares wherein the cable became a sentient thing, andmade faces at us as it leapt overboard in a continuous suicidal frenzy. 

The cable-ship _Burnside_, as some may remember, was one of the firstprizes captured in the Spanish War. She had been a Spanish merchantship, the _Rita_, trading between Spain and all Spanish ports in theWest Indies, and when captured by the _Yale_, early in April, 1898, was on her way to Havana with a cargo of goods. There is little abouther now, however, to suggest a Spanish coaster, save the old bellmarked "Rita" in front of the captain's cabin. The sight of thisbell always brings to mind the wild patriotism of those early daysof our war with Spain, when love of country was grown to an absorbingpassion which made one eager to surrender all for the nation's honour, and stifled dread of impending separation--a separation that mightbe forever--despite the rebel heart's fierce protest. The _Rita's_bell reminds one also of a country less fortunate than our own, and sometimes when looking at it, one can almost fancy the terrorand excitement of those aboard the Spanish coaster when the _Yale_swept down upon her on that memorable April afternoon. But it is afar cry from that day to this, and the _Burnside_, manned by Americansailors, flying Old Glory where once waved the red and yellow ofSpain's insignia, and laying American cable in American waters, is avery different ship from the _Rita_, fleeing before her pursuers inthe West Indies. 

When the _Burnside_ left Manila on December 23, 1900, for the cablelaying expedition in the far South Seas, there were eight army officersaboard, six of whom belonged to the Signal Corps, the seventh beinga young doctor, and the eighth a major and quartermaster in chargeof the transport. Besides these there were civilian cable experts, Signal Corps soldiers, Hospital Corps men, Signal Corps natives, and the ship's officers, crew, and servants. The only passengers onthe trip were women, two and a half of us, the fraction standing fora young person of nine summers, the quartermaster's little daughter, whom we shall dub Half-a-Woman, letting eighteen represent the unitof grown-up value. 

Half-a-Woman was the queen of the ship, and held her court quiteroyally from the Powers-that-Be, our commanding officer, down to theroughest old salt in the forecastle. Having a child aboard gave theonly real touch of Christmas to our tropical pretence of it. Everythingelse was lacking--the snow, the tree, the holly and wreaths, theChristmas carol, the dear ones so far away--but the little childwas with us, and wherever children are there also will the Christmasspirit come, even though the thermometer registers ninety in the shade, and at the close of that long summer-hot day we all felt more than"richer by one mocking Christmas past. "

Half-a-Woman was also obliging enough to have a birthday on the trip, which we celebrated by a dinner in her honour, a very fine dinnerwhich opened with clear turtle soup and ended with her favouriteice and a birthday cake of gigantic proportions, decorated withornate chocolate roses and tiny incandescent lamps in place of theconventional age-enumerating candles, cable-ship birthday cakesbeing eminently scientific and up-to-date. Other people may havehad birthdays _en route_, for we were away from Manila many weeks, but none were acknowledged; modesty doubtless constraining thoseolder than Half-a-Woman from making a too ostentatious display oftell-tale incandescent lights. 

It was a very busy trip, everyone on the ship being occupied, with theexception of the women who spent most of their time under the cool blueawning of the quarter-deck, where many a letter was written, and manya book read aloud and discussed, though more often we accomplishedlittle, preferring to lie back in our long steamer chairs and watchthe wooded islands with cloud shadows on their shaggy breasts driftslowly by and fade into the purple distance. 

Now we would pass close to some luxuriantly overgrown shore wheretall cocoanut-palms marched in endless procession along the whitebeach; now past hills where groups of bamboos swung back and forthin the warm breeze, and feathery palms and plantains, the sunlightflickering through their leaves, showed myriad tints of green and goldand misty gray; these in turn giving place to some volcanic mountain, bare and desolate. Then for hours there would be no land at all, only the wonderful horizonless blue of water and sky, the sunlighton the waves so dazzlingly bright as to hurt the eyes. 

But nearly always in this thickly islanded sea there was land, eitheron one side or the other, land bearing strange names redolent of tropicrichness, over whose pronunciation we would lazily disagree. Perhapsit would be but a cliff-bound coast or a group of barren islandsin the distance, bluer even than the skies above them; perhaps somelofty mountain on whose ridges the white clouds lay like drifted snow;or perhaps a tier of forest-grown hills, rising one above the other, those nearest the water clothed in countless shades of green, vergingfrom deepest olive to the tender tint of newly awakened buds in thespringtime, those farthest away blue or violet against the horizon. 

Golden days these were when Time himself grew young again, and, resting on his scythe, dreamed the sunlit hours away. Until eventidethe summer skies above us slept, as did the summer seas below us, whenboth awakened from their slumbers flushed and rosy. On some eveningsthe heavy white clouds piled high in the west seemed to catch fire, the red blaze spreading over the heavens, to be reflected laterin the mirror-like water of the sea. Then the crimson light wouldgradually change to amethyst and gold, with the sun hanging likea ball of flame between heaven and earth, while every conceivablecolour, or combination of colours, played riotously over all in thekaleidoscopic shifting of the clouds. At last the sun would touch thehorizon, sinking lower and lower into the sea, while the heavens losttheir glory, taking on pale tints of purple and violet. A moment moreand the swift darkness of the tropics would blot out every vestigeof colour, for there is no twilight in the Philippines, no half-tonesbetween the dazzling tropic sunset and the dusky tropic night. 

Then there were other evenings when the colours lying in distinctstrata looked not unlike celestial _pousse-cafés_, or perhaps somedelicately blended shades of pink and blue and mauve, suggested toa feminine mind creations of millinery art; or yet again, when a skythat had been gray and sober all day suddenly blazed out into crimsonand gold at sunset, one was irresistibly reminded of a "Quakeressgrown worldly. "

And then would come the night and the wonderful starlit heavens ofthe tropics--

 "--unfathom'd, untrod, Save by even' and morn and the angels of God. "

Every star sent a trail of light to the still water, seeming to fastenthe sky to the sea with long silver skewers; wonderful phosphorescenceplayed about beneath us like wraiths of drowned men luring one todestruction; while in the musical lap of the water against the ship'sside one almost fancied the sound of Lorelei's singing. And then therewere starless nights with only a red moon to shine through cloudyskies; and nights no less beautiful when all the world seemed shroudedin black velvet, when the dusky sea parted silently to let the boatpass through, and then closed behind it with no laugh or ripple ofwater to speed it onward, breathlessly still nights of fathomlessdarkness. The ship's master, burdened with visions of coral reefson a chartless coast, failed to appreciate the æsthetic beauty ofsailing unknown seas in limitless darkness, and either anchored onsuch nights, or paced back and forth upon his bridge, longing forelectric lighted heavens that would not play him such scurvy tricks. 

And there were gray days, too, which only served to make more goldenthe sun-kissed ones; days when no observations could be taken with thesextant, to the huge disgust of the officer in charge of such work;days when the distant mountains loomed spectre-like through the mist, their sharp outlines vignetted into the sky. Occasionally the fog wouldlift a bit, just enough to reveal the rain-drenched islands around us, and then suddenly wipe them out of existence again, leaving the shipalone on a gray and shoreless sea. 

As for amusements, these were not lacking, what with reading, writing, bag-punching, and playing games with the small girl while under way;and when at anchor there was always shooting, hunting, and fishingfor the men, and for us all swimming off the ship's side. This lastwas often done in shark-ridden waters, to the great disapproval of theship's officers, some of whom would stand on the well-deck, revolverin hand, while more than once a swift bullet was sent shrilling overour heads at some great fin rising out of the sea beyond. On ourtrip to and from Bongao, one of the Tawi Tawi Islands, on a wreckingexpedition to save the launch _Maud_, stranded there on a coral reef, all the Signal Corps officers were at liberty, too, which made lifeon the ship even more agreeable, the delightful experience beingagain repeated on our return trip to Manila from Pasacao, Luzon. 

When one considers that the ship laid approximately five hundredknots of cable, and travelled over three thousand knots on the trip, which does not include the Bongao wrecking expedition, it will beseen how difficult the work was, in that in every instance, save fromZamboanga, Mindanao, to Sulu, on the island of Sulu, we had to make apreliminary trip, sounding and taking observations, before the cablecould be laid, the Spanish charts being worse than unreliable. Then, too, a government transport dragged our cable with her anchor at oneplace, a fierce tropical storm wrecked it at another, while carelessMoro trench diggers bruised it with stones at a third, which meantmany extra days of work for the Signal Corps at each of these places, and for us idle ones a continuation of pleasant experiences, thewhole trip taking in all three and a half months. 

Three and a half months of ideal summer weather from the last ofDecember to the middle of April, and real summer weather at that, not the sham midwinter summer of the tourist who has his photographtaken attired in flannels and standing under a palm-tree in California, Florida, or the Mediterranean, only to shiveringly resume his normalattire as soon as possible. The Philippine winter climate is quitedifferent, what some one has defined as the climate of heaven, warmthwithout heat and coolness without cold, when men sport linen or khakicontinuously, and women wear lawns and organdies throughout the season, with a light wrap added thereto at night--if it chances to be becoming. 

In a few years it will be to these southern seas that the millionairebrings his yacht for a winter cruise; it will be in these foreststhat he hunts for wild boar and deer, or shoots woodcock, duck, snipe, pigeons, and pheasants; in these waters that he fishesfor the iridescent silver beauties that here abound. It will beon these sunlit shores invalids seeking health will find it, andhere that huge sanitariums should be built, for despite the tales ofpessimistic travellers, no lovelier climate exists than can be foundin Philippine coast towns from the middle of November until the lastof March. After that it becomes unbearably hot, and then one is indanger of all kinds of fevers or digestive troubles, and should, if possible, go to Japan to get cooled off. 

Of course, even during the Garden-of-Eden months, one must take thesame care of himself that he would in any country, and most of thetravellers who write against the Philippine climate have, accordingto their own statements, lived most unhealthfully as regarded diet, shelter, exposure, and the like. During the hot season itself onecan get along very comfortably in the Philippines, if he makes it arule to live just as he would at home, only at half speed, if I mayso express it. 

But aside from its possibilities for the leisure class, what a worldof interest the Philippines has in store for us from a governmentaland commercial standpoint! What a treasure-trove it will prove tothe historian, geographer, antiquarian, naturalist, geologist andethnologist. At every stopping-place my little note-book was filledwith statistics as to trade in hemp, cane-sugar, cocao, rice, copra, tobacco, and the like. I even had a hint here and there as to thegeology of the group, but ruthlessly blue-pencilled out such bits ofuseful information, and while it may not be at all utilitarian, rejoicethat I have been privileged to see these islands in a state of nature, before the engineer has honeycombed the virgin forest with iron rails;before the great heart of the hills is torn open for the gold, or coal, or iron to be found there; before the primitive plough, buffalo, andhalf-dressed native give way to the latest type of steam or electricapparatus for farming; before the picturesque girls pounding rice inwooden mortars step aside for noisy mills; before the electric lightfrightens away the tropic stars, and dims the lantern hanging fromthe gable of every nipa shack; before banking houses do away with thecocoanut into which thrifty natives drop their money, coin by coin, through a slit in the top; before the sunlit stillness of thesecoast towns is marred by the jar and grind of factory machinery;before the child country is grown too old and too worldly-wise. 

Chapter II

DUMAGUETE

Our first stopping place after a two days' trip from Manila wasDumaguete, on the southeast corner of the island of Negros. Wereached there at seven o'clock on Christmas morning, and found ita tropically picturesque little town, surrounded by forest-grownhills, and built mostly of nipa, with the exception of the church, _convento_, watch-tower, and _tribunal_, which were of wood painteda dazzling white. 

All day long men and boys, innocent of even an excuse for clothes, hovered about the ship in _bancas_ or dugouts, chattering volubly witheach other in Visayan, or begging us in broken Spanish to throw downcoins that they might exhibit their natatorial accomplishments, and, when we finally yielded, diving with yells of delight for the bits ofsilver, seeming quite as much pleased, however, with chocolates wrappedin tin-foil as they had been with the money, and uttering shrill criesthat sounded profanely like "Dam'me--dam'me, " to attract our attention. 

When a coin was thrown overboard every one dived for it with becomingunanimity, and the water being very clear, we could see theirfrog-like motions as they swam downward after the vanishing prize, and the good-natured scuffle under water for its possession. Laughing, sputtering, coughing, they would come to the surface, shaking the waterout of their bright eyes like so many cocker spaniels, the sun gleamingon their brown skins, their white teeth shining, as they pointed outthe complacent victor, who would hold the money up that we might seeit, before they would again begin their clamour of "Dam'me--dam'me, "and go through a pantomime of how quickly each personally would diveand bring it up, did we throw our donation in his direction. 

When the supply of coins and candies had been exhausted, some onebethought him of throwing chunks of ice overboard, and as none amongthe natives had ever seen ice before, their amazement may well beimagined. The first boy to pick up a piece of the glittering whitenesslet it drop with a howl, and when he caught his breath again warnedthe others in shrill staccato tones that he had been burned, thatit was hot, _muy caliente_, wringing his hands as if, indeed, theyhad been scorched. Presently, finding that the burn left no markand had stopped hurting, he shamefacedly picked up the ice again, shifting it from one hand to the other with the utmost rapidity, and occasionally crossing himself in the interim. 

Meanwhile more ice had been thrown overboard, and the rest of thenatives, not at all deterred by their comrade's warning, examined thestrange substance for themselves. Very excited were their comments, those in the far _bancas_ scrambling over the intervening boats tosee with their own eyes the miracle of hard water so cold that it washot. They smelled and tasted of it, like so many monkeys, chatteringexcitedly the while, and they rubbed it on each other's bare backs amidscreams of genuine fright, while many tumbled overboard to escape thehorrible sensation of having it touch their flesh, the superstitiousbeing reminded, no doubt, of all the tales the padres had ever toldthem of hell or purgatory. 

Some thrifty and unimaginative souls tied up their bits of ice incloths or packed them in small boxes, to take back to the village, while others, engrossed in their examination of the strange substance, transferred it from one hand to the other until, miracle of miracles, it had entirely disappeared. Others, emulating the laughing peopleon the big boat, put their pieces of ice into their mouths, but notfor long at a time, as the intense cold made their teeth ache; whilestill others piously crossed themselves and refused to have aught todo with so manifest an invention of the Evil One. 

Meanwhile, despite the fact of its being Christmas, the SignalCorps officers, men, and natives were hard at work establishing anoffice in the town, digging a trench for the shore end of the cable, and setting up the cable hut, packed in sections for convenience intransportation. Thirty Dumaguete natives were employed at twenty-fivecents a day to help dig the trench and put up the hut, and they seemedvery willing in their work and thought the remuneration princely. 

So heavy was the surf in the early morning that the officers andsoldiers going ashore had to be carried from the rowboats to thebeach on the backs of natives, but it fortunately calmed down enoughbefore we women went over in the afternoon to allow of our enteringDumaguete in a more conventional manner. 

Being a _fiesta_, the town was full of natives from the provinces, all smartly dressed and all beaming with good-natured curiosity atthe advent of two and a half American women, --the only _Americanas_most of them had ever seen, --and quite an escort gathered aroundus as, accompanied by the officers of the post and those from theship not otherwise engaged, we walked down the dusty streets towardthe cockpits, where in honour of the day there was to be a contestof unusual interest. At every corner came new recruits to swell theranks of our followers. "Merry Christmas, " cried everyone in Spanish orVisayan, and "Merry Christmas" we responded, though June skies bendingdown toward tropical palms and soft winds just rustling the tops oftall bamboos, so that they cast flickering fern-like shadows overthatched nipa roofs, but ill suggested Christmas to an American mind. 

The cockpit reached, we found it to be a rudely built circular shackof nipa, fairly crowded with natives in gala attire, and a sprinklingof khaki-clad soldiers from the post. Native policemen, in uniformsthat strongly reminded one of the _insurrecto_ insignia, showed us toour seats, and a few moments after our arrival two fine cocks, matchedas nearly as possible in strength and weight, were brought into thering by their respective owners, while the onlookers discussed thebirds' relative points. The two cocks, still held by their masters, were then allowed to peck at each other's combs until fully angered, when they were put into the ring a short distance apart, and whileeach owner held the tail feathers of his bird, the cocks made futileefforts to reach each other, giving vent the while to derisive crowing. 

The audience, after watching this performance a moment or two, began making their bets, both individually and through the agencyof the "farmer, " who, standing in the centre of the ring, cried outchaffingly in Visayan to faint-hearted gamesters. Then circles weredrawn on the earthen floor of the pit, and the money put up on eachcock deposited in one or the other of these rings. At the end of thefight some one appointed cried out the name of the victorious bird, and the winners swarmed down into the pit where they collected theirmoney and the original stakes. There is never any cheating at suchaffairs, a sort of bolo morality existing among the natives, and allis as methodical and well-behaved as the proverbial Sabbath school. 

It was the first cock-fight most of us cable-ship people had ever seen, and it was hard to understand the wild enthusiasm of the natives when, after unsheathing the steel gaffs on the roosters' legs, the birdswere allowed to make their preliminary dash at one another. For amoment they walked around the ring with an excessively polite air, eachkeeping a wary lookout on his antagonist, but frigidly impersonal andcourteous. One might almost fancy them shaking hands before the combatshould begin, so ceremonious was their attitude. Then there would comea simultaneous onslaught of feathered fury. Again and again they flewat one another, while the volatile audience called out excitedly inSpanish, "The black wins--No, the speckled one's ahead. Holy Virgin, give strength to the black!" In a very few moments one cock is eitherdead, or perhaps turned coward before the cruel gaff of his opponent, and victor and vanquished leave the arena to new combatants, whilethe clink of coin changing hands is heard throughout the cockpit. 

The first few fights we thought rather tame, and I, personally, hadto assure myself over and over as the bloody contestants were removedfrom the scene of action, that such a death was no more painful andcertainly far less ignominious than when chicken stewed or _à laMaryland_ was to be the ultimate result of the fowl's demise. 

There was one little game-cock, however, who enthused even the mostdispassionate among us. He was small and wiry, and his well kept whitefeathers testified to a devoted master. How impatient that absurdlittle rooster was for the fight to begin, and how he struggled toget off his gaff and go into the fray unarmed, the weight on his legsseeming an impediment to action, and how insolently he strutted andcrowed before his antagonist, an equally well groomed gentleman ofexceptional manners, attired in a gorgeous suit of green and gold. Buthandsome as the darker rooster was, the white one seemed to be theuniversal choice, and heavy were the stakes in his favour, so heavythat when, after a few minutes' fighting, his wing was broken, ageneral groan went up throughout the cockpit, a groan which mergedinto sullen silence when the poor little chicken fell before thefurious onslaught of his enemy. 

Again and again the victorious green and gold rooster jumped uponhis prostrate foe, pecking now at his crop, now at his eyes, in aperfect frenzy of triumphant rage, the little white fellow lyingso still meanwhile that everyone thought him dead. But suddenlyhe struggled to his feet, and, despite the grievously broken wing, whipped the big bully in a way to raise a cheer even from the hithertoindifferent Americans. 

As for the natives, they simply shouted themselves hoarse, and, contrary to all precedent, jumped down into the pit, throwing their_sombreros_ on high and yelling vigorously, "_Muy valiente gallo--muyvaliente!_" The little rascal had simply been sparring for wind, andhe seemed to wink an eye at us after having chased his vanquishedenemy to a corner, for, like the coward he was, the green and goldrooster turned tail and ran at the first opportunity. 

It is to be hoped that the _muy valiente gallo_ had his wing patchedup and lived to tell his tale of bravery to many a barn-yard chick--awar-scarred veteran whose honourable wound entitled him to the respectof all domestic fowl. But knowing Filipino nature, I am rather inclinedto think that the white rooster made a very acceptable broth for hismaster on the following day, the flesh of fighting-cocks being quitetoo tough for consumption in any other form. 

On our return to the ship's boat we were accompanied to the water'sedge by a juvenile contingent of natives, some of them being ourfriends of the forenoon, who returned any notice of themselves on ourpart by a rapturous gleam of teeth and eyes. One of them, a youngsterof perhaps ten or eleven, who gloried in the euphonious name of Gogo, was particularly assidious in his attentions, and would come close upto us and say, "_I-ese--i-ese--dam'me--i-ese!_" going into paroxysmsof mirth the while, and wrinkling up his handsome little face at themere remembrance of the water so cold it was hard. 

That night the shore officers took their Christmas dinner with us onthe _Burnside_, and a very jolly evening we made of it. The saloonwas entirely covered, ceiling and all, by American and ship's flags, interspersed with palms, while over the sideboard were suspended theAmerican flag and Union Jack intertwined, this last in honour of ourtwo cable experts, both of them being Britishers. We women donned oursmartest frocks, the electric piano, slightly out of tune, did rag-timeto perfection, the _menu_ included every conventional Christmas dish, and yet--and yet it was not Christmas, and all the roast turkey andplum pudding in the world could not make it so. It was a very jollydinner, to be sure, well served and with charming company, but itwas not a Christmas dinner. Only Half-a-Woman's presence saved itand the day from utter failure. 

The next morning the presidente of the town, other officials, and someof the leading men and women of Dumaguete made a visit to the ship, and were voluble in their surprise at what was shown them, --theelectric lights and fans, the steam galley and ice-machine; thecold-storage room, where one could freeze to death in a few moments;the little buttons on the wall which one had only to touch and aservant appeared to take one's orders; the wonderful piano that"played itself, "--all were duly admired and exclaimed over. 

But what seemed to please and astonish them most of all were thebath-rooms with their white porcelain tubs, tiled floors, and shiningsilver knobs, which one had only to turn in order to have hot or coldwater, either salt or fresh, in the tub, the basin, or the shower. Eventhe electric piano failed to impress them as did this aqueous marvel, and they crossed themselves and called on the Virgin and all herangels to testify that verily the American nation was a mighty one. 

The men were of course greatly interested in our gallant armament ofrapid-fire guns, and when the quartermaster, who is a crack shot, hitan improvised target in the water several times in succession with aone-pounder in the stern of the ship, the Filipinos were astounded, and stared at him in even greater admiration than they had shownfor the formidable little weapon. Two shotguns of newest design werealso brought on deck, and while the native women were frankly boredat this display of ordnance and preferred to talk about the way ourgowns were made, the men were delighted, declaring they never imagineda gun could be broken in pieces and put together again so easily. 

Before our guests left, lemonade and cake were served on thequarter-deck, and it was really amusing to watch their faces as theydiscussed the coldness of the drink, while the pieces of ice in theirglasses excited as much perturbation as the untutored savages hadshown the day before. One travelled lady, however, who had been toIloilo once and tasted ice there, drank her lemonade with ostentatiousindifference to its temperature, as became one versed in the ways ofthe world, explaining to me with condescension a few moments laterthat the Iloilo ice had been much colder than ours, --an item ofphysical research which I accepted politely. 

We women were asked innumerable questions as to our respective ages, the extent of our incomes, our religious beliefs, and other inquiriesof so personal a character as to be quite embarrassing. They seemed, though, to be very genuine in their admiration of us, and evincedgreat interest in our clothes, especially those of the quartermaster'swife, who, being a recent arrival in the Philippines, had yet theenviable trail of the Parisian serpent upon her apparel. One heavycloth walking-skirt of hers, fitting smoothly over the hips and withno visible means by which it could be got into, animated the sameinquiry from these people as good King George is said to have madeanent the mystery of getting the apple into the dumpling, a problemof no little difficulty, as any one will agree. At more than onestopping-place we were called upon to solve the riddle of that skirt, and I verily believe that, being women, they were even more awedat the thought of a garment fastening invisibly at one side of thefront under a very deceptive little pocket than at all the electricalmarvels shown them on the ship. 

While in Dumaguete we were driven around the town and far out intothe country surrounding it, finding everything much more tropical andluxuriant in growth than in Manila or its vicinity. There were giantcocoanut-palms, looking not unlike the royal palm so often spoken ofby travellers on the Mediterranean, clusters of bamboo and groups ofplantains, flowering shrubs and fields of young rice, green as a wellkept lawn at home. 

Picturesque natives saluted us from the roadway, or from the windowsof their nipa shacks; naked brown children fled at our approach, andwakened their elders from afternoon _siestas_ that they might see twowhite women and a yellow-haired child drive by; carabao, wallowingin the muddy water of a near-by stream, stared at us stolidly;fighting-cocks crowed lustily as we passed; and hens barely escapedwith their cackling lives from under our very wheels. 

A native lazily pounding rice in a mortar rested from his appearanceof labour and watched the carriage until it became a mere speck inthe distance. Two women beating clothes on the rocks of a littlestream stopped their gossip to peep at us shyly from under theirbrown hands. Weavers of _abaca_ left their looms and hung out of thewindows to talk with their neighbours about the great event. Heretoforethey had thought the Americans were like Chinamen, who came to thecountry, yes, and made money from it, but never settled down as didthe Spaniards, never brought their families with them and made theislands their home. But here were two American women and a littlegirl--surely evidences of domesticity. 

Everyone was friendly and peaceably disposed, everyone seemed gladto see us, if smiles and hearty greetings carry weight, and there wasapparently no race prejudice, no half-concealed doubt or mistrust ofus. Yet in a few days thereafter that very road became unsafe foran unarmed American, while the people who had greeted us with suchchildlike confidence and delight were preparing a warmer receptionfor the Americans under the able leadership of a Cebu villain, whohad incited them to insurrection by playing upon their so-calledreligious belief, this in many instances being merely fetishism ofthe worst kind. 

This instigator of anarchy boasted an _anting-anting_, a charmagainst bullets and a guarantee of ultimate success in battle, whichconsisted of a white _camisa_, the native shirt, on which was writtenin Latin a chapter from the Gospel of St. Luke. But notwithstandinghis _anting-anting_, and the more potent factor of several hundrednatives in his ranks, he was easily defeated by a mere handful ofsoldiers from the little fort, and when last heard of by our ship waslying in the American hospital at Dumaguete awaiting transportationto Guam. His former army was _mucho amigo_ to the Americans, andonce again the pretty drives around Dumaguete were quite safe, andonce again the native, when passing an American, touched his hat andsmilingly said good day in Visayan, a greeting which sounds uncommonlylike "Give me a hairpin. "

On the evening of our second day in Dumaguete, the natives of thetown gave a ball in honour of the cable-ship, at the house of one ofthe leading citizens. There, on a floor made smoother than glass withbanana leaves, we danced far into the night to the frightfully quickmusic of the Filipino orchestra. One would hardly recognize the waltzor two-step as performed by the Visayan. He seems to take his exerciseperpendicularly rather than horizontally, and after galloping throughthe air with my first native partner, I felt equal to hurdle jumping ora dash through paper hoops on the back of a milk-white circus charger. 

Their _rigadon_, a square dance not unlike our lanciers, the Filipinostake very seriously, stepping through it with all the unsmiling dignityof our grandparents in the minuet. The sides not engaged in dancingalways sit down between every figure and critically discuss thoseon the floor, but while going through the evolutions of the dance, it seems to be very bad form to either laugh or talk much, a point ofetiquette I am afraid we Americans violated more than once. Anothervery graceful dance, the name of which I have forgotten, consists offour couples posturing to waltz time, changing from one partner toanother as the dance progresses, and finally waltzing off with theoriginal one, the motion of clinking castanets at different parts ofthe dance suggesting for it a Spanish origin. 

At midnight a very attractive supper was served, to which thepresidente escorted us with great formality. As is customary, thewomen all sat down first, the men talking together in another room andeagerly watching their chance to fill the vacant places as the women, one by one, straggled away from the table. The supper consisted forthe most part of European edibles, but there were several Visayandelicacies as well, all of which I was brave enough to essay, tothe great delight of the native women, who jabbered recipes forthe different dishes into my ear, and pressed me to take a secondhelping of everything. All of them ate with their knives and wipedtheir mouths on the edge of the table-cloth, having Spanish precedentfor such customs, and all were heartily and unaffectedly hungry aftertheir violent exercise in the waltz and two step. 

It was very late when we finally left the _baille_, amidst muchhand-shaking and many regrets that our stay in Dumaguete was so short, while great wonder was shown by all that we should be able to sail atdaylight on the morrow, it seeming well-nigh incredible to the nativemind that so much could have been accomplished in so short a time;for, despite the fact that we had been in Dumaguete less than twodays, everything was completed--a marvel, indeed, when one considersthe tremendous current which made the landing of the shore end ahazardous proceeding. 

To one who has never witnessed the difficulties of propelling a rowboatthrough the heavy breakers of some of these Philippine coast towns, it would be hard to appreciate the struggles of the Signal Corps toland shore ends at the different cable stations. More than once menwere almost drowned in its accomplishment but fortunately on thewhole trip, despite many narrow escapes, not a man was seriouslyinjured in the performance of his duty. Once landed on the beach, the shore end was laid in the trench dug for it, one end of thecable entering the cable hut through a small hole in its flooring, where after some adjustment and much shifting of plugs and coaxing ofgalvanometers, the ship way out in the bay was in communication withthe land, through that tiny place, scarce larger than a sentry-box, in which a man has barely room enough to turn around. 

Each telegraph office, when finally established, looks for all theworld like a neat housekeeper's storeroom, with its shelf after shelfof batteries, all neatly labelled like glass jars of jellies andjams. It positively made one's mouth water to see them, and only therows of wires on the wall, converging into the switchboard, and fromthence to the operator's desk, where the little telegraph instrumentswere so soon to click messages back and forth, could convince onethat the jars contained only "juice, " as operators always call theelectric current. 

When this work on shore was completed, the ship paid out a mile and ahalf of cable, cut, and buoyed it, awaiting our return from the nextstation, where, because of the inaccurate charts already mentioned, itwould be necessary to first take soundings before we could proceed tolay the cable. These buoys, so large that they were facetiously called"men" by the punster of the ship, are painted a brilliant scarlet, which makes them a conspicuous feature of the sea-scape. Sometimesa flagstaff and a flag are fastened to the buoy, and often it isconverted for the ship's benefit info an extemporaneous lighthouseby the addition of an oil lamp attached to its summit. 

That night at Dumaguete the swift current unfortunately swung ourship's anchor past the buoy to which the cable was attached, sothat at daylight the next morning, instead of sailing for Oroquieta, Mindanao, as we bad expected, the buoy was picked up and a half mileof cable cut out, a new mile being spliced on in its place. When thiswas completed we paid out the fresh cable, buoyed it, and started forOroquieta, which was to have been our next cable landing, stoppingevery five knots for soundings and observations. 

One of the officers with the sextant ascertained the angle betweentwo points on the coast, while other men, under the generalship ofone of the cable experts, took deep-sea soundings, not only that thedepth of the water might be known, but also its temperature and thecharacter of the bottom, so one could judge of its effect upon thecable when laid, every idiosyncrasy of that cable being already astudy of some import to the testing department. 

This deep-sea sounding is a very necessary feature of cable laying, as unexpected depths of water or unlooked for changes in submarinegeography, when not taken into account, might prove disastrous tothe cable being laid. The sounding apparatus is of great interest, being a compact little affair consisting of a small engine that witha self-acting brake helps regulate the wire sounding-line as it islowered into the water, and after sounding heaves it up again. Whenthis weight touches bottom the drum ceases to revolve, due to theautomatic brake, and the depth can be read off on the scale to oneside of the apparatus. A cleverly devised little attachment to thesinker brings up in its grasp a specimen of sea bottom, so that onecan ascertain if it be sand or rock, and whether or not it is suitablefor cable laying. 

The next day lingers in my memory as a profusely illustrated story, uneventful as to incident, and bound in the blue of sea and sky, with gilt edges of sunshine. Before our five o'clock breakfast wesaw the "Cross hung low to the dawn, " and at night, anchored nearour last sounding, fell asleep under the same Cross. The morning ofthe next day was but a repetition of the morning before, even to theearly rising, for at our breakfast hour the moon had not yet turnedout her light, nor were the stars a whit less brilliant than whenwe went to bed. "It's too early for the morning to be well aired, "one of our cable experts was wont to whimsically complain at thesedaybreak gatherings, but by the time we had finished breakfast thenight would have whitened into dawn, and before most people wereastir an incredible amount of work had been accomplished by thatlittle band of men, seemingly inured to fatigue and the loss of sleep. 

All that morning on the way to Oroquieta the shore end of the cablewas paid out of the tank and coiled in the hold ready for instant usewhen we should reach our destination. The music of the cable on thedrum, the voice of some one in authority calling "_Cobra--cobra_, "to the natives in the tank, and their monotonous "_Sigi do--sigido_, " half-sung, half-chanted, seemed an integral part of the day'sbeauty. Even the natives themselves, guiding the heavy, unwieldy, treacherous cable round and round in the water-soaked tank, that onlyone turn should be lifted at a time, grinned affably and perspiringlyat those of us peering over the railing at them--grimy tar-stainedfigures that they were, the sunlight bringing their faces out instrong relief against the dark backgound. 

That afternoon we anchored off Oroquieta, but the surf was so heavythat it was felt unsafe to send one of the small boats ashore, especially as no one knew the location of the landing. Strangelyenough, no boats of any kind came out to the ship, not even anative _banca_, so that our intercourse with Oroquieta was purelytelescopic. Through our good lens we saw many a soldier, field-glass inhand, looking wistfully in our direction. Other soldiers walked up anddown the beach on sentry duty, still others seemed to be standing guardover a small drove of horses in a palm grove a little to the right ofthe principal buildings, while many more lounged lazily on the broadsteps of the church, or, leaning out of the windows of the _tribunal_, evidently used as a barracks, stared stolidly at the strange ship inthe harbour. That every man wore side-arms seemed an indication therebels were still rampant on the northern coast of Mindanao, and thefact of numberless native boats passing by with a pharisaical lackof interest in our presence spoke insurrection even more plainly. 

Through the glass we all took turns in watching retreat, thelittle handful of khaki-clad men standing at attention as the starsand stripes fluttered down the flagstaff. Oroquieta was a lonelylooking place, built entirely of nipa, with the exception of theinevitable white church and _convento_, so we were not sorry when thePowers-that-Be decided it was a poor cable landing, and gave orders forthe ship to proceed to Misamis, Mindanao, on the following day. Earlynext morning we weighed anchor, and, still taking soundings, arrivedoff Misamis about ten o'clock, after a sail which one never couldforget, as the coast of Mindanao is rarely beautiful and much moretropical than anything we had seen even on the island of Negros. 

Chapter III

MISAMIS

Long before reaching Misamis the old gray fort at the entrance ofthe town was picked out by some one looking through the telescope, and many were the theories concerning it. At so great a distance, and with the hot sunlight shining full upon it, the fort might havebeen a strip of white sand; later it was decided to be a _tribunal_of unusual proportions, and at last when it loomed full upon us inall the picturesqueness of its gray, moss-grown walls, with weedstrailing in luxurious profusion from every crevice, we decided thatthere lived the American inhabitants of Misamis. Soldiers gatheredunder the roof of the nearest watch-tower to observe our entranceinto the harbour, while still others, unmindful of the blazing sun, perched on the top of the wall and swung their feet over the side, doubtless making numerous wagers as to the transport's name and itsbusiness in so out of the way a place as Misamis. 

Owing to the unreliability of the Spanish charts, the _Burnside_anchored some distance out of the harbour, and just before tiffina boat-load of officers from the garrison came out to the ship, accompanied by the titular captain of the port, a young chap whoalso acted in several other official capacities, a sort of military"crew, and the captain, too, and the mate of the _Nancy Bell_. " Aftertiffin the ship sailed into anchorage in the harbour of Misamis, half-way around the old fort, which seemed to grow more picturesquewith every turn, till finally we could see the village of Misamis, almost hidden in a bewildering mass of tropical vegetation. Ournumerous theories to the contrary, the old fort was uninhabited, saveby the ghosts of other days, remaining but a grim relic of the timewhen Moro pirates swept terror to the hearts of all coast villagessouth of Luzon. It was within those historic walls that the SignalCorps decided to set up the cable-hut, and early the next morningtwo parties were sent ashore, one to establish an office in the town, the other to superintend the digging of a trench by native prisoners, just outside the walls of the old fort. 

Among these distinguished gentlemen was a so-called colonel of the_insurrecto_ army who had been captured a short time before. Thecolonel posed as an aristocrat, whose hands had never been soiledby labour, and when his companions in confinement were turned outto assist in making way for liberty by means of the cable trench, he protested vigorously at the indignity, and averred that he was notseeking the opportunity of reimbursing the American government withpick and shovel for his enforced subsistence. He reiterated so oftenhe was an officer and a gentleman, that finally the American majorin command at Misamis mildly replied that self-appointed colonels inself-appointed armies were not recognized by any government, and asfor his gentility, if it were the genuine article and not a veneerlike his title, it would certainly stand the strain of a littlehonest labour. The arguments were cogent, and the hand of the lawmore irresistible still, so the high ranking officer took his turnin the trench with the other prisoners. 

In the late afternoon we women went ashore and created even more ofa sensation than we had on the island of Negros. We were literallymobbed by natives anxious for a glimpse of the first Americanwomen ever seen in that part of Mindanao, and we walked up to theHeadquarters Building with a chattering, crowding, admiring hordeat our heels. There the officers held an informal reception in ourhonour, to which all the socially possible of Misamis were invited, and the native band serenaded us with such choice selections as "AHot Time, " and "After the Ball, " decidedly off the key, to be sure, but with the best intentions in the world. 

The Misamis women were charmed with their white sisters, and couldno more conceal their artless delight than so many children. Theylaughed and giggled nervously. They gesticulated as they talked, and shrugged their pretty shoulders with a grace taught them by ourSpanish predecessors. They patted imaginary stray hairs into placein their sleek black coiffures, and settled _camisa_ or _panuela_with indescribably quick and bird-like movements. Those of them whocould speak Spanish talked clothes and babies and servants, or smiledpolitely at our mistakes in the language, laughing out-right at theirown futile efforts to speak English. They were astonished that thequartermaster's wife should have attained the remarkable height offive feet eight inches _so young_! Was it possible there were otherwomen in America as tall? Taller even? _'Susmariajoseph!_ But surelythat was a joke? One never could tell when these Americans were joking. 

One of the officers presented the _Burnside_ women with some nativehats typical of the island, and the Filipinos were overcome withsurprise at our interest in such ordinary headgear. What were wegoing to do with the hats? Wear them ourselves? Oh, no, we hastenedto explain, they were to decorate our walls in America, that all ourfriends might see what pretty hats the Filipino people wear. Decoratethe wall with hats? What a very curious idea! They chatted volublyover this idiosyncrasy, and even laughed at it, but quite decorouslyso that our feelings might be spared. Suddenly one of them, a mostvivacious girl, and evidently the belle of the village, leaned overand in persuasive tones suggested that we women leave our hats, each real creations of millinery art, for their walls, at whichwitticism they all giggled explosively and shrugged their shouldersin rapturous appreciation of our confusion; all but the presidente'swife, who looked shocked at such presumption and spoke to the youngerwomen warningly in Visayan. 

She was a shy and rather fat old lady--the presidente's wife--andseemed greatly impressed by any statistics translated into Visayanfor her information. Speaking Spanish but indifferently, she madeup for her linguistic deficiencies by a pair of eyes which letnothing escape them; and she stared at us continually throughoutthe afternoon, seeming to be studying this new species of womanas intently as a naturalist might some strange butterfly under amicroscope. Whenever we caught her eye she looked away hastily as ifdetected in an impropriety, and then furtively resumed her inspection, taking in every detail of our wearing-apparel, from the real hatsupon our heads to the stout soled walking boots on our feet, the shineof our patent leathers seeming to inspire her with more respect thanany other part of our costume. 

The only other shoes in the room, excepting those worn by theAmericans and some few of the native men, were the proud possessionof a tiny girl eight years old. This fashionable young person boastedalso a European hat of coarse white straw stiffly trimmed with blueribbon and blue ostrich tips. That the feathers had a wofully limp, depressed, and bedraggled appearance; that the ribbon was obviouslycotton; and the straw of the coarsest weave, in no wise detractedfrom the glorious knowledge that it was a hat, a real hat such asthe _Americanas_ themselves were wearing. Sustained by this fact theyoung lady, who, in addition to the shoes and millinery, wore onlya single other garment, comported herself with great dignity. Evenin the trying circumstance of passing between one and the light, she was quite unconscious of anything amiss, the proud assuranceof being dressed in the height of style as to her head and feet, precluding all worry as to minor details. 

Among others met that afternoon at the Headquarters Building was aSpanish gentleman of charming manners. He invited our party from theship, and the officers stationed in town, to stop at his house onour return to the launch and have some refreshments, an invitationwe gladly accepted. So the courtly Castilian, beaming with hospitableintent, hurried ahead to prepare for our coming, we following shortlyafter in his footsteps. But to the young Spaniard's ill concealedchagrin and our own embarrassment, the whole Filipino contingentaccompanied us to the house. Fully as many more natives gathered atevery available door and window, while outside the band, which hadbrought up a tuneful and triumphant rear, played the "Star SpangledBanner. " After all had partaken of Señor Montenegro's enforcedliberality, we repaired to the launch, accompanied by almost theentire population of Misamis, and amidst a shrill chorus of "_Hastala vista_, " and "_Adios_, " we steamed back to the _Burnside_, whosetwinkling lights shone out dimly against the evening sky. 

The next morning a party of Signal Corps men, accompanied by a guardof fifteen soldiers from the fort, sailed at peep o' day in the ship'slaunches, the two in tandem towing a native _banca_ loaded with cable, which was to be laid in the Lintogup River and upper Panguil Bay, a stretch of water too shallow for the _Burnside_ herself to attemptits navigation. This cable was in turn to be connected at Lintogupwith Tukuran, on the southern coast of Mindanao, by a land line acrossa mountainous country. 

When the party started there were guns and ammunition enough on thetwo launches to have quelled a good sized insurrection, but as littlewas really known of the upper bay and river, and as many rumours wererife among the natives of Misamis as to warlike Moros and Montesesliving on these shores, and more disquieting rumours still amongthe officers that it was a camping place for _insurrectos_, it wasthought best to amply provide against any emergency. 

Unfortunately, no information could be obtained as to the rise and fallof the tides or the strength of the current, a fact that delayed theexpedition many days and necessitated the return of one or other ofthe launches for a renewal of rations, fresh water, and coal, not oncebut thrice. The first, second, and third relief expeditions, we calledthem, and teased the officer in charge unmercifully over his hard luck. 

But at last, despite adverse winds and tides; despite the factthat one of the Filipino guides ran the launch aground, with maliceaforethought, no doubt, as on his return to Misamis he was arrestedon indubitable evidence as a spy; despite the fact that the sailing_banca_, ran on the bar, and while trying to pull her off she and herfive miles of cable were swamped; despite the fact that the ship'slaunch _Grace_, or the _Disgrace_, as she was afterward called, distinguished herself by blowing up twice and almost scaldingeveryone on board; despite the fact that all the odds were againstthe expedition's success, and that it took six days and nights toaccomplish what might have been done in a third of the time--despiteall this, I say, the cable was at last laid and the luckless workersreturned. 

But, oh, the bitterness of life in general and that of a cable manin particular! For after all those heroic struggles the first testshowed a fault, and, cruel fate, at the far end of Panguil Bay atthat! The silence which greeted the reception of this terrible newswas as profane as words, and the Powers-that-Be decided on the spotthat enough work had been spent on that calamitous cable for thetime being, and decided to proceed with the laying of the main lines, leaving the Lintogup stretch until a subsequent visit to Misamis. 

Meanwhile there was much work accomplished in the town, a finetelegraph office being established on the principal street; and atrench completed by the shore end party; while much overhaulingof the cable in the tanks, and daily drills given to the SignalCorps soldiers in cable telegraphy and the care of the instrumentskept those aboard ship busy. Tic--tack, clic--clack, went the littletelegraph instrument at one end of the quarter-deck, and clic--clack, tic--tack answered an instrument at the other end, hour after hourthrough the long, warm mornings, and the longer, warmer afternoons. 

On New Year's eve, several officers from the fort saw the centuryin with those of us remaining on the _Burnside_, but the timepassed so pleasantly that no one remembered the auspicious occasionuntil the sound of sharp firing from the shore broke in upon ourconversation. The jangling of church bells followed, and one of theshore officers, usually a very cool and self-contained young fellow, sprang to his feet, exclaiming as he buckled on his revolver, "Greatheavens! An attack on the town and I not there. May I have a ship'sboat at once?" But even as he spoke the _Burnside's_ whistle blew agreat blast, and several shots from the ship answered those on shore, every man with a revolver, shotgun, or rifle adding his quota ofnoise to the general hubbub. 

And so it was the new century came to Mindanao, some thirteen hoursahead of its advent in New York or Washington. Before eight bellshad ceased striking a search-light greeting was sent to our friendsat Lintogup, but they, being tired after a hard day's work, sleptsupinely on, unaware of our good wishes or the fact that a fine youngcentury had been born to the old, old world. 

I am sorry to relate that the next day a court-martial was held inMisamis to try the irrepressible guard who, in a burst of enthusiasmdue to their first taste of twentieth century air, had fired off theirrifles. The soldiers were sentenced rather heavily, rifle-shots in aPhilippine town at that time being productive of dire results. Indeed, the shrill warning of the church bells and scattered shots in aMindanao village meant one thing only, an uprising in the town oran attack from the outside, the incoming of a new century beingof far less importance than the preservation of order and quiet inthe garrison, and no cognizance could be taken of a new year whichmust be ushered in with a clang of firearms or the jangle of churchbells--shrill heralds of disaster. 

On New Year's morning the presidente and secretario of Misamis, accompanied by their respective families and a young Moro slave, the property of the secretario, came aboard the _Burnside_ to returnour call. It was the first time any of them had ever seen a modernsteamship, and loud and voluble were their exclamations of wonderat what we have come to regard as the every-day conveniences ofcivilization. After seeing the electric light, electric fans, and theshower baths turned on and off several times, the presidente cravedpermission to essay these miracles himself, and, to his own greatsurprise, accomplished supernatural results. The old wife watched himtremblingly. Surely, these were works of the Evil One, and, as such, to be left to heretics. But still the man persisted in his madness, and with a turn of his wrist brought light out of darkness or waterand wind from the very walls. 

Finally he turned around, and with a humourous twinkle in hiseye, that belied the gravity of the rest of his face, he said:"The _Americanos_ are a great people--a wonderful people--and howunlike the Filipinos! When a Filipino wants sunshine or rain or wind, he must wait until the good Lord gives it to him. When an _Americano_wants sunshine or rain or wind, he turns it on!"

The whole party was intensely interested in the big telescope whichdrew Misamis within a stone's throw of the ship, and they could notin the least understand how we cooked in the steam galley without anyfuel, while the ice-machine and cold storage rooms were quite beyondtheir comprehension, none of them ever having seen ice before. Ofcourse, on seeing the strange substance, it must be tasted aswell, so iced drinks were served on the quarter-deck, these beingreceived with much preliminary trepidation and ultimate gustatorygratification. As for the small Moro slave, I only hope he did notdie from his excessive libations, for he drank unnumbered glasses oflemonade, making most violent faces the while, and rubbing his smallround stomach continually, as if the unaccustomed cold had penetratedto his very vitals. 

On going ashore, each of the three children carried back a box ofAmerican candy, the order of our guests' departure being somewhatdelayed by Señora Presidente's intense fear of going down thegangway. As I have said before, she was a fat old lady, and the waywas steep; but finally, after much persuasion, she slipped her barefeet out of their velvet _chinelas_, gathered her voluminous skirtsclose about her, and, seating herself upon the top step of the ladder, _slid_ down! Surely a simple solution of the difficulty. 

That evening a ball was given in our honour at the HeadquartersBuilding, which for the time being was transformed into a mostattractive place with palms and flags and coloured lanterns, whilejust outside the broad windows a wonderful tropic sky, hung withsilver stars, added its enchantment to the scene. No carriage beingavailable in the town, we walked from the dingy little wharf to theHeadquarters Building, arrayed in our very best, and followed by aguard of armed soldiers, our escorts themselves wearing revolvers. 

At every corner a dark form would shoot out suddenly from the shadowsand there would be the swift click of a rifle as it came to position, while a voice cried, "Halt! Who's there?" "A friend, " some one wouldreply, or "Officer of the garrison, " as the case might be. Thenagain would come the sentinel's voice telling the person challengedto advance and be recognized, at which one of the number would marchforward, and, on being identified, the rest of us were allowed to passthe sentinel, who, meanwhile, kept his rifle at a port, his keen eyewatching closely, that no enemy slip by under our protection. 

It was a rarely beautiful night even for the tropics, that firstof January, and as we women wore no wraps of any description, thecontrast between our satins and chiffons and the rough khaki clothesof the soldiers was a strange one; and still stranger was the factof our going under guard to a ball, a ball that at any moment mightbe interrupted by the bugles blowing a call to arms, whereupon ourpartners would have to desert us, perhaps to quell an uprising inthe town, perhaps to defend it against an attack from the outside. 

But fortunately the occasion was not marred by any such sinisterhappening, and doubtless still lives in the annals of Misamis as avery grand affair, for everyone of consequence in town was invitedto the _baille_, and everyone invited came, not to mention those notinvited who came also. When we arrived the rooms were quite crowdedand the dancing had begun. Far down the street we heard the musicand the sound of the women's heelless slippers shuffling over thepolished floor to a breathlessly fast waltz. If possible the peopleof Misamis dance faster and hop higher than the people of Dumaguete, and how the women manage to keep on their _chinelas_ during thesewild gyrations is quite beyond me. 

As the secretario of the town played a harp in the orchestra--surely anevidence of versatility--we ventured to ask if he would play a two-stepvery, very slowly, and hummed it in ordinary time. At its beginningthe Filipinos who had started to dance, stopped aghast. "Faster, faster!" they cried in Spanish. "No one could dance to such slowmusic. This is a ball, men, not a funeral!" But the secretario heldthe orchestra back, and in a few moments the Americans had the floorto themselves, the Filipinos stopping partly because they found itimpossible to dance to such slow music and partly because they wantedto watch us. 

They were all astonished at the apparent lack of motion in Americandancing and the fact that we got over the ground without hopping. Manyof them asked officers stationed in the town if the women wore aspecial kind of shoe to balls, as they appeared to be standing stilland yet moving at the same time, while one old man was heard explainingto his cronies that we wore little wheels attached to the soles of ourslippers--he had seen them--so that we did not have to move at all, the men doing all the dancing and merely pushing us back and forthon the floor. So much for the glide step as contrasted with the hop, though it must be confessed that the natives were quite frank inliking their own dancing better than ours, one of the reasons beingthat it gave them so much more exercise. 

During the evening the natives gave a Visayan dance, called in thenative tongue "A Courtship. " As the name implies, a young man and womandance it _vis-à-vis_, the man courting the woman rhythmically andto music, she at first resisting, flashing her dark eyes scornfullyas she trips by him, holding her fan to her face until he looks theother way, then peeping over its top at him, only to turn her backin disdain when, emboldened by her interest, he approaches. Finallyhis attentions become more pronounced, at which the girl grows coy, dropping her eyes shyly as they dance past one another, and coveringher face again and again from his too ardent gaze; now bending hersupple waist from side to side in time with the passionate music;now closing her eyes languorously; now opening them wide and smilingat him tenderly over the top of her fan, a graceful accomplice toher pretty coquetry. At last she surrenders to the wooing, the happypair dancing away together while the music plays faster and fasteruntil at last it stops with a great crash, that, we trust, not beingsymbolical of infelicity in wedlock. The dance was very well done, and the native audience enjoyed it thoroughly, calling out chaffinglyin Visayan to the couple on the floor, and occasionally beating timeto the music with hand or foot. 

It was at this ball we met for the first time a family of American_mestizas_--three sisters there were, if I remember rightly, --allpretty girls, with regular features and soft brown hair, thishair distinguishing them at once from the other women of the placewith their more conventional blue-black tresses. It seems that thegrandfather of these girls had been an American sailor, who for somereason or other was marooned at Cagayan, Mindanao. Making the most, oras a pessimist might think, the worst of a disadvantageous situation, he married a native girl and raised a large and presumably interestingfamily, his descendants being scattered all over the island. TheMisamis branch were extremely aristocratic, and so proud of theirblue blood that since the arrival of the American troops they haveassociated with no one else in the village. It is said that thegirls even refer to the United States as "home, " and occasionallywear European clothes in preference to the far more becoming andpicturesque costume of _saya_, _camisa_, and _panuela_. 

While in Misamis I verily believe that family was pointed out to ustwenty times at least, and whenever a man lowered his voice and startedin with, "You see those girls over there? Well, their grandfather wasan American--" I steeled myself for what was to follow, and expressedsurprise and interest as politely as possible, for it is hard to attainconventional incredulity over a twice-told tale. After the genealogyof the family had been gone over, root and branch, we would invariablybe told the story of how the grandfather, grown rich and prosperousin his island home, once went to Manila on a business trip. He hadthen lived in Mindanao over thirty years, during which time he hadspoken nothing but Visayan, varied occasionally with bad Spanish. 

His negotiations at the capital taking him to an English firm, he started to address them in his long unused mother tongue, whento his extreme mortification he found he could not speak a word ofEnglish. Again and again he tried, the harsh gutturals choking in histhroat, until at last, flushed and angry, he was forced to transacthis business in Spanish, all of which amused the Britishers to thechaffing point. Leaving the office, the American flung himself into thestreet, muttering savagely under his breath, a torrent of old memoriessurging through his brain, those harsh English words in his throatclamouring for utterance. On and on he went, until at a far corner hesuddenly pulled himself up sharply, turned on his heel, and with allspeed walked back to the English firm, a shrewd smile playing abouthis hard old mouth. Throwing open the door of the office, he walkedabruptly in, saying as he did so, in an unmistakable Yankee drawl, "Blankety blank blank it! I knew I could speak English. All I neededwas a few good cuss words to start me off!"

On the afternoon of January 3d, a party of Monteses visited the_Burnside_. Gaily turbaned and skirted were these Moro men, theirjackets fitting so tightly that some one suggested they must havegrown on them, that they were "quite natural and spontaneous, likethe leaves of trees or the plumage of birds. " One's olfactory nervesalso bore evidence that frequent ablutions or change of garments werenot customary among our guests, and the fact that when shown overthe ship they evinced but little interest in the bath spoke volumes. 

Strange to say, what the Moros most admired were the brass railingsaround the walls of the saloon, and the brass rods down the differentstairways, in fact all the brass fittings on the ship, a thing thatpuzzled us not a little until the interpreter explained that theMoros thought the brass was solid gold, and were naturally muchimpressed thereat. Firearms they also enthused over, and lookedwith envious eyes at the shotguns, rifles, and revolvers exhibited, evincing great delight at the six and the one pounder guns on thequarter-deck. With the greatest equanimity they accepted severallittle presents made them, nor deigned thanks of any sort for benefitsreceived, stuffing the different articles into their wide girdles witha stolid indifference which was enlivened by a smile once only. Thiswas at a case of needles given to the leading Datto or chief, which, through the interpreter, we told him were for the wives of his bosom;whereupon they all smiled broadly, the interpreter explaining it wasbecause we had sent the needles to women, as among Mindanao Morosmen do all the sewing. 

Being Mohammedans, they were very careful not to eat anything whileon board ship for fear of unconsciously transgressing the Holy Law, even refusing chocolate candy because it might contain pork. They wereshown ice, but took little interest in it, nor did they seem surprisedat the cold storage rooms or the electric lighting. It is possible theythought Americans had attained the one really great thing in havingwhite skins, after which all else followed as a matter of course. 

The next day we went to call on the presidente and his wife. They livedin a bare, forlorn old house, with nothing attractive about it save thefloor of the _sala_, which was of beautiful hard wood polished withbanana leaves until it would have served for a mirror. Everythingwas scrupulously clean, but bespoke poverty, from the inadequatefurniture of the _sala_ to the patches and darns on the old wife'sstiffly starched skirt of _abaca_. This poverty was all the resultof the war, we were told, as much of their out of town property hadbeen confiscated or ruthlessly destroyed by the insurgents becauseof the presidente's unswerving loyalty to the American government. 

Both the presidente and his señora were delighted to see us, and whilehe discoursed on politics and what the coming of the cable meant tothe people of Mindanao, the good housewife bustled about and broughtforth the greatest delicacies her larder afforded, laying them outwith proud humility on the marble topped table of the _sala_. Therewere peaches and pears, canned in Japan, and served right from thetin; there were little pink frosted cakes made in times prehistoric, to judge from their mustiness, and carefully packed away in glassjars for just such great occasions; there was good guava jelly anda Muscatelle that breathed of sunny vineyards in Spain--indubitableevidence of better days. 

The house was so bare and shabby that this gastronomic outlayseemed an unwarrantable expense, yet what could one do but accepttheir hospitality in the same generous spirit in which it wasoffered? So at ten o'clock of a steaming hot morning we cheerfullystuffed ourselves on badly preserved fruits, elderly small cakes withenamelled complexions, and tiny sips of liquid fragrance, our rewardof merit being the little señora's beaming face. 

Indeed, she even stopped apologizing after a bit, and while thepresidente was toasting everybody from the "Chief Magistrate ofAmerica" down to our very humble selves, she sent a _muchacho_ outto borrow the hand-organ belonging to a neighbour, this musicalinstrument being highly venerated in Misamis. On its arrival thepresidente himself turned the crank, and with such vigour that Ifeared a stroke of apoplexy on his part. 

A little later, as we were leaving, the señora took us into what wouldhave been the stable had they possessed horses, a large open spaceunder the house, to the right of which a room had been partitionedoff with bamboo. Inside this partition a Filipina servant workedthe señora's loom. Back and forth went the shuttle under the littlemaid's deft fingers, and up and down went her slender bare foot on thetreadle, so that even as we watched the striped red and cream _abaca_grew under our very eyes. 

Unfortunately I became enthusiastic, and nothing would do but that theold lady must present me with several yards of the pretty stuff. I feltas if I should be tried for larceny, what with those indigestiblefruits, the pink cheeked cakes, the Muscatelle, and finally the_abaca_. I protested vigorously, I even pleaded, but in vain. 

"You are my daughter, " laughed the señora, happily, "my whitedaughter. The _abaca_ is yours--coarse stuff that it is, " and shereached up timidly and kissed me, first on one cheek and then on theother, the joy of giving in her dear old eyes. 

The next day dawned so clear and beautiful that three of us decided, there being little work on hand until the Lintogup party's return, to take a long drive around Misamis, and if we had time to even goso far as its four outposts. On the previous day the presidente hadunearthed a queer little carriage out of a junk heap, and put thisconveyance and a wise looking piebald pony at our disposal. Thecarriage was an odd affair between a _calesa_ and _carromata_ inshape, or like a high surrey with a small seat for the driver infront. It was beautifully clean, with a new bit of carpet at our feet, and cushioned in sky-blue tapestry. As there was but a single seatat the back, in addition to the driver's seat in front, one of thetwo men of our party offered to relieve the Filipino in charge ofthe trap, and do the driving himself, but the native shook his head, declaring we would find the pony unmanageable. We thought not, butthe driver was firm, and although the back seat was not very wide, we piled in upon the sky-blue cushions, trying to look as pleasantas possible in the circumstances. 

After some persuasion on the part of the Filipino, the piebald ponystarted and proved to be a fine little animal with an unusuallyclean and even gait. The air was fresh and invigorating, and as wepassed other _Burnside_ friends trudging through the sand of thebeach or toiling laboriously along the dusty road of the town, wecongratulated ourselves on securing the only available trap in theplace, and marvelled at the way our pony covered ground. 

"Why, any one could drive him, " remarked one of the trio. "He's afine little beast. " "To be sure, " assented the others. But just thena treacherous feminine hat blew off, and we had to stop and pick itup. That was but the work of an instant--the stopping--but when itcame to starting again--well, you just ought to have seen how thatpiebald acted! He simply laughed at the idea, his laugh extending inecstatic chuckles all the way down his spinal column till the verycarriage shook with his mirth. Then he planted his two fore feet downhard as much as to say, "I challenge you to budge me one inch fromthis spot, " and though the Filipino threatened, entreated, implored, and finally beat him unmercifully with the handle of the whip, thepiebald stood his ground. 

At last the two men clambered out of the high vehicle, and aftertugging for some minutes at the rope bridle, succeeded in startingthe stubborn animal along, but at so furious a gait that they had allthey could do to get up over the wheels and into their seat again. Allwent well for about a quarter of a mile, when to our surprise thedriver started to turn around. "Here, _hombre_, " called one of themen, in what he was pleased to consider Spanish, "we don't want togo home yet. We want to go to the outposts--way out, sabe?" Yes, he"sabed, " grinning broadly the while, but this, señor, was the outpost. 

We were dumbfounded, and stared stupidly at the white tent amongthe trees. "Why don't they call 'em _in_posts?" growled one ofthe men, and then to the driver, "Very well, _hombre_, take us tothe other three. We want to see 'em all. " But this was easier saidthan done. Again our wise-looking piebald balked, and balked mostawfully. Again the two men, at imminent danger to life and limb, jerked at the rope bridle, and again barely escaped with their livesas they performed the perilous acrobatic feat of falling headlonginto the carriage while it was going at full speed. 

After the sixth performance of this kind, one being at a streetcrossing where some raw cocoa beans were drying on a _petate_ in thesun, and the three others at the different outposts, we decided amongourselves that we had best dismiss our _cochero_ and return to theship, since it had taken us more than two hours to drive where wemight have walked in thirty minutes. 

It was here a most embarrassing situation arose, for just as we weredebating what to pay our Jehu, something in my boot heels suggestedthat perhaps the native was not a coachman at all, but a Filipinogentleman taking us to drive at the request of the presidente. Therewas the sign manual of Misamis's four hundred about him. He woreshoes. Moreover, he sported a very large and very yellow twenty dollargold piece on his watch-chain. But stronger even than these evidencesof native gentility was the freedom from restraint in the very frequentremarks he had tentatively thrown over his shoulder during the drive, and the fact that he had not weakened when, on first coming ashore, we had tried to browbeat him out of driving the horse. 

"But if he _is_ a _cochero_, and we don't pay him, he'll think we'recheating him, " wailed one of us. 

"And if he isn't a _cochero_, and we do pay him, he'll be indignant, "affirmed another. 

My boot heels gave me another suggestion. Being a woman, I supposeI have intuitions, but I trust my boot heels every time. They aremore reliable. "How would it do, " I suggested, with a consciousnessof superiority which I trust did not sound in my voice, "How wouldit do to stop a sentinel and ask whether our friend is a coachman orthe mayor of the town?" and even as I spoke a sentinel hove in sightand was promptly interrogated by the men. 

"Him?" returned the soldier in answer to our questions, "Him? Why, he'sthe richest man in these parts, I reckon, and holds some big job underthe government. I forget what just now, but provost marshal, chiefof police, or somethin' like that. " We gasped at our narrow escape, and after getting that villainous automobile horse in motion again, pressed some cigars upon our distinguished host, and on reaching thedock thanked him heartily for our charming morning, impressing uponhim that the _Burnside_ was at his disposition at any and all times, an invitation of which he later availed himself. 

On the afternoon of January 9th the fault which we had been seekingso long in the cable tank was located, and two and a half milesof cable were taken out before the fault could be removed. We thenweighed anchor and buoyed six miles out, talked with Misamis over thewire, and then attached the end to a buoy and dropped it overboard, preferring to wait until morning to make our splice and proceed onour return trip to Dumaguete. At daylight we picked up the buoy, drew the end of the cable on board, spliced it, and at eight o'clockwere proceeding toward the island of Negros, laying cable as we went. 

Then for the first time did we hoist the cable-ship insignia onthe foremast head, three balls, which at a little distance lookednot unlike the sign of a pawnshop, though our three balls were hungvertically from the masthead, two red ones with a white octahedronshape between them. After dark two red lights with a white centrelight were substituted for these signals, each serving as a warningto other vessels that we were either laying or picking up cable andcould not be expected to observe the etiquette of the high seas. Inother words, we were to have the right of way. As I understand it, disabled steamers also carry three balls by day, all of them being redin that case, and by night three red lights, our centre white ball byday and centre white light after dark protecting us from well-meantefforts at rescue by other vessels, which would of course foul ourcable and cause no end of mischief. 

We sailed very slowly to Dumaguete, not over five knots an hour, withthe cable paying out perhaps six knots, this speed limitation beingnecessary in order to stop the ship quickly in case of accident. Itseemed a sentient thing, that cable creeping slowly along the payingout machinery, winding itself over the drum, and then stretching outto full length and disappearing down the covered wooden cable troughson the main and quarter decks, and so into the sea at the stern ofthe ship; the hose meanwhile playing a stream of water over the drum, brakes, and jockey pulley, where the friction is always greatest. Thiswater ran off in a dirty yellow stream, flooding the forward deck, while the tar from the cable decorated the ship from stem to stern, thus transforming our _Burnside_ from a pretty, trig looking yachtinto a veritable work-a-day old scow. 

Everyone on board was in the best possible spirits all morning becausewe were really under way and accomplishing work that showed. Eventhe natives in the tank, swiftly passing the cable from hand to hand, were singing in barbaric monotone to themselves, while we idle ones onthe quarter-deck read a marvellous tale of love and bloodshed to themonotonous accompaniment of the cable shuffling through the woodentroughs beside us. 

At about four in the afternoon, however, just as we were lazilydeciding to ring for tea, there came a rush of feet from the forwardpart of the ship and a jangle of the engine-room's bell meaning "Fullspeed astern!" But quick as the ship was in coming to a standstill, and quick as were the Signal Corps men in stopping the machinery, thecable itself was quicker, and in less time than it takes to tell it, a tangle of cable in the tanks blocked the drum, causing so tremendousa strain that the cable broke, the end going overboard. 

We were all sick at heart, none more so than the poor Filipino whohad been knocked flat by the cable on its erratic departure from thetank. Fortunately, the native was more frightened than hurt, and notmany moments later joined in a game of monte with his friends not onduty at the time. The cable laying machinery was then transformedinto a grappling machine, and by half past seven that evening thestrain on the dynamometer showed we had in all probability hookedsomething. An hour later the end was on board, and by midnight asatisfactory splice had been made by a sergeant of the Signal Corps, in charge of such work, and his band of native cable splicers. Thensufficient tests were made to ascertain if the joint were perfect, that is, if the insulation of the new piece of cable, when added tothat already laid, gave the right answer. 

Meanwhile some one ascertained our position with a sextant, theseobservations being marked on the cable map and entered in the log tofacilitate the work of locating and repairing the splice in case ofaccident at that particular point, though it must be confessed thatthese splices often proved more sound than the original cable. Afterthis data had been duly registered, the bight was lowered over the sideof the ship and we were again under way, "dragging our tail behind us"like the poetical sheep of the nursery rhyme. 

Everything worked perfectly after this, and we arrived off theDumaguete buoy the following afternoon. On sighting it, a boat waslowered, in which our "able cable seaman, " as we called him, withhis crew of native "buoy jumpers, " set forth to fasten the cableattached there to a stout rope from the ship. Then the buoy was cutaway and taken into the little boat, the cable being heaved aboardby means of the drum, where, after detaching the mushroom anchor, tests were made and final telegraphic instructions sent to Misamisabout connecting the office there. Then the final splice was made, andthe two women of the _Burnside_ were given the privilege of cuttingthe slip-ropes that held the cable on the ship. It had already beenlowered over the bows, and only these ropes held it in place. 

"If anything goes wrong now, you are to blame, " said the Powers-that-Beseverely, and I, personally, felt the responsibility of so momentousan event, and awaited with no little nervousness the signal whichwould tell us to sever the ropes, for it was important that the twofastenings should be cut at exactly the same moment to avoid a strainon the cable. "Now!" called the cable expert. It was a thrillingmoment. My little _kris_ dagger seemed scarcely to make an impressionon the stout Manila rope. "Faster! Harder!" called some one, and wesawed with all our strength. A moment more and the green waters ofthe bay had opened and closed over the cable--the first stretch ofit laid on the trip--and we women had helped do it. 

Everyone on board was excited over the great event, the very natives, tired as they were, sending up a faint _viva_, and at dinner thatevening it was easy to see a strain had been lifted from all theofficers. Not a man but was freshly shaved and attired in immaculatewhite linen in contradistinction to the inevitable khaki. Later, however, the young officer who had been sent ashore to make thefinal adjustments in the Dumaguete office, came aboard with thedisheartening information that Misamis could not be raised, and theensuing depression on the _Burnside_ was appalling. 

The next morning a wire was run ashore connecting the cable hutwith the ship, and by what is called a capacity test, the troublewas located at Misamis. So late that night, instead of going toIligan, as we had expected, we sailed for Misamis again, arrivingthere a little after one on the following day. The fault was foundin a lightning arrester which one of the operators had neglected inthe cable hut. This was remedied, and the cable connection betweenMisamis and Dumaguete completed. 

Immediately the natives poured into the cable office with numberlessmessages for friends or business acquaintances, and knots of mengathered about the building and congratulated each other on the greatevent. At last the much talked-of communication with the outer worldwas at hand, a marvel no less astounding to the minds of these peoplethan would be the realization of those stories of Harun-al-Rashid'sdays to our more complex civilization, those dear, delightful daysof genie and fairy, when two and two didn't always make four, andwhen nothing was too impossible to happen. 

That afternoon a schooner was hired, and five miles of cable for theMisamis shore end of Iligan's line of communication was put aboardher. At daybreak on Monday, January 14th, the schooner started out tolay the cable, while a second party dug the trench and prepared forthe landing of the shore end. This was all completed by ten o'clock, and we were under way for Iligan, towing the schooner at our stern. Wesailed very slowly, as bearings and soundings were being taken all day, anchoring off our destination late that afternoon. 

Chapter IV

ILIGAN

Our first glimpse of Iligan was not assuring, as only the HeadquartersBuilding could be seen from the harbour, and in front of it, reaching to the left for some distance, stood a long, single row ofcocoanut-palms, so tall that the green foliage was far above the topof the house, making the trees look like stiff bouquets in absurdlylong wooden holders. At the foot of these trees water, blue as indigoon wash day, lashed itself into a white fury against the stoneworkof the pier. 

Before daybreak on the following morning the Signal Corps had itsbreakfast, and aside from the not always obvious compensation whichundeviating good conduct is said to bring, we had a very evidentreward for our early rising in seeing Jupiter and Venus in a brilliantstellar flirtation, the Southern Cross as chaperone giving sanctionto the affair. 

Before the night had really paled into a gray dawn, three life-boatsfrom the ship, each loaded with some six hundred feet of cable, were fastened in tandem and drawn to the shore by a stout rope, which had already been run to the beach, and the two shore ends, onefor Misamis and one for Cagayan, Mindanao, were laid with but littletrouble. As Iligan's insurrectionary population was too aristocraticto demean itself by manual labour for any monetary consideration, thesoldiers of the infantry company stationed at Iligan were detailed todig the trench. But, being Americans, they worked with a right goodwill, completing the trench late that afternoon. The office was alsoestablished by this time, after which the two shore ends were laidand buoyed, thus accomplishing a tremendous day's work. 

In the early afternoon we women went ashore sight-seeing, and foundIligan chiefly interesting for what it was not. On paper--Spanishpaper, that is--the town is represented as a city of some magnitude, boasting handsome barracks for the soldiers, two beautiful churches, many well-built houses and shops, a railway running from the outskirtsof the town to Lake Lanao, a handsome station for Iligan's terminalof the line, and many other modern improvements, including finewaterworks. 

In reality, Iligan is a little nipa-shack settlement, some of the nipabuildings being very pretty, to be sure, but hardly pretentious enoughfor city dwellings. As for the railway to Lake Lanao, all that is leftof it are two old engines and some dilapidated cars in a discouraged, broken down shed on the outskirts of the village, the shed doubtlessrepresenting the handsome station aforementioned. Even the rails ofthe road have been carried away by the Moros to be made into _bolos_and _krises_. 

As for the barracks, the natives say that the Spaniards burnt themdown on evacuating in favour of their American foe, while the churchesprobably never existed save in imagination, though one place of worshipwas in process of construction at the time of our visit, the skeletonof its framework being covered by a well finished roof, which, by theway, is a peculiarity of carpentering in these islands. The woodworkof the structure had a weather-beaten air, which told only too plainlyhow long a time had elapsed since its foundation-stone was laid, andon all sides the houses were deserted and dropping into decay. Boardfences rotted under a pitiless sun, and gardens, overgrown with weedsand rank vegetation, encroached on the highway, which seemed to holdthe glare of noon in its stifling dust. Degraded, wretched lookingpigs wallowed about under one's very feet, and thin babies scowledat us fiercely from behind the skirts of their unsmiling mothers. 

With the exception of two or three very good little shops, run ofcourse by the ubiquitous Chinaman, at which one could purchase Moroturbans, _sarongs_--the long skirt-like garments in which Moro men andwomen wrap themselves--_petates_, or sleeping mats of split bamboo, and other like curios, Iligan is a most unattractive and desolateplace, by God forsaken and by man forgot. 

Picturesque it could not help being. All Philippine coast townsaccomplish that, built as they are of _caña_ and nipa in the midstof luxuriant foliage, and surrounded by palms and bamboos, beyondwhich spread verdant plains or lofty forest hills on one side, andon the other stretches of sunlit sea and an unobstructed view ofthe blue and cloudless sky. Lovely beyond description, to be sure, but a loveliness of which one would tire all too quickly, its verybeauty becoming monotonous, like the pretty face of an insipid woman;its sunshine and balmy airs but an aggravation to the soul, combiningto make one long for rugged outlines, rough east winds, and climatichardships and privations, anything rather than the enervation of thatunending tropic softness. 

Market-day, which comes every Saturday at Iligan, made a break in thedull uniformity of our several visits there. It was full of interestto everyone, for it is then the Moros come to town, like the beggarsin the old nursery rhyme, "some in rags and some in tags, " but nonein velvet gowns, no doubt because of climatic exigencies. It was aglorious day of dazzling sunshine, and the market-place fairly swarmedin colour, which blinded the eyes and warmed the heart. There were tobe seen in _sarong_, or coat, or turban the faded reds and subduedblues that artists love, with here and there a dash of vivid green, scarlet, and purple, barbarously tropical. 

The Moros were represented mostly by men and boys, lithe, gracefulcreatures, their legs encased in skin-tight trousers, or elseconcealed entirely by a _sarong_ wrapped closely about them, the longend tucked into a belt at the front. Their jackets, in the gayest ofcolours, fitted them not wisely for so hot a climate, but too well;their long, lank hair, done up in a knot at the back of the head, was usually surmounted by a resplendent turban, whose colours shriekedand stuck out their tongues at each other, being on even worse termswith the rest of the costume; and in their belts would be stuck a_barong_ or _kris_, often both, and a square or semicircular box ofbrass, sometimes inlaid with copper, sometimes handsomely carved, and sometimes plain. These boxes were divided into three compartmentson the inside, one for betel-nut, one for the lime to be smeared onthe betel, and one for the leaves of the pepper-tree, in which thecombination of lime and betel is wrapped before being chewed. Dattosof rank were followed by a slave carrying these boxes, the receptaclein their case being large and much more beautiful in design. 

It was hard to differentiate the few women in the crowd from the men, for they also wore a _sarong_ wrapped closely about them, which, if itslipped aside for a moment, showed a tight fitting jacket of gay cottonworn over a _camisa_, short at the waist line, where a band of brownflesh showed frankly between it and the top of the wide, bloomer-likegarment on the nether limbs. They also wore their hair in a knot atthe back of the head, with a long, straight wisp hanging out of thecoil, and in most instances were much less attractive than the men, being quite as unprepossessing in appearance, and lacking the redeemingstrength and symmetry which gave beauty to the masculine figure. 

Several of the Moro men, presumably chiefs by the goodly numberof slaves following in their train, protected their august headsby means of a gaily coloured parasol; others had the parasol heldover them by one of their retainers, while at their sides gambolledsmall Moro boys, either entirely naked or decorously clothed in avery abbreviated shirt. Some of the youngsters sported old _sarongs_, which could be discarded or put on at their discretion, and only oneboy seen throughout the morning was fully clothed. 

A delightful figure was that of a Moro dressed in a faded _sarong_drawn closely about him from waist to knee. Above this he sporteda flannel blouse on which he had fastened with safety-pins twovery dilapidated infantry shoulder-straps of a second lieutenant'sgrade. He also wore on his right breast some crossed cannon ofAmerican artillery and a huge Spanish medal. On his head was a plaidturban, as parti-coloured as the proverbial coat of the over-dressedJoseph. Between the straining buttons of his blue flannel blouse darkflesh gushed forth, and from beneath the variegated headgear fellsome straight, straggling locks, too short to be confined neatly inthe coil of hair at the back of his head. He was not at all averse tohaving his charms of person and dress perpetuated in a photograph, andfrom the way the Moros and natives gathered around him it was evidentthat he was a personage of no little importance in the community. 

Scattered around the market-place were various groups of Iligannatives and Moros from the hills, all squatting on the ground, andhaggling over the price of fish and eggs. There were Moro chiefs, looking world-wearied and indifferent, followed by their attendantslaves; there were thrifty Moros willing to sell one anything from a_kris_ or a _barong_ to the very clothes on their backs; there werehandsome young Moro blades, who stared shyly at the strange whitefaces and chatted volubly the while in their soft Malay tongue; therewere Philippine market women in _camisa_ and _panuela_, some of themcarrying large, flat baskets of vegetables or fruits on their heads, the green of ripe oranges and bananas making an effective splash ofcolour above their dusky hair; there were a few, a very few, Morowomen, as I have said before, and they wrapped themselves more closelyin their _sarongs_ as we approached, smiling at us broadly with theutmost friendliness, their blackened teeth behind red, betel-stainedlips reminding one irresistibly of watermelon seeds in the fruit. 

Of course the Moros asked us exorbitant prices for their arms, Americans being made of money, and transient Americans, in particular, having the added reputation of being utterly bereft of reasoningfaculties, but we had been warned as to their business methods byofficers of the post, so were as adamant. At first the Moros seemedindifferent whether we purchased or not, and only when we had reallyembarked in one of the life-boats for the ship did they let us havethe knives for one-half of what they had originally demanded. 

One gentleman who boasted a coat, _sarong_, and wide sash of brilliantgreen, the material being of Moro manufacture, and hence of greatinterest to the _Burnside_ people, was possessed that one of us shouldbuy the outfit, and only with great difficulty and the utmost tact washe persuaded from denuding himself then and there, so anxious was heto make a sale; and long after the life-boat was under way did somebelated Moro rush to the beach, wildly gesticulating and calling, evidently willing to exchange some treasured knife, _buyo_ box, orbrightly coloured turban for American gold at our own valuation, although he had perhaps scorned a very high price for these samethings earlier in the day. 

The second morning after our arrival at Iligan, on the occasion of ourfirst visit there, all on board were shocked to hear that one of thebuoys attached to a cable anchored in the bay was missing. It was thebuoy to which the Cagayan shore end had been fastened, and there wasnot a little mystery as to how it could have got away from its mushroomanchor. So, instead of starting to lay the cable to Misamis, we usedthe machinery as a fishing tackle, and, after some little trouble, hooked the Cagayan cable in a hundred and twenty-five fathoms ofwater. Later in the day the buoy was picked up, a most disreputablelooking object, banged and battered almost beyond recognition, whichshowed it had undoubtedly been struck during the night by the ship'spropeller, owing to the tremendously swift current in the harbour. 

All that afternoon the cable sang its song of the drum, in preparationfor the morrow's trip, and a little after daylight the next morningthe Misamis buoy was picked up and its cable spliced to that in themain tank, after which we left Iligan, paying out the cable so slowlythat it was five o'clock before we anchored off the Misamis buoy, just in time for a splice to be made ere the swift darkness of thetropics was upon us. 

The signal sergeant in charge of such work had a large audience thatevening watching his skilful joining together of the two ends ofcable. How deft he was in unwinding the sheathing wire, how exactin cutting off just the right amount of core from each end of thecable, how careful in stripping the insulation from the cores' endwith a sharp knife not to nick the wires, which would have produceduntold trouble. Then the seven wires stranded together in each endwere unwound, carefully cleaned and scraped, that they might solderreadily, after which they were again twisted together with pliers, and the joint completed. When this was done the rubber tape was woundround and round the copper wires, after which the whole was put intoa vulcanizing bath of hot paraffine. Upon soaking half an hour, it wasremoved from the paraffine and the jute serving was bound back again;then the armour--a steel wire spiral jacket--was replaced, the spiralswinding back into their original position with the greatest ease. Wirewas then wound at intervals over this steel jacket to keep the spiralsin place, after which the whole, for ten or fifteen feet in length, was served with a neat finish of spun yarn. 

At sunrise the next morning we went into the harbour of Misamis forthe third time, staying just long enough to ascertain that the cablewas working satisfactorily, after which we sailed once again forIligan, leaving there the following day for Cagayan, taking soundingsevery half hour in preparation for the laying of the cable betweenthose two places. The morning was so rainy and disagreeable thatno bearings could be had, but just as we were nearing the harbourof Cagayan, at about four in the afternoon, the mist cleared away, the sun came out wetly from behind a mass of clouds, and over theharbour to the southeast stretched a bow of promise, with the townof Cagayan standing at one end of the arc like the proverbial pot ofgold for which we hunted in childhood. 

Chapter V

CAGAYAN

After Dumaguete, Misamis, and Iligan, the harbour of Cagayanpresented a truly metropolitan appearance, what with a transport, acoasting vessel, and a navy gunboat, all in at the same time. From the_Burnside_ we could see nothing of the town save a very dingy wharf, a few white tents pitched near the water's edge for the convenienceof soldiers guarding the unloading of vessels, and a settlement ofnipa shacks, in front of which were gaily coloured washings hungout to dry in the hot sun. For miles in every direction hills, withbut little vegetation on their volcanic sides, rose tier above tieras far as the eye could reach, and the bay reflected on its placidsurface every cloud in the heavens, every tree on the shore. 

The long two and a half mile drive from the wharf of Cagayan to thetown proper is lined on either side with well-built nipa dwellings, a schoolhouse, and some native shops, at that time all empty. Thewindows stared back at one like wide-open sightless eyes; the doorsswung to and fro in the warm breeze, and occasionally gave a passingglimpse of a shrine to the Virgin or some saint, the faded flowersstill in the vases, the candles burned out, and the placid facelooking straight into one's own, pathetic in its neglect. 

Deserted Village was writ large on this entrance to Cagayan, but thetown itself looked prosperous; the little shops were flourishing;and the natives, with ill-concealed interest, peered out furtivelyfrom under their jalousie blinds as the great swinging Doughertywagon, with its four strapping mules, tore down the broad streets, taking us to or from the ship. 

This Dougherty wagon was at our disposal all the time we were there, thanks to the courtesy of the colonel commanding, though sometimes, when there was an unusually large party from the ship, we womenwere put into a two-seated barouche of great antiquity, as dingy andfaded as its own cerulean lining, but the only carriage in town. Theofficers called this delightful equipage "the extreme unction, " as itwas owned by the padres before the government bought it, and was bythem used in last visits to the dying. The natives crossed themselveson passing this conveyance, and would no more have ridden in it thanin a hearse, but we found "the extreme unction" very comfortable andheard no groans or death-bed confessions in its rusty creak, neithersaw aught in its moth-eaten tapestry but that it had once been veryhandsome. To our frivolous minds the old carriage resembled nothingso much as Cinderella's coach just as the clock was striking twelve, and we were constantly expecting it to turn into a pumpkin under ourvery eyes. But it refrained from doing anything so unconventional, and took us on many pleasant excursions around the quaint old town. 

There was much to be seen in Cagayan, as for instance, the Doorof the Bloody Hand, a most gruesome memento of a night attack onthe place some time before, when several insurgents, fleeing fromavenging Americans, tried to force their way into one of the nativehouses and seek protection from its inhabitants. Then there was theAmazon colonel of a native regiment, who, on the day we saw her, was spreading out washing to dry on a grass plot near her home, a truly feminine occupation, considering her martial proclivities, and one that disappointed us sadly, as we should have preferredseeing her at dress parade; and lastly, there was the old cathedral, which in its way was decidedly unique. 

This cathedral was far more pretentious than any we had seen outsideof Manila, and its altars, for it boasted several, were unspeakablecombinations of cheap gaudiness and some little beauty. Commontinsel was cheek by jowl with handsome silver, and while a few ofthe many mural decorations and paintings were good, most of them wereatrocious--glorified chromos of simpering saints with preternaturallylarge eyes, more nearly resembling advertisements for a hair dyeor complexion bleach than ecclesiastical subjects. Around the mainaltar stood armoured soldiers of Biblical antiquity, squat, inelegantfigures that had first been painted on canvas and were afterward cutout like gigantic paper dolls, being put into wooden grooves to ensuretheir perpendicularity. 

At one side of the church was a glass case containing a coffin ofregulation size, the wax figure within being covered with a blackshroud so that a bare arm only was visible. Across the soft whiteflesh, for it was a woman's arm, ran a hideously realistic burn, suggesting that the figure might have been that of some Christianmartyr, the probable patron saint of Cagayan. Before the principalaltar stood quaint prayer stools of ebony carved to resemble kneelinghuman figures, and in the loft was a very good organ, though somewhathigh-pitched and reedy in tone. 

The native women of Cagayan were rather more progressive than thosein the towns we had just visited. Some of them even wore hats, and straightway copied, or rather, tried to copy, those worn bythe cable-ship contingent. They also rode bicycles, looking mostincongruous awheel, the long, spade shaped train to their skirtstucked out of the way, their wide _camisa_ sleeves standing out likestiff sails on either side, their demure and modest little kerchiefsswelling with the quick throbbing of their adventurous hearts. Wewere told that one of these women, after seeing the quartermaster'swife riding a bicycle in her very short and modish skirt, straightwaytook two deep tucks in her own long _saya_, train and all. Verily, the spirit of that Filipina in an American would have emboldened herto wear--bloomers? Perish the thought--knickerbockers!

At the time of our first visit to Cagayan, the principal occupation ofthe American troops there seemed to be chasing two bands of insurrectosunder the respective leadership of one Capistrano and one Vajez, mostwily game, that led them many a weary tramp over the mountainous hillssurrounding the town. Shortly after our arrival Vajez was captured, and a milder-mannered man never laid traps of spears and forked bambooin the pathway of an enemy. He was the personification of gentlenessand confided to the American officer in command that he would longsince have taken the oath of allegiance had not circumstances, overwhich he had no control, prevented. The general, greatly impressedby the cogency of these remarks from a man brought in by force, senthim to Manila by the first available transport, that he might spreadthe light to his brethren there, after which he was doubtless givenopportunity for more proselyting work in Guam. 

Capistrano was made of sterner stuff, and on our numerous visitsto Cagayan still roamed the mountains with his picturesque robberband. One day, under a flag of truce, he came to town and discussed themilitary situation with the authorities. He made one very astonishingclaim, namely, that he had no animosity against the Americans, andwas not seeking a fight, meaning, doubtless, he would rather run thanfight, any day, but that he felt remaining in permanent armed protest, passive though it was, sufficed to show the world his attitude towardour military occupation of the Philippines. The spectacle of a largenumber of well armed men who would not fight in any circumstances hasthe merit of novelty. It sounds like a Gilbert and Sullivan opera. ButCapistrano evidently had no sense of humour, and until surrendering, he and his followers kept well out of the way of the American army, lest they be disturbed in pursuing the gentle art of peace. 

Socially, we enjoyed Cagayan to the utmost, and if fault could befound with our numerous visits there, it was that we had too good atime, so good that the undoubted local interest of the place quitefaded into insignificance beside its purely social side. There wereluncheons and dinners given us on shore; and dinners and luncheonsgiven by us on the ship; there was a delightful tea on the gunboat, and a concert by the infantry band in our honour; there were horsebackrides for those who cared for them, though all went well armed, as the roads around Cagayan were then in hostile territory; whilethe shooting for the men was exceptionally good, though this was notdiscovered until our last visit to Cagayan, when the quartermaster, after a half day's outing, returned with a prodigious string of ducks. 

But while we aristocrats of the _Burnside_ idled away the sunlit hours, the workers had landed the cable, put up an office in the town, and runa line on iron poles from the wharf to the cable station; the testingdepartment, meanwhile, turning over cable on the ship, faults havingdeveloped which were not located for several days. But on the morningof January 3d all was considered ready for the return trip to Iligan. 

Before leaving, two buoys were swung overboard with a block and tacklearrangement, one five miles north and the other ten or fifteen miles inthe same direction, small lamps being placed on each, thus convertingthem into temporary lighthouses should we return to Cagayan afterdark, or in the event of our return by daylight, the buoys themselves, looming up big and red, would serve as guides, observations havingbeen made with the sextant upon them and adjacent land. 

By half past one that afternoon we weighed anchor and sailed out ofthe harbour, our friends on the different ships waving us good-bye, and that night lay off Iligan in a very rough sea. At daybreak wedrew alongside the buoy, got it and the shore end aboard, and beforesplicing, "spoke" Iligan, making several tests which showed that endworking satisfactorily. Then the splice was completed, and by eveningwe were under way for Cagayan, laying cable as we went. 

In less than an hour after we started there was great excitement onboard, even the loungers on the quarter-deck hurrying forward to hearthe details of what might have been a very serious accident, due tothe cable slipping on the drum. Had the officer on watch not beenvery prompt and efficient the cable would have become unmanageable, "taken charge, " as it is called, resulting in great inconvenience, delay, and possible loss of life to those in the tank. 

As it was, we had a delightfully uneventful sail, anchoring offCagayan that evening a little after six o'clock. Not caring tomake so important a splice after dark, the cable was cut and buoyedovernight. This was necessary, as that particular splice had to bemade from a small boat, which of course precluded the use of electriclights. But by nine o'clock on the following morning our splice wascompleted, and communication established between Misamis, Iligan, and Cagayan, the line being most satisfactory in every respect. So itwas with light hearts that we sailed for Cebu, on the island of Cebu, where we were to coal, picking up our giant buoys as we went. 

Chapter VI

CEBU

Early the next morning we sailed into Cebu harbour, and found italive with ships of all sorts and conditions. From the sea there isnothing picturesque about the town. It is a grimy, dirty place thatmight be located anywhere in the world, with huge warehouses androws of squat, ugly buildings near the shore, and in the distance, over the gray walls of the inevitable fort, church spires and greentree tops intermingle under a burning sky. 

Before we were really at anchor small boats filled with boys and girlsclustered around our ship, the children yelling in English--English, mark you!--for coins to be thrown overboard that they might plungeinto the swift current after them. There was a veritable pandemoniumof noise, for while some of the occupants of the _bancas_ dove forthe pennies, amid wild shrieks of laughter, others, most of themquite young boys, went through the manual of arms very acceptably, with little sticks in lieu of rifles; still others danced and acteda Spanish fandango; while the more mature among our entertainerssang a song so swinging in measure that it appealed to me instantlyas one that would be immensely taking were it sung in an Americanmusic-hall. It had an indescribable roof garden cadence, and I foundmyself humming it delightedly. At the end of the second verse I wasso carried away by its possibilities that, turning to a group ofpeople talking near the rail, I remarked that with rag-time words, it would be vastly popular in American vaudeville. At which everyonestared incredulously for a moment, until one of the number, realizingthe situation, managed to explain, between gasps of laughter, that"Hello, my Baby, Hello, my Honey" was in its dotage in the UnitedStates. Then the laughter became general, for all were more recentarrivals from America than I, and it was hard for them to understandhow so elderly and decrepit a ditty could be unfamiliar to any one. 

When the classic words of "Hello, my Baby, Hello, my Honey, " wererepeated for my benefit, and I realized that not only had these Cebunatives picked up the air of the song, but the component parts ofits speech as well, my disgust was complete, for it showed that Cebu, dirty and disagreeable as it was, also lacked local colour, liberalapplications of which we had found so necessary in the Philippines. 

Despite our several visits to Cebu, few of us found cause to changeour first opinion as to its unpleasantness. Indeed, it would be hardto imagine a more uninteresting, bedraggled, down-at-the-heel placethan this. Aside from the old churches and _conventos_, a few prettydrives, and a wonderful view from the top of the fort, we found nothingto like about it, for the natives were sullen and unfriendly, whilethe town itself was not wild or barbaric enough to be interesting, nor yet civilized enough for comfort. 

Of course the officers stationed in Cebu, and their respectivefamilies, were delightful people, who varied the monotony of theirexistence with tennis, drives, little dinners, and once, I believe, even a ball was indulged in. There was an excellent club andreading-room for the men, and every week, on ladies' day, the womendonned their prettiest frocks, and chatted over their teacups on theclub veranda, quite as if they were not hundreds of miles away fromeverything that makes life bearable. 

Cebu is a town with a past, like the Ibsen woman; it also has a future;but at present it is in the transmigratory period between the two, and is in consequence odious. The place is chiefly interesting becauseit is the oldest town in the archipelago settled by Europeans, and onerevels in its queer, moss-grown churches and _conventos_, each of themsaid to be the most ancient edifice in the Islands. This occasionsmuch amicable dispute among the different religious orders of Cebu, and it is really edifying to hear them mildly slander one another, as they give conclusive evidence why their particular building is farolder than some other for which is claimed that not always enviabledistinction. 

Not far from the shore stands an octagonal chapel or oratory, said tobe built on the very spot where the first mass was celebrated afterthe landing of Magellan. Even the old stone fort is claimed by someearnest prevaricators as a relic of those early Spanish days, but asthe architecture is clearly that of the eighteenth century we tookthe liberty of doubting the veracity of these statements. 

As to Cebu's future, it is assured, for the harbour is excellent, and, although not large, is well sheltered from both monsoons andhas good anchorage, so the place is growing quite rapidly andshould in time rank next in importance to Manila. A number of"godowns, " as large warehouses are called in the Philippines, were in the process of construction at the time of our visit, and so many industrial and commercial improvements were beinginaugurated that my little note-book reads like a leaf from ageography--"manufactures--imports--exports--chief industries, " andthe like. As for climate, it was hot, is hot, and will be hot oninto infinity. 

Had it not been for the Santo Niño, I fear our memories of theplace would have been purely statistical, a perfect orgy of usefulinformation. But the Santo Niño saved the day, though it was notuntil our last visit to Cebu that most of us saw this image so famousamong the island group. Calling upon the Philippine fathers in chargeof the Santo Niño convent, and stating our interest in the SantoNiño itself, we were received with the utmost cordiality. Were weCatholics? No? Ah, that was too bad. But, yes, of course we couldsee the Santo Niño. People often came all the way from Manila justfor that. And then we were taken into the clean, barely furnisheddrawing-room of the _convento_, where an anticipatory refreshmentwas served, the while we were regaled with a history of Cebu'sfamous image. This refection consisted of a wee glass of deliciousMuscatelle apiece and some crisp, very rich cakes made by the sistersof a neighbouring convent, and as we ate and drank, a fat, jolly oldpadre, who thought he could speak English, tried to tell us about theSanto Niño in that language. As his enthusiasm and interest increased, he often forgot to use his newly acquired tongue and lapsed intoSpanish, which was far more comprehensible to us than was his sublimedisregard of syntax when attempting Anglo-Saxon, notwithstanding thefact that he tried to better his linguistic efforts by shouting outeach English sentence like a phonograph gone mad. It was from him wefirst heard the legend of the Santo Niño--how it was an idol in theold days, worshipped by savage Visayans, and how, after the adventof the Spaniards with Magellan, there was a great fire in the town, everything in one populous section being burned, save a little nipashack in which stood the wooden idol. On every side buildings crasheddown, sending showers of sparks over the inflammable thatched roofof the nipa house. A monsoon was blowing at the time, which fannedthe flames into so fierce a blaze that finally all attempts wereabandoned to save property in that section of the town, and peoplefled to the woods with the few belongings they could gather together, there to watch the cruel flames spreading in every direction. 

It is probable that Cebu would have gone up in smoke had it not beenthat the monsoon brought on its wings a fierce tropical rain that beatdown upon the burning city and quenched the fire. But in that sectionwhere it had raged hottest, nothing was left standing save the littlenipa shack already mentioned. Around it were the ruins of pretentiousSpanish houses, across its threshold lay a smouldering, blackened pieceof wood, which alone should have converted it into cinders. But thereit stood unharmed, not even scorched by the fierce heat to which ithad been subjected, and within its walls the Visayan idol smiled downon the curious crowd, with a superhuman intelligence. Recognizingat once its miraculous powers, the Spanish priests obtained it fromthe savages for a mere bagatelle, and enshrined it in their Catholicchapel as the Santo Niño of Cebu. Blessed by the presence of so holya thing, the little chapel grew and prospered until a handsome stonechurch and _convento_ were built, the church being the very one wherethe image now stands. 

Other stories have it that some time during the sixteenth century, a Spanish sailor found the Santo Niño cast up on the eastern coastof Cebu after a terrific storm. On picking it up, he was rejoicedto find that the use of his left arm, long withered by palsy, wasmiraculously restored, whereupon he carried the image into Cebu withhim. There numberless wonderful things were accomplished by the SantoNiño, till at last the sailor, half frightened at possessing so sacredan object, turned it over to the priests, who promptly enshrined itin the one Catholic church of the place. Some fifty or sixty yearslater, the church was burned to the ground--for both stones agree asto a destructive fire--and all was lost save the Santo Niño itself, which escaped by a miracle only. 

Whatever may have been its origin, many wonderful things are attributedto the Santo Niño of Cebu. It is to him that childless women prayfor offspring; to him that mothers bring their little ones, and bega thousand blessings upon them; from him that distracted parentsbeseech renewed health and strength for their children, ill untodeath with diseases that baffle the doctors, for the Santo Niño, being but a child himself, is especially tender toward the little ones. 

It is said that once an attempt was made to send the Santo Niño toRome, as the Pope had expressed a wish to see the much talked ofPhilippine image. Very tenderly was it packed away in soft wrappings, after which it was placed in a wooden box, fitted with an intricatelock, the key of which was carried by the old bishop who was toaccompany the Santo Niño on its travels. To ensure the safety ofso valuable a thing, the wooden box was put into a metal casket, which in turn was fastened securely. Then the ship sailed for Italy, and the little niche in the wall of the cathedral which had beenthe Santo Niño's shrine was boarded up, and the natives came to thechurch but seldom, so bitter were they that the Holy Child had beentaken from them. 

Hard times followed; crops failed; there was an epidemic of sickness;and Cebu was shrouded in gloom, a gloom which deepened when word camefrom Rome that the image was either lost or stolen, for although thebishop had never let the sacred box out of his sight, yet when hecame to unlock it before a hushed throng at the Vatican, there wasno Santo Niño within. It was thought that in some mysterious way thebishop had been robbed and that the Holy Child was forever lost. Greatwas the grief and terror and excitement in Cebu. Masses were said, and individual prayers offered up, novenas were held, and vows taken, all to the effect that the Santo Nino should be restored to the island. 

One day, months later, while the church was being repaired, thepartition of wood over the Holy Child's shrine was accidentallyknocked out of place by a workman, and what should he discoverthere but the Santo Niño himself, gravely smiling, his little handsoutstretched in benediction. He had not wanted to go abroad, and sohad left the carefully locked boxes and returned to his old home. Whatmore natural? Of course there was a great _fiesta_, and the miraclesperformed in that week of rejoicing will never be forgotten. 

But even to this day the Santo Niño gives numerous evidences ofhis supernatural power, and any native will tell you how he walksabroad of a night, and visits the homes where his image is enshrined, a tremendous undertaking, as hardly a nipa shack on the island butboasts its picture or statue of Cebu's patron saint. On returningfrom these nocturnal tramps, the Holy Child is wont to bring backwith him food and drink for his own consumption, the evidence ofthese midnight feasts being found on many a morning in the shape ofcrumbs scattered over the altar, a touch of nature which makes himindeed kin to the natives, who, we were told, invariably save a bitfrom their scanty suppers, putting it where the Santo Niño will besure to find it does he honour them with a visit. 

But at last we were to see the Santo Niño for ourselves, and as weleft the reception-room and passed down a long corridor, hung withatrocious native paintings of Christian martyrs in every degreeof discomfort and uneasiness, through a wide refectory with threegreat dining tables, the top of each being a solid piece of wood, and finally into the chapel itself, I plead guilty to a distinctthrill of interest in every Protestant pulse. 

The chapel was a large, rather bare room, with an altar to the Virginon one side, and directly opposite it a small shrine painted whiteand picked out with gold. This shrine was locked, and as one of thelittle altar boys unfastened the double doors, we noticed the pictureson either side. To the left was Saint Joseph with the child Jesus inhis arms; on the right, Mary, sweet and sad-eyed, the premonition ofGethsemane in her tender smile. 

When the white doors had been unlocked and lifted off their hinges, a door of silver was discovered. On being opened, it revealed aninterior so rich as to surprise a simultaneous exclamation of delightfrom us all. Gold and silver predominated in the decorations, andin the midst of this splendour stood a little figure about twelve orfourteen inches high, its back turned toward us as it faced the darkinterior of the church so far below. A pale blue curtain was drawnover the front of the shrine, but we fortunate ones in the littlechapel were looking at the Holy Child more intimately; from the back, to be sure, but so close that we could have touched him with our hands. 

On the day of our visit the little figure was attired in a flowingcoronation robe of crimson velvet, richly encrusted with elaborategold embroidery, and while we were admiring this work of art, thepriest slowly and very reverently turned the Holy Child around onhis pedestal until he faced us squarely. 

He is not beautiful--the Santo Niño--nor does he even faintly resembleour conception of the Christ-child. His face is flat and lifeless, carved very roughly out of some dark wood, which, when contrasted withhis rich vestments and ornamentation, seems strangely incongruous. Fromout of this brown face, eyes painted a vivid blue stare straightinto one's own. Around his cheeks fall golden curls. This is not afigure of speech, but a reality, for the curls are of solid metal, the locks of hair being pressed into it like the china hair on thedolls of our childhood. 

These golden locks were surmounted by a golden crown. In one woodenhand he held a golden globe with the cross of Catholicism above it, and in the other a golden staff, both of his hands being covered bylong golden gauntlets. Right under his feet, which I have no doubtwere booted in that precious metal, although they were hidden by thecoronation robe, was a gold encrusted medallion containing the tinybone relics of eight Christian martyrs. Never have I seen anything sobarbarically splendid as that little Santo Niño, with his brown woodenface and bright blue eyes, for all the shining metal surrounding himwas real, and not a specious tinsel masquerading as something of value. 

Legend has it that originally, when the Santo Niño was a Visayan idol, it, too, was made of gold, and not of wood as it is to-day. It seemsthat after its conversion to Catholicism, on Magellan's arrival inCebu, it was sent to Spain at the request of that pious king, Charlesthe Fifth, where many extraordinary performances were accreditedto it, perhaps the most miraculous and unaccountable thing of allbeing that on its return to Cebu, the people found it had changeditself _en route_ from gold to wood, a reversal of alchemy strangelydefective in wisdom on the part of the Santo Niño. Though, indeed, the transmutation may have been entirely without his volition, in which case it is small wonder that the Holy Child objected sostrongly to a subsequent visit on the Continent. 

At one side of this very elaborate shrine of gold and silver stooda small tin box in which one was expected to place his contributionto the Santo Niño. We paid handsomely for our glimpse of it, sawthe little figure turned slowly around on its pedestal so that itagain faced the church below, saw the silver door locked and the twowhite removable outside doors placed in position, and then somewhatreluctantly left. 

Once down the broad stairway of the _convento_, whose massive hand-railof carved ebony would make the heart of a collector leap for joy, westepped into the church where many natives knelt in prayer, glancing upreverently now and then at the tiny shrine so far above their heads. Infront of it the blue silk curtains were fast drawn, for except on holydays, it takes at least a _peso_ to see the Santo Niño face to face. 

On the following morning two of the padres from the _convento_returned our call, and evinced the most satisfying interest in allthat was shown them aboard ship. Everything delighted them, and theyeven gathered up the long skirts of their cassocks, and grasped theirbirettas firmly in one hand, preparatory to descending into the noisomecable-tanks, should it be demanded of them. When the ship had beeninspected, we all returned to the quarter-deck, where refreshments wereserved, the while we showed our guests some photographs of America. 

As Manila had heretofore represented to these native priests theapotheosis of urban magnitude, it may well be imagined how delightedthey were with their first glimpse of our larger cities. How excitedlythey talked and gesticulated over the elevated railways and cable-cars;the height of the buildings; the suspension bridges; the magnificentprivate residences, which at first it was hard to convince them werenot in reality hotels; the theatres, parks, and churches, though theyshook their heads sadly at so many of Protestant denomination. When, however, they were told how many Catholic churches were in New Yorkalone, they regained their lost interest, and grew more enthusiasticthan ever, while the English-speaking padre, in his excitement, fairlyscreamed his uncertain vocabulary in our direction, though when headdressed his confrères in Spanish his voice was of normal register. 

A few days later, as an evidence of their enjoyment aboard ship, thepadres sent each of us a silver medal of the Santo Niño and a historyof the image written in Spanish, _con superior permiso_; a lithographicpicture of the Holy Child in its shrine, giving but a faint idea ofits appearance; and a queer stone jar, the shape, if not the sizeof those in which the forty thieves were hidden. These jars werefull of those delicious pastry cakes already mentioned, _ojaldres_, they are called, made by the sisters of the Convento Maria Natividadde Albero. Rich the cookies were, and crisp, fairly melting on thetongue, but each one, wrapped in its protecting bit of tissue-paper, was "a gastronomic delusion and a dyspeptic snare, " to be treated aswere the forty thieves themselves by the implacable Ali Baba. 

It is not at all impossible that some of our distaste for Cebu arosefrom the fact that, on the several occasions of our visits there, we were coaling, a circumstance which would detract from the PearlyCity itself. No sooner were we at anchor than huge _cascos_ camealongside and the coaling would begin. 

Inky black shapes flitted back and forth through great clouds of dust, each carrying a basket on its head. Hoarse commands were shouted, demoniacal voices answered somewhere from the pit, and then wouldcome a period of comparative quiet, followed by what seemed to bea burst of frenzied rage from the different lighters, though inreality I believe the natives were on the best of terms, and werejust inviting each other to dinner. This state of affairs continuedwithout intermission for eight days on each of our several visitsthere. For eight days the soot fell alike on the quarter-deck and theforecastle. The ship became a black abomination. The very towels inour staterooms left grimy, unpremeditated streaks on face and hands. 

During this period I do protest that we suffered those tormentsusually reserved for the unregenerate, and as the furnace over whichthe town is built was several degrees hotter each trip than on theprevious visit, we were thus precluded from going ashore to eitherof the badly managed hotels for which the place is infamous. 

So dangerous was the country around Cebu in those days that oneafternoon on a little drive to an encampment about four miles from thetown, we were escorted there and back by a guard of armed soldiers onhorseback, some of them heading the cavalcade, the others bringing upthe rear. It was a most unusual day for Cebu, as the slightly overcastsky made the temperature quite endurable. The country passed on ourdrive was unusually fine, with its groves of palms and plantains;its tall cottonwood-trees by the road-side, the ripe pods on thebare branches bursting and showing the soft, white fluff within;its giant mango-trees with bonfires built beneath them, as a quickmethod of ripening the fruit for market. Then there were acres ofcorn and fields of rice ready for harvesting, proving conclusively, as some one suggested, that the natives of Cebu could raise somethingbesides h---, though he had never believed it before. 

At our destination we were cordially welcomed by the officers ofthe infantry company stationed there, a native band shrilled itssalute, and the big American soldiers stopped their preparationsfor an approaching march against the enemy to stare at us long andundisguisedly. There were several women among us, a rare departurein those days, one of them being the wife of the young captain whowas to command the detachment going into the field that night. Shehad arrived from America but a few days before, bringing with her asplendid boy nearly three years old, whom up to that time the youngfather had never seen. Even after so long a separation the husbandand wife were together but seldom, as she was obliged to live in townbecause of insurrectionary troubles, nor did she ever know from day today what the next tidings might be from the little camp of San Nicolas. 

Before our return to Cebu the officers took us to see thefortifications made by the Spaniards after Admiral Dewey's victoryin Manila Bay, fortifications they expected to use as a last defenceagainst invading Americans. Not far from these earthworks was anold nipa church, most picturesque in its decay. It was nipa withinas well as without, the floor and ceiling being of braided bambooand the walls of the nipa-palm. Its high altar was innocent of anyattempt at decoration save for some faded paper flowers stuck intoempty beer bottles, while the niche above was unfilled by patronsaint of any description. At the very door grazed a lean carabao, completing a picture of the desolation and ruin in the wake of an army. 

And now as to cable work, for even here, where we had expectedonly to coal, the Signal Corps was kept busy, as it was found oninvestigation that an old cable landing two miles up the beach atMabola was in such bad condition and the line so insecure that thecable must be put directly into the Cebu office, thus avoiding thedefect of a shaky land terminal. So prisoners were engaged to diga trench from the office to the beach, where the cable was landed, after which it was placed in the trench and so laid up to the verydoor of the telegraph station, the lead covered wire being insertedthere into an iron tube lashed to an upright pole, and thence intothe window where the operator had his desk. Surely a novel way to laya shore end! It reminded one of that nice old lady's suggestion tothe London _Times_ in 1858, just after the Atlantic cable failure, that in future it should be laid above the ocean instead of init, mentioning that in her opinion the rock of Gibraltar, peak ofTeneriffe, and the Andes should be used as points of suspension. 

This work, coupled with the entire refitting of the office, tookseveral days, and meanwhile on board ship the cable was being turnedover from one tank to the other in search of faults, and numerousexperiments were made in splicing, so that much learned conversationmight be heard anent the necessity of homogeneity in core joints andthe like. 

On February 3d we left Cebu for Liloan, island of Cebu, where a cableput in eleven months before needed repairing. After a two hours' runwe anchored off our destination, which proved to be a most desertedlittle hole, rich in vegetation only. There were but a few men, commanded by a non-commissioned officer at Liloan, and as our staythere was to be very brief, only the Signal Corps detachment wentashore. By one o'clock the defective splice in the trench had beencut out, a new one made, and the office overhauled, after which, as the tests showed the cable working satisfactorily at its Cebuend, but unsatisfactorily at the other, we sailed for Ormoc, Leyte, arriving there about seven o'clock that evening. 

On the following morning the Signal Corps men went ashore in a smallboat, and while some of the party rehabilitated the office, othersunderran the cable, cut in near the shore end, and after findingcommunication satisfactory with Cebu and Liloan, located the fault, the ship's volt-meter indicating when the small boat underrunning thecable came to the break. It proved to be a defective factory joint, which was cut out and repaired, so that by three o'clock communicationwas established between Cebu and Liloan. 

Ormoc did not prove interesting enough for a trip ashore in thehot sun, so my only recollection of the place is a white _tribunal_and a great preponderance of green foliage, toned down by the dullgray-brown of nipa buildings and the dull gray-blue of sky and sea. 

Then, too, it will always bring to mind the sad experience of a verydelightful officer we met there. At the time of our visit he was_en route_ to Northern Leyte, a hostile part of the island whereseveral hundred insurgents were strongly entrenched. With him werefifty soldiers, all of them eager for a scrap, while the young fellowhimself was "insatiable of glory. " We were everyone of us enthused byhis prospects, the officers perhaps a bit envious of the stirring timesahead for him, the women fearful of the outcome with such tremendousodds in favour of the well entrenched Filipinos. 

On a subsequent visit to Cebu we heard the last deplorable chapterof his little story, the beginning of which had so interested us, for while there had been no loss of life in his command, the wholeexpedition had been a complete failure. It seems he was vanquished, disarmed, and routed by the enemy at every turn, notwithstanding thefact that he had studied strategy so that his plans of employing andcombining his resources would have filled any general officer withadmiration. Nor did his overthrow have the merit of dignity. Itwas irresistibly droll, and no one laughed more heartily at thepreposterous ending of the expedition than did the victim himself. 

For according to his own story at every town and village in the enemy'scountry, he and his brave followers, all of them thirsting for gore, were met by a brass band, and, accompanied by the leading citizens ofthe place, were marched down the principal street with great pomp andceremony to where a _fiesta_ in honour of the great American captainwas in progress. There the people, in gala-attire, clapped their handsand called "_Viva, viva_, " at their discomfited enemy, and later inthe day a great banquet would be given, at which the leading citizensthrew oral bouquets at their disgusted prisoner, while the soldierswalked disconsolately around the little village they had expectedto conquer. Had fate not willed it otherwise the captain might haverendered such distinguished service as would have merited at leastrecognition from Congress, perhaps a medal of honour, or even the starof a brigadier; while now all he can expect from a grateful countryis some slight acknowledgment of his undoubted heroism in partakingof the food at the natives banquets, surely an intrepid performance!

After an eight hours' run from Ormoc we reached Cebu, remaining therejust long enough to put ashore some iron poles for the constructionof a cross-country line to Oslob, Cebu, where it was intended to landthe cable from Dumaguete; then sailed for Misamis, where we completedthe ill-fated Lintogup line, finding that the break in the cable wascaused by the _Disgrace's_ propeller on that memorable trip in January. 

The day was wet, and raw, and gray, and we could see the beach strewnwith trees and timber, the thatched roof of a bamboo house, and allthe aftermath of a terrible storm that had swept over the islands fivedays before, and of which we, in the safe shelter of Cebu's harbour, were ignorant. It was here we were told by cable that the line fromIligan to Cagayan had not been working since the storm had torn upthe wharf and beach at the former place a week before, so the nextmorning we sailed for Iligan again, feeling as blue as the day itself. 

Arriving off our destination some three hours later, a party, shiveringin the misty rain, was sent ashore to ascertain the trouble. Aftercareful tests it was found to have been caused by a submarine landslidewhich had crushed a part of the cable, laid by necessity on a steephill under water. 

So for a whole day we grappled there near Iligan, "fishing forbights, " as the punster on board called it, and surely even IzaakWalton's piscatorial patience would have been tried on this fishingtrip. Once after having successfully hooked the cable, it broke as wewere drawing it in, and only one end came on board. It was the shoreend, and through it we spoke Iligan, finding the cable satisfactory inthat direction. So we buoyed the shore end and continued our fishingwith the heavy tackle. For hours we unsuccessfully lowered the massivegrapnel iron, where our charts indicated the cable should be, butwithout success until late in the afternoon, when the strain on thedynamometer indicated another "bight. "

Then it was pulled up very slowly, for we could not afford to haveit break a second time, when suddenly it slipped the grapnel and wasagain lost at the sea-bottom. As it was getting dark we put lightson our two buoys, one placed where the cable had slipped the grapnel, the other, as I said before, attached to the captured end. Now it isby no means easy to jump from a small boat to a buoy in such roughwater as that in Iligan harbour, and we watchers on the ship felt somelittle uneasiness until the lights from both buoys proclaimed thatit had been accomplished by the young native who always did that work. 

In the morning our scientific fishermen were rewarded for theirpatience. They had a bite, and everyone on board watched with interestthe heavy machinery as it slowly and steadily pulled the sea endof the cable out of the water. It was hooked at half after eight, and not until an hour later was it landed, the dynamometer showinga strain at times of from one to two tons. 

Immediately after getting the cable on board, Cagayan was called overand over again without response, which would have indicated that thetrouble was farther out at sea, had not tests shown the resistanceswere what they should have been, from which it was easily inferred thatthe operator at Cagayan was not attending strictly to business. "Goneto Sunday school, probably!" ironically observed the Powers-that-Be, chewing the end of an unlighted cigar, as he always did when worried, and, Sunday though it was, we felt the sarcasm to be a just one, Sunday schools not being a chief industry of Cagayan. 

Reasoning on the premise that all was right at that end of the line, the splice was made, and we paid out the cable until reaching thebuoyed shore end, which in turn was spliced to the deep-sea cable, and the bight dropped overboard. Then a Signal Corps man returningfrom shore reported all communicating lines in good order, at whichthere was great rejoicing on board the _Burnside_, and, our Cagayanfriend having condescended meanwhile to communicate with us, we weresoon under way for Zamboanga, Mindanao. 

The next day was a perfect one for sailing, and eventful, in thatwhile turning over cable the long objurgated fault in the tanks cameto light, proving to be the result of carelessness on the part of themanufacturer, a carelessness which had caused much agony of mind to theSignal Corps, and many groans and imprecations from all concerned. Butat last the fault was cut out, and a nice healthy splice substitutedby the reparative surgery which has been so often mentioned. 

It seemed such a small thing, the fault, only a little break in thearmour wire, and yet it had induced the most severe nerve paralysis inthat sentient thread of copper in the cable's centre. "Words and wordsof men" could not "flicker and flutter and beat" until the wound hadbeen healed, which was promptly done, accompanied by vigorous languageconcerning the aforesaid careless manufacturer. 

Chapter VII

ZAMBOANGA

Zamboanga! The very name brings back our first daylight glimpse ofMindanao's principal town--an adorable water-colour sketch, what withthe soft, deep blue of sky and sea, the tropical freshness of greenfoliage, amidst which nestled picturesque white houses with overhangingbalconies, the red and blue sails on the sunlit water, and to the rightof the picture an old Spanish fort, gray and stern and forbidding. 

This old fort, aside from its undoubted pictorial charm, ishistorically interesting, in that it is a relic of the seventeenthcentury and of those first Spanish governors, martially ambitious, whostirred up wars with the Moros for their own personal aggrandizement, wars which have been protracted through two bloody centuries. 

Indeed, the history of Spain's occupation of the islands is but arepetition of wars with the Mohammedans, religious wars, perhaps, at the very first, for the sixteenth century Spaniard was no lessfanatical in his religion than is the Moro of to-day; and later, wars for the presumable abolishment of slavery, though we are told byForeman that "Whilst Spaniards in Philippine waters were strainingevery nerve to extirpate slavery, their countrymen were diligentlypursuing a profitable trade in it between the west coast of Africaand Cuba. "

Zamboanga seems so peaceful at present that it is hard to believeit was ever otherwise. All around the town stretch fine lands, muchbetter cultivated than any we had seen on the trip, with here and therebeautiful groves, now of cocoanut-palms, now of mangoes, interspersedby well ploughed paddy fields and acres of corn or sugar-cane. Thetown natives were extremely friendly and when passing always salutedus deferentially, while in the country the children, and sometimes thegrown people as well, yelled cheerily after our carriage, "Hellojohn, hellojohn, " evidently under the impression that Hello, John, was oneword, and a salutation of great respect as well as a sociable greeting. 

No one wore arms around Zamboanga, in fact it was forbidden so todo; and the smiling, well-disposed natives testified highly to theefficiency of the American officer in command, the sight of whose jollyface brought ecstatic yells of recognition from the very babies, bareand dirty, tumbling around in the streets, greetings which the colonelalways answered in kind, his eyes twinkling with amusement the while. 

Most of our success with these southern Moros may be traced toreligious tolerance, and the fact that we interfere with them onlyin their disturbance of non-Mohammedan neighbours. Slave raids area thing of the past, and leading dattos have been notified that anypiratical or fanatical incursions into American territory will bepunished swiftly and surely. 

It has also behooved us to respect their race prejudice, to beconsiderate of their religious idiosyncrasies, and to dispensejustice untempered with mercy, the latter virtue being considered aweakness in the eyes of our Mohammedan brothers, and as such to betaken advantage of. The border troubles in India, the mutiny of '57, the Turkish atrocities in '95, the Pathan rising under Mad Mullah in'97, the French-Algerian difficulties, and the ever present reminderof Spain's three hundred years of struggle for supremacy in thePhilippines, all serve as mile-posts on the road to good government. 

Although thus far we have made no little progress in the rightdirection, the path has not been strewn with roses, for Mohammedancustoms, prohibitions, and theories of living are so strange to aNorth American intellect that mistakes are liable to occur at anymoment. For example, it is a deadly insult for a man to even touch aMohammedan woman not belonging to his harem, or to pay her the mostconventional or trivial compliment. Then, too, as everyone knows, their dietetic observances are of the greatest import, and a goodMohammedan will not only refrain from eating pork, but will nothunt the wild boar or help carry it home for fear the contact mightdefile him. Wine is of course forbidden, though I have heard thatin the Philippines food over which the shadow of an unbeliever haspassed need not be thrown away, the Moros there being more thriftyand perhaps less fanatically devout than their brothers in India. 

For some strange reason these people have taken most kindly to theAmericans, though I am pained to confess that much of their likingis due to the fact that they think we are not Christians, our brandof religion being unlike that of Catholic Spain. This, coupled withthe fact that in several instances we have been forced, by a lackof quarters, to shelter our soldiers in church or cathedral, has sostrengthened them in their belief that _Juramentados_, or Mohammedanssworn to kill Christians, are without employment, it being obviouslyunwise to run amuck and kill, when the Holy Writ promises reward onlyto those dying while destroying followers of Christianity. 

Many American customs that do not entrench on the Holy Law have beenadopted with no little avidity by the Moros, and the Stars and Stripesfloat over the home of every native fortunate enough to possess aflag. This is particularly noticeable in and around Zamboanga, butan officer belonging to the regiment stationed there told us a taleillustrating the Moro's love for things American, that reads likea romance. 

It seems that the post assigned to this officer's battalion was atDavao, in the southeastern part of the island, a wild and seldomvisited country, whose inhabitants consist of a curious mixture ofChristians, Mohammedans, and Pagans. In the mountains surrounding thetown live numerous Pagan tribes, all speaking different dialects, andwild as the country itself. Having occasion to make a reconnoissancetrip in this territory, the officer and his escort stopped overnightin a little village of Bogobos, whose chief did the honours with asavage dignity. 

The town was dirty beyond belief, the natives were lazy even in theircuriosity, and everything pertaining to the place was in a shockingstate of disrepair. Among other items of interest, proudly pointed outto the American officer by his host, was a gruesome collection of humanskulls, which decorated the dwelling both indoors and out. "Trophiesof war, " he explained nonchalantly to his astonished guest, merelythe skulls of his enemies. The American, with involuntary loathing, simulated a polite interest in these ghastly evidences of raidson the lower villages, and that night slept none too soundly inconsequence. The following morning, on leaving, he thanked the chieffor his hospitality, and asked him to some day return the visit. 

Nothing loath, the savage accepted the invitation, and a short timelater arrived in Davao, accompanied not by a paltry half-dozen asescort, but by the major part of his tribe. He was evidently not goingto be outdone in ceremonial observances, and he and his followersremained long enough in Davao to cause the official larder sadly toneed replenishment. During this visit the Bogobos were one and alldelighted with the military life of the post; with the drills andparades where the soldiers marched as one man; the evolutions whereinthey were deployed, moved in echelon, or wheeled into position;and their sureness and quickness in the manual of arms. Then, too, the cleanliness of the barracks impressed them, and the personalneatness of the khaki-clad men, not to mention the very desirablethings to eat evolved by the company cook. 

But perhaps nothing so filled them with awe and admiration as theceremonial raising and lowering of the garrison flag. They nevermissed the opportunity of seeing it, especially at evening, whenthe improvised band played the "Star Spangled Banner" and the flagfluttered slowly down the staff, while the troops stood at attentionwith bared heads. It was so solemn an occasion that the very heavensdarkened before it, and night was upon them always ere they halfsuspected it. 

So impressed was the chief with this ceremony that on leaving Davaohe asked the officer commanding the battalion if he would give him anAmerican flag, that he might take the beautiful custom into his ownvillage. This request was granted, and the presentation of the Starsand Stripes was made the occasion for a little sermon, in which thehead of the Bogobos was informed that he and his people were underthe protection of that flag, which represented the great Americangovernment, and that he, as chief of the tribe, stood for Americanauthority in his village, so that it would become him to set an exampleto his people of humanity, liberality, and all civilized observances. 

Then, with great tact and diplomacy, he was further informed that inthe United States the custom of decorating houses with human skullsno longer prevailed; it had fallen into disfavour with the moreenlightened "Natives" of the country and, in fact, they seriouslyobjected to such practices. Consequently, as a representative ofthe American government, he must keep abreast of the times in thisregard. The chief listened very gravely and with never a word to thelittle disquisition, while it was hard to tell from his expressionif his silence meant only savage taciturnity, or if he were reallydeeply moved. 

On a subsequent visit to the Bogobos, however, the officer wasgreatly surprised to see what weight his words had carried and tonote the effect of the Star Spangled Banner upon a savage mountainpeople. Soldiers were drilling under the green trees; modern sanitationhad been adopted; sweeping, heretofore unknown, was a custom of thevillage; the highly objectionable skulls had been removed from theexecutive mansion; while every evening the chief and his standingarmy failed not to face the splendid Stars and Stripes as they werereverently lowered from a bamboo flagstaff, where during the daythey floated over a village redeemed by them from seemingly hopelesssavagery. 

On our first visit to Zamboanga we remained a day only, for by eveningour shore end was laid and the office established, so that at daybreakthe next morning we sailed for Tukuran, Mindanao, thus deferring ourintercourse with Zamboanga, though not terminating it. After laying ahundred-knot stretch of cable between there and Point Flecha, we beganto take soundings, and for four days sailed back and forth betweenTukuran and the Point, seeking water not too deep for cable laying, though in places the sea swallowed up our sounding wire for twelvehundred fathoms. Think of it--a mile and a quarter! And once the ironmarker came up on a sun-baked deck icy-cold from its abysmal plunge. 

But at last a suitable course was chosen, and on the afternoon ofFebruary 16th we anchored off Tukuran. A prettier bit of country itwould be hard to find. Hills on every side--forest hills--as far asthe eye could reach, while a road, looking from the ship like a narrowwhite ribbon, trailed from the shore straight up the green hills to astone wall, behind which was stationed a company of American soldiers. 

The next morning early most of us went ashore, despite the windingribbon of a road which from the ship looked even more formidablethan it really was. As we neared the land in the ship's launch twoMoro boats anchored near the beach attracted our attention, the mostabsurdly picturesque crafts one could well imagine, with curving prowsof rudely carved wood, outriggers of bamboo, and a thatched roof orawning at one end. A gaily coloured hat hung from one of the boats, andover each floated a red flag shaped like an isosceles triangle. Theseflags were finished by a white border ruffled on all around, suchruffles as we put on window-curtains in America, and over one of thecrafts floated the striped red and white flag of the Mindanao Moro. 

On reaching the post we found that the boats belonged to two prominentdattos visiting there. One of these dignitaries was an old, toothlessman, with a mighty following, two or three of his army even carryingrifles and the others gigantic spears. The second datto was muchyounger, and repaired to the officers' quarters to wait until the oldchap had departed, evidently recognizing his own social inferiority, for he boasted half a dozen warriors only, and not a gun or spear amongthem, though they carried _barongs_ of great beauty, with damascenedblades and handles of handsomely carved wood, some of them beinginlaid with pearl or ivory. 

Each of the chiefs and all their followers were dressed in thepicturesque Moro costume, which we had seen first in Misamis andIligan, and all of them were frankly curious over the Americanwomen. They discussed us freely to our very faces, and kept changingtheir positions to get a better view of us, staring with amazementwhen the old datto was brought up and introduced. How curious of theAmericans not to know that a woman should be taken to a datto, not adatto to a woman. And then, too, how odd that they should shake handsjust like men, and not cover their faces at all, and what remarkablehair the child had, just the colour of hemp, and how very, very tallshe was, though the interpreter insisted she was but nine years old. 

Nor was this curiosity confined to the natives by any manner ofmeans, for officers and soldiers alike crowded around us, and onenon-commissioned officer took a snapshot of the group, explaininglater to his captain, who took him to task for his boldness, that hehad meant no harm, but just wanted the picture as a reminder of whatAmerican women really looked like, not having seen one before in twoyears. Needless to say he was forgiven, his interest being subjectiverather than objective. 

We were told in Tukuran that when the troops first went there deerwere so plentiful that the pretty, shy animals could be seen at anytime of day around the garrison, while at night they would come soclose to the barracks as to annoy the men, barking not unlike dogs, and stumbling over kettles and pots by the door of the companykitchen. I do not know that they ever became so annoying that themen had to resort to the cat-discouraging bootjack or soda bottle, but I do know that those Tukuran soldiers had so much venison thatthey would eat canned corned beef or bacon in preference. Good huntingstories were of course numerous, and some of these so fired the Nimrodof the trip--our major-quartermaster--that he set off at daybreak onemorning, gun in hand, accompanied by the crack shot among the soldiersof Tukuran, each prepared to slay his tens of thousands. But althoughthe two men tramped the hills from sunrise until dark they saw nodeer, and all because the search-light from the ship on the previousnight had frightened them away from their accustomed haunts. At leastso said the officers on shore, an explanation at which we _Burnside_people sniffed, though feasting on venison at the time. But before wereached Zamboanga, a Signal Corps man, whom we left behind at Tukuranto complete the establishment of the lines there, sent a message tothe major over the cable we were then laying, to the effect that hehad seen a herd of deer from the window of his telegraph office thatvery morning, and, being a cable-ship man, and so not in league withthe Ananiases of Tukuran, the major must fain believe him, whereuponhe made some remarks not worthy of record. 

Before leaving Tukuran one of the officers belonging to the SignalCorps well-nigh lost his reputation for veracity, or sobriety, by coming back to the ship one day with a most amazing tale as tosome fish he had seen promenading--_promenading_, forsooth!--on thebeach. Everyone was hilariously skeptical. Some shook their headswith mock commiseration and hinted darkly that much learning hadmade him mad, while still others wondered audibly how any man, nomatter how vinaceous his tendencies, could have seen fish walk soearly in the day. Only one among us all believed him, and she wasobliged to--legally. 

"Were they exercising for their health?" queried a scoffer, with whathe was pleased to consider fine irony. "Undoubtedly, " responded thehitherto veracious one, with unabated good humour, "though perhaps onemight more truthfully say they were walking less to gain an appetitethan to find the means wherewith to satisfy it. " He then describedthese piscatorial pedestrians as small, dark fish with little bead-likeeyes in the top of their heads, and a blunt nose--he called it a nose, I am not guilty. Moreover, their ventral fins were largely developed, and by this means the fish hopped, or rather, hitched along the sand, after the manner of seals. 

It was a preposterous tale, and nothing would do but that thecable-ship Munchausen should take a party ashore where all mightwitness the fish of Tukuran taking a constitutional on the beach, afterthe manner of the oysters in "The Walrus and the Carpenter. " Nothingdaunted, the officer agreed to the proposition, and so confident washe that even Mrs. Munchausen became less apologetically sure of hisinfallibility. But on our arrival at the beach, not a fish was tobe seen, and loud was the laughter at both Munchausens, and numerousthe jokes at their expense. 

However, the tide going out a little later discovered on the wet sanda multitude of small walking-fish, and thus spared a reputation, andat the same time saved to science a story that else might have beenlaughed out of existence. Text-books tell of India's walking-fish, but I have been able to find nothing as to the walking-fish of thePhilippines. In Luzon, during the rainy season, it is no uncommonsight to see natives casting their nets in the overflowed rice-fields, though perhaps but a few days before the ground there had been cakedhard and dry from the sun. In this latter instance, it is more thanprobable that the fish do not walk back and forth, but bury themselvesin the ground at the beginning of the hot season, remaining thereuntil the first rains call them out in great numbers. 

The Signal Corps found the trench at Tukuran a difficult problemin that it had to be dug down a very steep hill leading from thestone-enclosed fort to the beach, but by evening of the first daythis was accomplished, and the shore end laid and buoyed. The nextmorning we left Tukuran, seeking better soundings than we had at firstobtained, but finding the water nearly as deep in one place as another, it was decided to leave at sunrise on the following day and lay thecable as best we could. 

All went well until late in the afternoon, when communication withTukuran was suddenly interrupted, whereupon we hauled in several milesof cable, and coming upon the fault, cut it out and "spoke" Tukuran. Bythis time it was so late that the Signal Corps realized it would beimpossible to sight the buoy at Flecha Point that night, though itwas then but fifteen knots away, and so we lay to until morning. 

As it was out of the question for the heavy cable to hang pendent fromthe stern of the ship all night at the mercy of the propeller; and asthe three buoys were in use, there was one thing only to be done, andthat was to fasten the cable to a small boat, with enough men to keepthe craft bailed of water. It was a more hazardous proceeding than itsounds, for had a heavy squall come up, the boat, with nearly a tonof cable fastened to it, would surely have sunk. But notwithstandingthis, one of the civilian cable experts, the able cable seaman, and three natives spent a most uncomfortable night afloat. 

Before leaving the ship, the Americans joked about their possiblefate, as Americans will, while the natives, on going down the gangway, crossed themselves and commended their souls to the Virgin, each racebrave and stout-hearted in its own fashion. To be sure, they carriedwith them life-preservers and signals in case of accident, while theship stayed as near the little twinkling lights on the small boat aspossible, like some big mother hen hovering over her only chick. 

The next morning the buoy at Flecha Point was picked up, the splicemade, and the journey to Zamboanga continued. On the afternoon ofFebruary 21st, after making the final splice twelve miles out, we sailed into the harbour, to learn that the cable was workingsuccessfully in every detail, and that the natives of the town wereoverjoyed to be in communication with the world. The great event wascelebrated on board by a jolly dinner, to which many officers fromshore were bidden, after which we sat up on the quarter-deck untilvery late, exchanging home news and gossip some six or seven weeks old, while a round and red tropic moon hung in the heavens like a Japaneselantern, and the torchlights of innumerable fishing smacks bobbedup and down, as the natives speared for fish in the dark waters ofthe bay. 

The next morning was Washington's Birthday, in honour of which theship was dressed, and, more wonderful still, a holiday declaredfor all hands aboard, the first one since leaving Manila, This wasprincipally due to the fact that at this particular juncture a daymore or less made no appreciable difference in the outcome, while atChristmas and New Year's every moment was of import. 

Even before sunrise the natives were astir in preparation for thegreat event. All of them discarded their tarred clothing, appearingin natty white "_Americanos_" and dinky straw hats, while some evensported swagger sticks. In the Philippines any white suit whichconsists of well fitting trousers and a coat buttoning up to thethroat, as contradistinguished from baggy pantaloons with a _camisa_worn on the outside, is called by the natives an "_Americano_, "and is by them greatly admired from a sartorial standpoint. 

Nearly all the Signal Corps employees, being men of social standingbecause of their really princely salaries, fifteen gold dollars amonth, sported such suits, which with the addition of stockings andneat tan shoes, instead of bare feet thrust carelessly into _chinelas_, gave them the appearance of belonging to the native four hundred, any one of them looking eligible for the high office of presidente orsecretario. There must have been many a flutter under modest _panuelas_when the sixty young swells struck Zamboanga that day, with moneysufficient to buy unlimited _sorbetas_ and the little rice _potas_so dear to the heart of Philippine maidens. 

The jackies having shore leave were most picturesque, and, alas, hot as well, in their blue flannel suits, with the round sailor capset at a jaunty angle on their heads; while the Signal Corps soldiersand hospital men in fresh khaki, the officers in crisp duck, and thewomen freshly starched and ironed, gave a holiday aspect even beyondthat of the fluttering flags aloft, as the ship had been dressed bothon Chrismas Day and New Year's, although the work had gone on withunabated energy. 

Indeed, some of the Irish sailors in the forecastle were overheardtalking together that morning, one of them saying, as he rammed histobacco down hard in his pipe with anticipatory joy in the smoketo come:

"Sure, not that I am complainin' at the same, but will anny of yeztell me why the ship's a-flutter with flags, and the lads all given aholiday, and that old coffee-mill of a cable machine stopped grindingfor the once?"

"Because, " answered a comrade with an expressive wink, "it's Garge'sbirthday, Garge Washington, you know, the daddy of his counthry!"

"Oh, to be sure!" responded the other, meditatively, taking a whiffor two at his pipe to see that it was really lighted before he threwthe match overboard. "To be sure! And it's a great mon that sameGarge must have bin, a great mon, Dinnis. Sure, St. Pathrick himselfcouldn't touch him with a shillaly. "

"And for why?" demanded several Irishmen, truculently, their irearoused at the invidiousness of the allusion. 

"Because St. Pathrick, God love him, aint never been counted asranking alongside of Christ, and this here Garge Washington seemsto be of more importance than ayther of thim. Why, on Christmas wedidn't have no holiday--divil a bit of it--just a bite more to ate fordinner, with no shore leave, and the haythens working us and workingthimsilves all day as if it had been an ordinary Chuesday 'stead ofChristmas, which is Christ's birthday, while on Garge's birthday thewhole ship cilibrates. Ah, he certainly must have bin a great mon, that same Garge. "

But notwithstanding our philosopher's grumble, he enjoyed his shoreleave to the utmost, and he and Dennis came back on the evening boathilarious as could be and reciprocally dependent upon one anotherfor support. 

That morning Datto Mandi, the Rajah Muda or heir to the Sultanate ofMindanao, came on board to pay his respects to the Powers-that-Be. Thedatto was accompanied by his wife, for notwithstanding he isa Mohammedan, he has but one, and the wife of his Philippinefoster-brother, besides a large retinue of followers and slaves. Healso brought with him a band, and as a rival orchestra had come outearlier, we stationed the first one in the bow of the ship, and thedatto's musicians in the stern. 

All would have been well had not a spirit of emulation caused the bandsto play different selections at one and the same time, resulting in adiscordant war of notes and the death of harmony. Peace was restored bysome native rushing valiantly to the front and forcibly stopping theband on the forward deck, after which each set of musicians waited, with no little impatience, its turn to play, and after once gettingthe floor, or in this case the deck, held it longer than was quiteparliamentary. 

The datto proved himself a most delightful man, with an earnest, sensitive face and a manner indicative of such innate refinement thatwe found ourselves most favourably contrasting him with some of theTagalog and Visayan dignitaries already met. 

It is said that after Spain's evacuation, and before the arrival ofAmerican troops in the southern islands, several insurgent leadersproposed to resist the landing of Americans in Zamboanga. DattoMandi and the Philippine presidente of the town, knowing that theAmerican government was unlike that of Spain, and realizing what anoverwhelming defeat such a project would ultimately receive, althoughthe first enterprise might meet with success, did all in their powerto quell these martial aspirations. 

Failing in this, war was declared, and the presidente, surrounded bya loyal few, and Datto Mandi with his numerous Moro followers, drovethe insurgents from town. Meanwhile the wives and children of thesebelligerents would have starved had it not been for the datto, who, notwithstanding the difference in their faith, looked after them all, until the discomfited warriors returned to more peaceful pursuits. 

On the first anniversary of the Americans' arrival in Zamboanga, a great _fiesta_ was held. It began, as all feast-days should begin, with high mass in the cathedral, after which the Mohammedans joinedtheir Christian friends in games and cock-fights. Verily, DattoMandi and the presidente had been right, Americans were unlike theSpaniards, and Zamboanga had never experienced so peaceful a year inall her history. Small wonder the _fiesta_ was a success, and that the"_Viva America's_" were uttered from full hearts. But it is primarilyto Datto Mandi and the presidente that the people of Zamboanga shouldbe grateful. Citizens of the world these men are, and statesmen, too, although their sphere is comparatively circumscribed. 

The presidente was ill while we were in Zamboanga, his conditionbeing so critical that none of us saw him, but one day while we weredriving around the outskirts of the town, our coachman drew up hishorses with a great flourish before a pretty vine-embowered house. 

"Why are you stopping here?" I demanded, a trifle sharply, forheads had appeared at various windows and the situation was becomingembarrassing. The coachman turned with a dignified gesture, if onecan look dignified in a shirt thin as mosquito-netting. 

"It is the house of the presidente, " he said, in an injuredtone. "Every American who comes to Zamboanga wishes to be drivenhere. He is a very great man, the presidente. "

I agreed with him heartily, if somewhat hastily, and then prevailedupon him to drive on, which he did with melancholy resignation, disapproval expressed in every line of his body, which, from his box, was outlined strongly against the sky through the thin white _camisa_, embroidered as daintily as a girl's ball gown. 

But to return to the datto. On the morning of his visit to the_Burnside_ he wore a white "_Americano_" suit and white shoes, as, indeed, did most of his followers, one of the men topping off this veryconventional attire with a magnificent red, green, and purple turbanwhich he did not once remove while aboard ship. The headgear of theMoros consists entirely of turbans, fezes, or soft tam-o'-shanters, the latter a compromise, I fancy, between the hats of civilizationand the head-covering demanded by the Moslem religion. 

The datto's wife was a shy little woman, with an unusually sweet voiceand big, startled brown eyes, which gave her an indescribably patheticlook. She wore her hair straight back from a high, round forehead, and coiled it neatly at the top of her head. Her features were smallerand more regular than those of the average native, and her pearlearrings seemed an integral part of herself. Her frock, made aftera European model--and very far after, I am obliged to admit--fittedbadly, and she eyed our summer gowns with polite interest, evidentlytaking notes for a readjustment of her own wardrobe at home. 

Unlike other Moro women, her teeth were white, the Zamboanga officerstelling us she had the black enamelling removed after Americanoccupation of the town; and the only thing about her that would haveattracted attention at an American gathering was the fact that severalfinger-nails on her very small hands were long, almost as long againas from the first knuckle of the finger to the finger-tip, indicatingthat she was a Moro of high caste and did no manual labour of anykind. Her clumsy Spanish slippers covered feet small as a child's, and her manner, while shy, was quite calm and dignified. 

Of course the party was taken around the ship, and all expressed apolite interest and appreciation of what was shown them, although therewas far less enthusiasm than when the more volatile Tagalog or Visayanhad seen the wonders of electricity for the first time. To be sure, the datto himself had been to Spain, but we were told his wife hadnever been away from Mindanao, nor had many of his followers travelledmore extensively than to Manila and back again; notwithstanding whichthey refused to be impressed or render indiscriminate approbation, however astounding, admirable, or strange the marvels might appear. 

Only the Philippine sister-in-law lacked self-control and talkedvolubly, grabbing the datto's wife by the hand, and expressingherself excitedly in unintelligible Spanish or Zamboanganese, whichis a mixture of Castilian, Visayan, and Malay, Once, in an excessof emotion, she almost hugged me. I think it was on first seeing thewonders of a bathroom, and several times she came near enthusing thepassive little "dattoess. "

But this princess of the blood always controlled herself just in time, and managed to look as indifferent as possible. Her dispassionateattitude launched me into wild tales of Farthest America, whereinthirty-storied buildings, elevated and underground railways, beautiful theatres and parks, cars which ran without horses or steam, and millions of inhabitants produced no impression whatsoever, mymost improbable tale being received with a diffident condescension, equalled only by the metrical repose that stamps the caste of Vere deVere. Given a few months in New York or Paris, and Mindanao's futureSultana would bloom like a rose in manners and millinery, for, despiteher reserve, she is adaptable and what the Spaniards call _simpática_. 

Datto Mandi was frankly pleased with what he saw, thoughunenthusiastic, and he compared Spanish methods of government withAmerican administration much to our advantage, saying tersely andepigrammatically that the Spaniards promised much and accomplishedlittle, while the Americans promised little and accomplished much. Inspeaking of the cable, one of the Signal Corps officers told theRajah Muda that it was a gift of half a million pesos from the UnitedStates to the Philippine Islands, at which the datto was obviouslyimpressed. He translated this bit of information into Malay for thebenefit of his followers, the monetary item seeming to have a profoundeffect upon them all, even the little wife showing a decided interestat the thought of that slimy rubber garden hose costing such a lotof silver dollars. 

Just at noon we stood on the bridge while a national salute was firedfrom the forward gun. Twenty-one times the hills around Zamboangareverberated to the warlike sound, and twenty-one times the excitablelittle sister-in-law squealed with a pleasurable terror. "Madame Mandi"lost none of her serenity, but she did not like the cannonading, and covered both ears to shut out the sound. Moreover, she turned herback upon the guns, explaining that she feared their flash might makeher blind. Meanwhile the datto and his followers stood calmly andunflinchingly erect with uncovered heads, to show their respect forthat great American, George Washington, who little thought that in thefirst year of the twentieth century his birthday would be celebratedon American territory ten thousand miles away from the United States. 

That night we dined on shore with the commanding officer, and thoughthe mess china, silver, and napery were not of the best, the dinnerwas one to remember in one's prayers. Moreover, it was extremelywell served by swift and noiseless Chinese servants, who poured thewine at the psychologic moment, and needed no premonitory lift of theeyebrows to remind them when a course should be taken out or broughtin. Throughout the repast the regimental band played patriotic airs, and only the consciousness of being at a formal dinner in our bestclothes restrained us from humming the music or beating time to itwith fork or spoon. 

The table was decorated with an ornate floral design in the centre, from which trailed wreaths of green to every plate. It was extremelyeffective, and I spoke of it to one of the hosts, who told me in awhisper that he had been rather astonished earlier in the eveningby the gorgeousness of these decorations, especially as there wereno florists in Zamboanga, and on asking one of the Chinamen where hehad obtained the flowers, was not a little startled to hear that theyhad been stolen from a neighbouring cemetery. I looked with admirationupon this resourceful Celestial, and then felt mildly irritated at thecompleteness of the whole _ménage_. Dinners by men always exasperateme. They show so clearly how unnecessary women really are in thescheme of domestic existence. 

After our black coffee and liqueur, we sat out on the broad _cahida_, or covered veranda running around three sides of the house, and watchedthe rockets from the shore and ship replying to each other in theclear, starlit night, while a theatrical-looking moon came up slowlyout of the bay, leaving a trail of red light on the rippling water. 

The next morning we planned to call on Datto Mandi and his wife, having promised ourselves that pleasure the afternoon before, butthe day dawned so fiercely hot that I, for one, rather wilted in myresolutions, until business called my especial Signal Corps officerto town, whereupon I yielded to his persuasion and accompanied him, the other members of the party having left the ship some hours before. 

On disembarking, we turned directly into the Mohammedan quarter. Thisis just beyond the bay to the south, and the several streets teemedwith Moro inhabitants, the men and women in their gaily colouredclothes making the place more like a water-colour sketch than ever. Onthe banks of one of the many streams that intersect the town, bathersclad in a single garment held stone jars of water above their headsand let the contents slowly trickle down over the entire body. On thesteps beside them coloured stuffs were spread to dry in the sun, givingan added splash of green and red to the already variegated landscape. 

Reaching the datto's house, we found it decorated gaily in the Morocolours for our reception, while at the top of the stairs stood thefuture Sultana, petite and self-possessed, but with more animationthan on the previous day. She was genuinely glad to see us, and fromthe _sala_ we could hear the voices of our friends who had preceded us. 

"So sorry we are late, " I said with sudden compunction, for thedecorations told their tale, and then, as airily as I could in Spanish, "Did you think we were not coming?" The future Sultana smiled hersweet, grave smile. "No, indeed, " she said; "you promised you wouldcome, and Americans never break their word. " The Rajah Muda came outjust then and spared my guilty blushes. 

He, too, was delighted to see us, and the little sister-in-law bobbedabout like a distracted butterfly, while the prospective Sultana grewalmost effusive in her gracious hospitality, and as we sat down inthe _sala_, reached over and gave my hand a little shy caress. Shewas so very pleased that we had come. 

This _sala_, or drawing-room, was a spacious apartment, and hadevidently been arranged by the Philippine sister-in-law, as it was anexact counterpart of those in all native houses. There was little inthe room save chairs and tables, and these were all of black bambooarranged in two long sociable rows from every window. Between thechairs stood an occasional table, suggestive of something eatableor drinkable to come, and on every table and nearly every chair weresepulchral looking antimacassars of macreme cord. 

Swarms of servants and slaves hung around in every available door, all of them in Moro costume, with the exception of the small children, and they were legion, who revelled in the luxury of bare brown skins, and, strange to say, did not look at all undressed, as would Caucasianchildren under similar conditions, the dark skins rather suggestinga spontaneous covering. 

These retainers of Datto Mandi seemed eminently happy, and from allwe could learn, slavery among the Moros is a sort of feudal state, the slaves having many privileges and considering themselves alwaysas members of the family to which they belong. They live their ownlives to a great degree, marry, and bring up their children, seemingto be considered more as followers than servants. This probably isless true of slaves by conquest, but the hereditary bondsman likes hisfetters and would doubtless feel ill-used were he forced to work forhis sustenance rather than receive it at the hands of a liberal master. 

Before we left, the little hostess, quite forgetting her shyness, showed us women many of her native costumes, several of them beingwonderfully beautiful in their rich, barbaric colours. There were_jabuls_ or _sarongs_ of gaily striped cotton stuff woven by theMoros; there were European silks and satins embroidered by natives ofZamboanga; there were brocaded stuffs from Paris, and roughly wovenfabrics of home manufacture, comprising in one garment all the coloursof the spectrum. 

Two or three of the long, skirt-like _sarongs_ the little woman triedon then and there, that we might get the effect of them when worn;and with her creamy skin and big, dark eyes, she looked so attractivein the barbaric colours that we could not resist telling her the Morodress was even more becoming than the European. 

She shook her head deprecatingly at this, that she might not appearcritical of our wearing-apparel, but she stroked each native garmentwistfully as if she loved it, and smiled at our approval of thepicture she made standing there in the big, sunlit room, the gailycoloured _jabuls_ scattered about her on the polished floor, and onemore gorgeous than the rest wrapped loosely around her, yet not quitehiding the European cut of her sleeve and collar. On every side stoodwomen slaves watching their mistress and her guests with amused wonder, while the little sister-in-law became more voluble than ever and toldus there were no _jabuls_ in all Mindanao so handsome as these. 

About this time the young daughter of the house was brought in andintroduced to the American visitors. She was an attractive girlof eleven, the oldest of four children, and her dark eyes shonewith suppressed excitement as she shook everybody's hand with agracious little manner, and answered our many questions in her pretty, hesitating Spanish. She was a dear little thing, and comely even froman American standpoint, with her dark eyes, thick, dark hair hangingin a braid far below her slender waist, and a faint rose tint inher dusky cheeks. She and Half-a-Woman were of a size, although thelittle Moro was full two years the older, and a very pretty picturethe children made, struggling through the medium of their imperfectSpanish to arrive at a starting-point of mutual interest--duskydaughter of the East and fair little maid of the West. 

Despite the datto's wine-forbidden code of ethics, whiskey and sodawere passed to the men, as well as fine cigars and cigarettes; and whenwe finally left it was to be followed to the launch in real ArabianNights style by two picturesque slaves carrying gifts for us all fromthe future Sultan and Sultana of Mindanao--_jabuls_ magnificentlyembroidered, hand-woven turbans, and knives with silver handles--trulyright royal gifts and charming mementos of a very charming visit. 

The next day, February 24th, we left Zamboanga for Sulu, laying cableas we went, instead of having to take soundings first, the chartsin this one instance being reliable. As it was the dark of the moon, however, we made the journey very slowly, having to anchor each nightand cut and buoy the cable to prevent its fouling. By eight o'clockevery morning the buoy was picked up, the splice made, and we wereunder way for another uninterrupted run of ten hours, which broughtus into the harbour of Sulu on the afternoon of Tuesday, February 26th. 

Chapter VIII

SULU

That popular opera "The Sultan of Sulu" has made the island of Suluone of the most-talked-of places on the map of our new possessions, but in the Philippines it is rarely called Sulu, being better known byits Moro name of Jolo, this being pronounced with the accent on thelast syllable, so that it sounds not unlike that vulgar salutationof our Western World, "Hello!"

As first seen from our quarter-deck the village of Sulu was a thingof beauty, with its vivid tints of green and gold and amethyst, itsred-sailed boats on the sunlit bay, and over all the strongly bluesky. Nor was this enchantment due entirely to distance, for on goingashore in the late afternoon, we found the town even more attractivethan we had thought it from the sea. 

On drawing up to the pier in the ship's launch, all were surprised tofind it built solidly of brick and stone, a rare departure in thesewaters, while at one side rose a round watch-tower, the architecturalevidence of Spain's ultimate victory, after numerous and heart-breakingfailures, in establishing a fort at Sulu. Above this watch-tower, whichmight have been taken bodily from the stage-setting for a melodrama, floated Old Glory against the sunset sky; Moro fishing-boats, thebreeze in their crimson sails, dotted the flushed bay; and to thenorth and east small, detached islands, tinged with a translucentpurple like the skin of a grape, faded into the horizon. 

Within the town's mediæval loopholed walls everything adds to thispicturesque effect, for the streets are laid out in broad boulevards, with here and there a park or plaza, riotous with bloom; the houses arelarge and well built, there being no nipa shacks within the four walls, and the only church of the place is refreshingly simple in design. 

During our first morning ashore we visited the market, and found it amost interesting sight. The Moros, in their parti-coloured raiment, were squatted on the ground in a great circle, buying or sellingfruits and vegetables, while under a covered shed at one end of theplaza stood those dealing in fish and crustaceans of all kinds. 

These marketmen were eminently good to look upon from an artisticstandpoint, and as they lounged around in groups or singly, onelonged to imprison them on canvas in all the gorgeousness of theirtropical colouring. One fishmonger, whom I especially remember, sported a ravishing costume, consisting of bright green trousers, skin-tight of course, a purple coat, and a high peaked hat of silver, gilt, and crimson. He might better have been in comic opera than inthe humble occupation of selling crabs and lobsters. 

The Moro women were particularly interested in the _Burnside_ femininecontingent, but not to the extent of dogging our footsteps as didthe natives elsewhere, several American women in town having helpedsatiate their curiosity. But they stared at us, nevertheless, witha deep and absorbing interest, the quartermaster's wife, as usual, being the cynosure of all eyes, because of her exceptional height andslenderness, not to mention that astounding walking-skirt, which hadapparently grown upon her, there being no visible means by which itcould be put on and off. 

It was that morning most of us saw for the first time the durian, of malodorous fame, whose taste is said to be as delicious as itssmell is overpowering. The fruit was for sale in the market at a fewpennies apiece, and had banishment from Sulu not been threatened asa punishment, I should certainly have tasted one, that I might moreaccurately describe it. 

"If you're bound to eat one of those nasty durians, " said a friendliving in the town, "please take it on the ship and have the captainanchor out farther at sea. If you attempt to open one here, you'llhave the Sanitation Committee after you hotfoot!"

So I desisted, but looked at the durians so wistfully that the Morosput them down in price to a penny apiece, evidently thinking thatmonetary considerations prohibited the purchase. 

In appearance the durian is green and prickly, about the size of asmall melon, and even through the tough outside rind one can noticea faint nauseating odour. It is said that when one is opened in themarket it takes but a few moments to clear the vicinity of Americans, while if a man be courageous enough to brave the strong smell and takea bite of the fruit, his presence will be unwelcome in polite societyfor some time thereafter; yet the durian is delightful to the palate, and would doubtless be oftener eaten did not one become so steepedin its anything but Sabean odour. 

That first morning in Sulu, after a jolly breakfast with some of ourarmy friends, a post officer took me into the Moro village of Tuli, just south of the walled town. There we visited many native house, climbing up steps made of circular logs, which were hard to navigatein shoes, and in every instance the natives greeted us with theutmost cordiality. 

In one of the tumble-down shacks near the sea we found the Sultana, Inchy Jamela, mother of the present Sultan, who had preceded her son toSulu on a little visit. She was a most repulsive old hag, blear-eyedand skinny with blackened teeth, from which the thin lips curled awayin a chronic snarl, but she rose on her elbow from the couch whereshe was reclining, and shook hands in good American fashion. Then shethrew us each a pillow, indicating that we, too, should lie down andtake it easy, but we preferred our perpendicularity, and sat uprighton the edge of her couch, this being the only article of furniturein the room. 

As the old lady could not speak Spanish, she leered at us pleasantlyfrom where she lay, occasionally muttering something in her nativetongue, that might have been a tribute to our charms of mind or person, but which sounded more like an incantation. I felt she was a veritablewitch, and at any moment expected to find myself changed into someanimal or other under the baleful light of her eyes. If she had said, "Rumpelstilzchen, rumpelstilzchen, " or any other cabalistic thingthe witches in our fairy tales used to say, I should not have beensurprised; and I tried to smile as pleasantly as I knew how, forfear she would think me bad tempered, and so change my every wordinto frogs and toads, instead of diamonds and rubies. 

After a particularly scintillating burst of silence the Sultanaoffered me some _buyo_, or betel-nut, to chew, and on my refusing it, placidly put a large hunk into her own mouth, and chewed it until thered juice stained her lips as if she were suffering from a hemorrhage. 

The dais on which she lounged was as large as a small room, and wasraised about three feet from the ground, it being covered with pillowsand hand-woven mats of straw and bamboo. Around this thronelike couchwere grouped her slaves and attendants, all armed with _barongs_and _krises_ stuck into their wide sash belts, and attired inmany-coloured garments that gave one the impression, both from fitand odour, of being on terms of long and close acquaintance with theirwearers. The inevitable naked, brown babies staggered around the room, their little stomachs, in many instances, being swelled frightfullyfrom a diet of too much rice and fish. 

When the Sultana wanted privacy a drapery of red and white stuff, hung from the ceiling, could be let down, but otherwise she wasconstantly in the presence of her slaves and retainers, having thealternative of being smothered to death in privacy or bored to deathin plenty of fresh air. We were told the Sultana was a power in theState and a diplomatist of no mean order, but it was hard to believethis in the royal presence, unwashed and unlovely as it was. Still, I remember seeing in a Philadelphia paper that some American livingin Sulu had described the Sultana as being "an agreeable, refined, and charming Oriental diplomat. " Her personality was quoted as mostattractive, "uniting a rare combination of Oriental elegance and moderngrace. " She would be, it was said, in bearing and appearance, a creditto an American drawing-room. Heaven forbid! Unless the writer possiblymeant that after due training she would grace the drawing-room in capand apron, wielding a duster in lieu of her inherited rod of empire. 

On the day of our visit, Her Majesty was attired in garments of decideddinginess, soiled and faded, with here and there an ill-made patch, or perhaps a fresh hole, like a gaping wound, in the cloth. But it issaid that on the grand occasions when she honours the post with herpresence, she is attired in a splendour before which the lilies of thefield wilt with envy. Rainbow effects predominate, and much gilt andsilver embroidery, the ravishing impression being further enhancedby a pair of white cotton mitts drawn over her bird-claw hands. Onthese occasions of state the Sultana rides into town on the back ofa slave, with another slave holding a parasol over her august head, and accompanied by several outriders, or rather outwalkers, attiredin few clothes of many colours. 

The Sultan, too, rides pickaback when he comes to town, and as it isconsidered a great privilege for a Moslem to have kissed the Sultan'shand or foot, he is often gracious enough to sit astride a slave'sshoulders in some public place, the palms of his hands and the soles ofhis bare feet obligingly outstretched, so that the thronging people cancome by fours and do homage to his state as expeditiously as possible. 

One of the officers stationed in Sulu told us of a hunting trip whichhe and several other men had taken with the Sultan and a high-rankingdatto, a royal hunt through royal preserves. To the intense amusementof the Americans, the Moros insisted on taking their respective haremswith them on the chase, and at night all slept in one large room, the three factions being separated only by curtains around raisedplatforms. 

For some time the harems and their respective lords called back andforth to each other quite audibly, until the officers, worn out withtheir day's shooting, fell asleep. About midnight the Americans wereawakened by such frightful shrieks and blood-curdling yells that eachinstinctively felt for his revolver or rifle, fearing an attack fromthe fanatical Moslems. It transpired, however, that it was only aslave girl singing the Sultan to sleep! The officer described thismusical effort as a most hideous uproar, saying that a note would beheld almost to the bursting point, the breath being regained by anagonized, strangled sob, or else a bar would be yelled explosivelybetween hissing, indrawn breaths, the effect not conforming to thelaws of harmony as understood by Europeans. 

On other hunting trips, when the Americans had been accompanied byMoro guides, great difficulty was found in procuring food suited toMohammedan restrictions, the Moros even refusing bread because theremight be lard in it, or because they had seen the soldier cooks greasethe pans with that abomination; sardines were also prohibited for fearthey had been soaked in animal fat; and bacon was of course accursed. 

The officers were in despair until one old Moro came across some cansof baked beans among the rations. Beans! Assuredly a clean vegetable, and as such to be partaken of freely. So there they sat, good Moslemsall, regaling themselves out of cans marked plainly on their gaudylabels, "_Pork and Beans_. " Moreover, they averred that the Americanarticle had an exceptionally fine Bavour, not in the least like thePhilippine variety!

So strong is the Moros' aversion to even touching pork, that whilethey will guide Americans where boar may be found, they themselveswill take no part in the sport nor help carry the game home, and evenwhen offered American prices a pound for the meat, that representingfabulous wealth to a Moro, he will not defile himself by so much asselling it. 

Mr. Dean C. Worcester, in his delightful book, "The PhilippineIslands, " gives a most interesting legend in explanation of the Moros'aversion to pork. He says he made numerous attempts in Mindanao, Basilan, and Sulu to find out the origin of this curious distaste, but without avail, until one day the minister of justice, under"his Excellency Paduca Majasari Malauna Amiril Mauinin Sultan HarunNarrasid, " committed a bibulous indiscretion, and when the vivifyingspirits were well amalgamated with his own he contributed the followingnarrative:

"Jesus Christ, called by the Moros Isa, was a man like ourselves, but great, and good, and very powerful. He was not a son of God. TheMoros hate and kill the Christians because they teach that men couldpunish and kill a son of God. 

"Mohamoud had a grandson and a grand-daughter, of whom he was veryfond. As he was king of the world, Christ came to his house tovisit him. Mohamoud, jealous of him, told him to prove his power by'divining' what he had in a certain room, where, in fact, were hisgrandchildren. Christ replied that he had no wish to prove his power, and would not 'divine' (_divinar_). Mohamoud then vowed that if hedid not answer correctly, he should pay for it with his life. Christresponded, 'You have two animals in there, different from anything elsein the world. ' Mohamoud replied, 'No, you are wrong, and I will nowkill you. ' Christ said, 'Look first, and see for yourself. ' Mohamoudopened the door, and out rushed two hogs, into which Christ hadchanged his grandchildren. 

"Moros are forbidden to tell this story to infidels, because it showsthat Christ outwitted the great prophet. When my informant soberedup and realized what he had done, he hung around day after day, beseeching me not to let any one know what he had done, from whichfact I inferred that _he thought_ he had told me the truth, and nota fable invented for the occasion. "

That first morning in Sulu, after having paid our respects tothe Sultana, we called upon the next greatest personage in town, a Hadji but lately returned from his pilgrimage to Mecca. He was amost intelligent man, with regular features, fine eyes, and a flowingbeard, impressively patriarchal. He was a priest as well as a Hadji, and, we were told, had a mighty following among the faithful. Both heand his wife were most hospitable in their manner and courteous intheir speech, she beaming toothlessly upon us throughout the call, and as we left they pressed upon me a handful of rather rare shellsas a memento of the visit. 

The small boy of the family, a youngster of seven or eight, staredat us continually from the moment of our entrance into the houseuntil our exit, seeming especially taken with the young officer; somuch so, in fact, that on our leaving, he followed us to the door, and there climbed upon a high seat, from which point of vantage heseized the young man's hand, kissed it very reverently, and thenlaid it against his forehead. This was all done so solemnly and withsuch a calm dignity that even the youngster's entire lack of raimentcould not detract from its impressiveness or the significance of theaction. It was evident that he imagined the big, blond lieutenantwas a Serif, a direct descendant of Mohammed, or perhaps even a Habi, which means a Serif who has been to Mecca, or a Hadji and Serif in one, than whom none but the Sultan is so great, so good, so omnipotent. Idared not laugh at the child's earnestness, though I had some troublein controlling my risibles, the aforesaid young officer not havinga reputation for excessive holiness. 

Long before reaching the Moro school for boys, which we next visited, we could hear the voices of the pupils in a treble uproar, for theyall and individually studied aloud, rocking back and forth in theirseats, so that at first the sound was an unintelligible jumble, which finally resolved itself into bits of the multiplication table, detached letters of the alphabet, and pages from geography or history. 

As we entered the door, the scholars looked up expectantly from theirwork, glad of an interruption, and at a sign from one of the Mohammedanteachers, they sprang to their feet with the uniformity of a machine, fairly yelling their "Good morning" at us. Fine little lads they were, all being of Moro, Chinese, or Filipino stock, with here and therea fascinating combination of the three nationalities in one. 

Of course the children were put through their paces for us, and, as each recited in turn, he would preface his remarks by a profoundbow and a little speech, the words of these formal introductionsbeing exactly alike, as if ground out by a phonograph, and beginning"Ladies and Gentlemen, " till I wondered if perhaps the children sawus double. They were not in the least abashed, these little savages, and in their quaint English recited selections from Eugene Fieldand James Whitcomb Riley, some of these efforts being in dialect, which must have been a trifle puzzling to one not acquainted withthe vagaries of the language. 

Finally an arithmetical problem on the board caught my eye, and wassurreptitiously transferred to my note-book for future reference. Itran something like this: "A poor old lady owns one thousand cents. Sheloses 189 of the cents. How many left has she?" The master, observingmy interest in the financial difficulties of the aged and destitutelady, had the little slates brought up that I might see there werestill 811 pennies to her credit. I inquired of some of the boys howmuch 811 pennies put into dollars and cents would amount to, but allwere so visibly embarrassed that I, remembering my own mathematicallytortured childhood, desisted before the schoolmaster could hear. Onleaving, the boys again jumped up as one, and shouted their unanimous"Good-bye, " and long after we were out of sight, we could hear theirhigh young voices studying aloud, each for himself, and apparentlyundisturbed by the scholastic outburst of his neighbour. 

Half a mile outside the walled garrison of Sulu, to the west, is astrong outpost built of stone, and still farther out yet another. Theseoutposts are always occupied by American soldiers, not originallybecause of any expected trouble with the Moros, but because if ourmen did not occupy them the Moros would, thus giving them an almostinvincible stronghold against us in case of some sudden fanaticaluprising. Among the Moros, as in Granada, "Love laughs with a gripon the knife, " and preparedness is as essential as good government. 

Near these outposts may be seen some very fine kitchen gardens, kept by the frugal Celestial, the Chinaman of Sulu being much moreenergetic commercially than the Moro. It is from the "Chino" theAmerican housewife buys her fresh fruits and vegetables, while theMoros bring in fish and the Filipinos chicken and game, thus ensuringa well-stocked larder independent of the supply-ships from Manila. Infact, so delightful a place is Sulu, that if fever were not prevalentthere at some seasons of the year, it would be a veritable Paradise;but even the sanitary measures taken by the great Spanish GeneralArolas have not quite stamped out that scourge to white men, whichlong made Sulu the most undesirable military station in the islands. 

Everybody in the Philippines knows the story of General Arolas, andof how, at the close of a brief republican administration in Spain, hewas practically banished to Sulu, there to die by fever or be killed bythe Moros. But Arolas, instead of settling down into an inactive lifeawaiting what seemed the inevitable, occupied himself in building upthe town, fortifying it strongly, and at the same time making it morebeautiful by laying it out in broad streets and avenues, interspersedat regular intervals with flowering squares and plazas. By drainingthese streets well, building water-works, and establishing a fine newmarket, he changed its reputation as a fever hole and made Sulu one ofthe most desirable stations in the south. By his relentless attitudehe gained the respect and fear of the Moros, and only once during hisadministration did a fanatical _Juramentado_ gain access to the town. 

But Arolas was probably less popular with the Mohammedans than wasthe American officer in command at the time of our visit. Indeed, he had been _legally_ adopted by the royal family, the fierce oldSultana calling him "Brother, " and the Sultan referring to him as"Papa, " while a greater proof of their affection may be found in thisextract of a letter written to General MacArthur on the Moros beingtold that they were soon to lose their first American governor. 

" ... I hereby bring to your notice that I have heard that our father, Major Sweet, Governor of Jolo, will be taken away from us. This isthe reason of my writing to you, because you are the parent of theMoro people, and it is known to us that you will always do your bestfor us, as you have done hitherto. Therefore, I beg to you anyhowfor the present not to remove Major Sweet from here, as he has beenvery good to us, and he is very well known to everybody. He is likea parent to us Moro people. It will be just like a child who is leftby his parents; he will fret and be longing for the one he loves;the Moro people are the same way. Even if somebody else would come, it would not be the same, as he would be unknown; he will be anotherman for that reason. To tell the truth, our father, Major Sweet, has opened our eyes; he has been the man to show us the right wayto come up to the white man's ideas, and there are many cases wherehe has shown us his good-will. Therefore, I, the Sultan of the JoloArchipelago, am seeking that whatever is good for my people. It ismy sincerest wish that my country should go ahead. 

"Since Major Sweet, our father, has been in command of JoloArchipelago, no disturbance of any description has occurred; the reasonis, that he has taken great interest in our country and its people. Hewas the man who saw our poverty, our incapability of paying customsduties, as more than one calamity has befallen our islands; therefore, we thank him and we trust him, although not knowing what he will do inthe future, if it will change or not. Therefore, I and my people askyou to consider the removal of Major Sweet, we ask you to leave himhere; we would like him to teach us the customs of the white people. "

This, signed by the Sultan himself, is surely documentary evidenceof successful American administration with the Mohammedans, who werecounted by the Spaniards as quite ungovernable. 

Socially, we found Sulu delightful, and in our few days there hadmany pleasant dinners both on and off the ship, a little dance at theclub-house, and a tennis tea. The women all wore pretty frocks, theirhouses were charming, and their servants as well trained as if theywere living anywhere but on a dot of an island in the Sulu Sea. All ofwhich goes to show what American women can do in all circumstances, especially army women. It was often hard to realize, while in Sulu, that just outside the house which encompassed our little civilization, barbarism lurked, but through the open windows one could see the Morosin their picturesque colours, the more soberly dressed Filipinos, and the thrifty Chinamen, with their long queues twisted up undertheir flat straw hats, while bits of conversation in all three tonguesdrifted in and mingled with our talk, as foreign to the American earas was the tropical foliage to the American eye. 

Of course we bought all sorts of curios before sailing, embroideredturbans, _sarongs_, _jabuls_, handsome _krises, _ chow-covers ofbeautifully coloured straw, and hats of every variety, while one day, as an experiment in shopping, I bargained for a Moro slave, a handsome, black-eyed boy, but as he could not be purchased for less than tendollars gold, I informed his owner that he was too expensive. Thistransaction was carried on with great seriousness by the elderlyMohammedan, while the youngster himself showed great interest in theproceedings, and looked a little disappointed when he found he wasnot to belong to the _Americana_ after all. 

Slave-raiding has of course been forbidden since American occupation, but the authorities have not yet been able to entirely do away withslave-trading, polygamy, nor other like peccadilloes, religioustoleration being the password to the ultimate civilization of ournew citizens. 

Meanwhile the Signal Corps had entrenched the cable, and connected itby a short land line with the telegraph office, which was establishedin short order, everything being in perfect condition for the returntrip to Zamboanga by the afternoon of the 28th. At daybreak on thefollowing morning, we sailed for Zamboanga, only to find ordersawaiting us there to proceed at once on a wrecking expedition toBongao, on Bongao Island of the Tawi Tawi group, a small launch, the _Maud_, being foundered there on a coral reef. Thus were wehoist by our own petard, for over the cable just laid came the orderpostponing our return to Manila; but as it meant yet another chapterin a delightful experience, few of us were averse to that. 

So, between nine and ten o'clock that night, we sailed for Tawi Tawi, passing east of Basilan and Sulu. The ship, relieved of nearly allits cable, rolled a great deal, both on our way up from Sulu and thatfirst night out from Zamboanga, but on the two succeeding days theweather was calm, the air cool, and the "Sultan's Sea" a giganticmirror reflecting every cloud in the sky on its glassy surface. Allon board were idle then, and every steamer chair on the quarter-deckwas occupied. 

On the first day out we saw no land at all, but the second day manycoral groups appeared to the east and south of Bongao. Among otherswere Manuk Manuk, surely a name to conjure with! Then there wasalso Balambing, which on our ship chart was marked PIRATES! Think ofsailing piratical seas in this prosaic twentieth century! We watchedeagerly along the coast of Balambing, to which we passed very close, for possible crafts bearing black flags, and were rather disappointedat not seeing even one bearded highwayman of the sea, a gleamingknife between his teeth, his red shirt open at the throat, for, ifI remember rightly, it was so that pirates were always drawn in theyellow-covered interdicted literature of childhood. 

These southern waters were bluer than any we had seen on the trip, excepting over coral reefs, where the blue changed suddenly to aglittering iridescent green, sparkling and treacherous. This coral iseminently American in its habit of expansion, and has spread itselfwell over the southwest portion of the Celebes Sea. 

Finally Tawi Tawi itself appeared on the horizon, and we recalledthat deep in its heart, surrounded by vast forests and jungles, the faintly discernible ruins of Dungon exist, the ruins themselvescovered by tremendous growths of trees. This was the ancient capitalof the Moros, and there lie the remains of the first Arab Sultan, that fierce old missionary who brought the Koran in one hand and a_kris_ in the other to spread the light of Islam. That his convertswere many and their faith was strong and sure is attested by theuniversality of Mohammedanism in these southern islands, and theexclusive use of the Arabic characters in the writing of the people. 

On the afternoon of March 3d, we anchored off Bongao. On our portside, and well forward, lay the wrecked _Maud_ nearly filled withwater. Altogether she was in a deplorable condition, but in a few dayswas raised by the combined efforts of our first officer, his crew, and the soldiers of the fort. Meanwhile, we were all idlers on the_Burnside_, and in consequence enjoyed our visit there to the utmost. 

Chapter IX

BONGAO

Despite the fact of its remoteness from civilization, or perhapsbecause of it, we found Bongao most attractive. Situated on a dot ofan island belonging to the Tawi Tawi group, it is the southernmostpart of our new possessions to be garrisoned. West of it Borneolooms up on the horizon, and to the south is Sibutu, for which Spainwas paid a good round sum because certain gentlemen on the ParisCommission lacked geographic accuracy; while to the east and northare coral islands belonging to the same group as Bongao. The garrisonis situated on a mountainous spur of land running down steeply to thewater. It is laid out like a park, the soldiers' quarters, hospital, library, and storehouses being of bamboo and nipa, over which themen have trained vines and creeping plants, while before each doorbloom beds of bright flowers. 

The officers' quarters are built higher up on a wind-swept slopeoverlooking the bay, where it curves around the point of the island, and while these houses are picturesque from the outside, they areroughly finished within, the "banquet-hall, " as they dignified themess, being especially _al fresco_. Over the extemporized sideboard, consisting of some rude shelves, on which were piled a heterogeneouscollection of tinned fruits and vegetables, hung a motto which read"God Bless our Home. If you don't like it, get out!" On the reverseside of this somewhat suggestive placard was the pleasing gastronomicintelligence, "Chicken to-day, " chicken forming the staple of dietat Bongao, as of course fresh meat is to be had only at the rarestintervals. 

For six months at a stretch the monsoon blows across the coralpeninsula in one direction, and then changes and blows six months inthe opposite quarter, so that, as an officer stationed there remarked, one could take his choice and be blown off to the crocodiles in thebay or to the sharks in the sea outside. This high wind moderatesthe climate perceptibly, however, and notwithstanding the fact thatBongao is situated within five degrees of the equator, we found itexceptionally cool, and the officers and men in splendid physicalcondition. 

There was but one company of infantry stationed at Bongao when wewere there, comprising perhaps fifty men and three officers. Becauseof the two hundred miles of treacherous ocean between him and higherauthority, the young captain acting as military governor was, so tospeak, a small Czar, and he ruled an unique kingdom, untouched bycivilization, and peopled entirely by ex-pirates or the descendantsof pirates. 

The official letter-book of this functionary, at which he allowedus to peep, read like a story of adventure, while some of his ownpersonal experiences, and those of the former commanding officer, seem almost incredible when away from the glamour of the place. In thepost records, sandwiched between such mundane things as requisitionsfor water-buckets or commissary supplies, one would read of atrociousmurders committed by the Moros; piratical expeditions headed off, and their instigators punished; or attempted slave-raids against someneighbouring island. 

Under the date of February 21, 1900, a thrilling story was told, itbeing the official and unvarnished account of a disastrous hunting triptaken by five of the post soldiers, the dispassionate routine languagebut giving it verisimilitude; while the subsequent happenings serveto show what kind of government seems most to appeal to these people. 

The story, as nearly as I can remember it, reads that five of thegarrison soldiers were given permission to go to a neighbouringisland of the Tawi Tawi group on a hunting expedition after wildboar. Relations with the Moros on that island having been, at least, nominally friendly, there was not the slightest hesitation in grantingthe soldiers' request, particularly as there had been no fresh meatin the garrison for some time. 

The men left in a rowboat and spent the first few hours in Balambing, an ex-pirate community, where they were entertained in the bestMoro fashion, leaving amidst mutual expressions of regret andgood-will. The Moros' love for firearms is well known, and about tenof them were so taken with the soldiers' rifles that they accompaniedthe party, ostensibly to act as guides, but in reality to witnessthe sport. Delayed by a strong tide running to windward, they campedthat night on a lonely beach, both Americans and Moros in the bestpossible humour. 

After a supper cooked over the camp-fire, all the soldiers, with theexception of one man who was preparing for bed, indulged in a gameof cards, the Moros watching the proceeding with apparent interest, but talking a great deal among themselves. Each soldier had his Kragon the ground beside him in case of danger, the rifle of the man whowas undressing being in a far corner of the room. 

Suddenly, at a word from their leader, the Moros seized their wicked_barongs_ and simultaneously attacked the men playing cards, beheadingone poor fellow at a single blow, and fearfully cutting the threeothers. One died almost immediately, and the second fell unconscious, while the third, who was cut across the side of the head and neck, feigned death and so escaped with his life. 

The soldier who was partly undressed, seeing that he could not reachhis rifle, felt it was only a matter of seconds before his turn shouldcome. But the Moros, having obtained all the firearms, escaped intothe forest, leaving him unharmed. As hastily as possible, he liftedthe still unconscious man into the boat, which had been hidden in thebushes against just such an emergency, the wounded soldier who hadfeigned death helping with all his little strength, though he was sogrievously hurt that he had literally to hold on his head with hishands, the cords on one side of his neck being severed. Fortunately, the jugular vein escaped the keen knife's edge, else he would nothave been alive; but it was with no little difficulty he helped theunwounded man push off from shore. 

All night they rowed, the wounded man working with one hand, despitehis fearful suffering, and all the next day, the blazing tropic sunshining down on their unprotected heads. Once they were beached on acoral reef, and it was all they could do to get the boat off againinto deep water. Meanwhile the third soldier died, but at last thesurvivors of the massacre, in a pitiable condition, reached the post, carrying between them the already putrefying corpse of their comrade. 

Scarce waiting to hear their gruesome story, the commanding officer andmost of his company put off in _bancas_ for Balambing, the unwoundedman accompanying them for the purpose of identification. Arrivinglate in the afternoon, the soldiers quickly surrounded the town beforeany Moro could escape in his _prau_, and the rapidity with which thePhilippine Mohammedan can drop from his house, built on poles overthe water, and paddle away is little less than miraculous. 

The head men of the village were then summoned by the American captainand ordered to hand over the murderers and the stolen rifles, or leadthe way to the hiding-place of the criminals before eight o'clock ofthe following morning, the penalty for their disobedience being theburning of the town. 

That night numerous lights and the sound of voices in the villagetestified to the earnest discussion that was proceeding, and atdaybreak six of the offenders were delivered into American hands, thesurvivor of the outrage testifying to their identity; but the captainwas not satisfied and consulted his watch so impatiently as eighto'clock approached that the head men, after much consultation amongthemselves, finally led the way to where the others were concealedalong with the captured rifles. 

Here the ten prisoners were rounded up and preparations made forthe return to Bongao, when suddenly a simultaneous break for libertywas attempted, and the Moros had a lesson in the deadly aim of theAmerican soldier, for a fearful fusilade was opened on them at shortrange, and not a prisoner escaped. 

To one unacquainted with the Moros, this swift and sure vengeancewould seem sufficient to cause the relatives of the dead men to hateAmericans and plan blood feuds in retaliation; but it was not so, forthey recognized perfectly the wrong that had been done, and acceptedthe death of their kinsmen as well merited, while any regret theymay have felt was at the unlucky turn of fate which put them intothe hands of justice. Being captured, it was inconceivable to aMoro that the offenders should be spared, and the break for libertywas doubtless induced by the belief that at the worst they merelyadvanced the day of execution. For had they not killed, and whatis quite as bad in the Moro code of ethics, stolen? No punishmentfollowing this outrage, the Moros would have looked on the Americansas white-livered, cowardly, pusillanimous, and that first crime woulddoubtless have been succeeded by raids on the town, and massacres, and feuds, which only a bloody war could have ended. 

As a result of his prompt action, this very efficient young officerhad the satisfaction of knowing that the cordial relations with thecitizens of Balambing rested on a new and more secure foundation thanever before. That no ill-will is harboured against the Americans maybe seen by the large crowd of Balambing natives who weekly markettheir wares at Bongao, and the invariable respect shown by them tothe uniform. Americans go freely without arms all over the island. Intruth, it is asserted by different head men that the first attackwould never have been made on the soldiery had it not been for therifles they carried. Human life is cheap among the Moros, and theinconvenience of that life standing between them and what they wantis soon remedied by a _barong_, unless fear of punishment, promptand pitiless, stares them in the face. 

From Balambing of bloody memory comes a Moro love story of someinterest and no little humour. It appears that a rich woman therefell in love with a handsome young slave belonging to a man in aneighbouring town. After some difficulty she effected his purchaseand married him, despite the fact of his being so far beneath her inthe social scale. Not long after this the happy couple went to Bongaoon a market-day. The lady, being an inveterate gambler, repaired atonce to the cockpit, where she lost so heavily that her remainingfunds were inadequate for the return trip to Balambing. Then a happyidea struck her. Why not pawn her husband, awaiting her next visitto Bongao, for although she was married to him, he was still a slavein the eyes of the law, and she could redeem him at her pleasure. 

Acting on this happy inspiration, she sought an audience with theGovernor, explaining through the interpreter her predicament, andoffering her husband as a security for the loan of two hundred andfifty dollars, gold. The Governor, being a bachelor, was skeptical asto this marital transaction, especially as the couple had been weddedbeyond the traditional honeymoon. He was afraid that he might havethe bridegroom permanently upon his hands did he advance so great asum. This was made plain to the bride, who protested that life wouldbe quite unendurable without her liege lord, or more properly speaking, in this case, liege subject; but the Governor was unrelenting. 

How the lady finally managed to reach Balambing is not told. Perhapssome trusting Moro accepted the risk of the marital loan. Perhapsshe induced the owner of a _prau_ to row her across. However thedistance was accomplished, it is to be hoped she was less recklessin her subsequent gambling, a husband having proved so bad a hostage. 

Another love story of different import comes from a village on theisland of Siminor, just south of Bongao. There, it is said, lives anold Moro who so loved his wife, and strange to say, in this polygamouscommunity, his only wife, that when she died he watched her gravelong beyond the appointed time, after which he had his house builtover her burial-place, and there lives to this day, still faithfulto the mouldering bones beneath him. Surely a proof that great lovesometimes stirs even savage breasts. Considering the environment, for this man lives in a country where polygamy is not only recognizedbut encouraged, and where women are bought and sold by the pound, like so much meat, his love is on a par with the idyllic attachmentsof history and fiction. 

Speaking of buying and selling women among the Moros, reminds me of anold Maharajah in Bongao who had never seen an American woman until thearrival of the _Burnside_. Of course all white women are consideredvery beautiful by these dusky savages, an evidence of how much theyadmire Europeans being found in the fact that they firmly believe inthe Sultan's Seventh Heaven all the wives of his harem will have whiteskins. Noticing the Maharajah's absorbed interest in our appearance, the Governor, to our intense disgust, insisted upon asking the oldfellow what he thought the quartermaster's wife should be worthin dollars and cents. The toothless Maharajah took it all quiteseriously, looked at the lady in question with much discrimination, pulled at his wisp of a billy-goat beard in contemplative silence, and after some minutes of deep thought replied that she should beworth about a hundred dollars, Mexican, an abnormally large amount, as Moro women seldom average over forty dollars, Mexican, apiece. 

Then the irrepressible young man turned to me, asking at what theMaharajah thought I should be valued. Without a moment's hesitation, the old sinner, to my chagrin and the uproarious delight of the wholeparty, appraised me at only eighty dollars, Mexican, and this despitethe fact that I had smiled my pleasantest, in the hope that he wouldrate me at least as high as the quartermaster's wife. 

Datto Sakilon, whom we met next day, proved more diplomatic, forwhen asked what he thought we women should be worth in the Mohammedanmarket, replied that it was impossible to tell, because if Moro womencould be bought for forty dollars apiece, an American woman shouldbe worth at least a thousand. Not bad repartee for a barbarian! Inreturn for his consideration, I must admit that he was the best dressedMoro we saw in Bongao. On the day in question he wore a suit of graydrill, made with the conventional tight trousers and vest-like coat, broken out at regular intervals in an eruptive fever of gorgeouslycoloured embroidery. A fez topped off this costume and added to itspicturesqueness, while clumsy tan shoes of undeniable American makewell-nigh ruined the whole effect. 

Balbriggan undershirts, hideously utilitarian, are much worn by theseMoros of Bongao in lieu of the skin-tight gaily coloured jacket, which combines so effectively with the snug trousers buttoned up theside with gold or silver buttons, and the bright turban or scarletfez. But fancy the shock to one's æstheticism at seeing coarsebalbriggan allied to barbaric splendour. The Moros really looked moreundressed so attired than if they had appeared without any coat atall, but they thought these shirts very elegant, and would buy themof the soldiers at every opportunity. 

The women's dress in Bongao, unlike that of northern Moros, is moretypical than the men's, and shows an even greater variety of colour, but because of their blackened teeth, which are often filed to an archin front, these women, as a rule, are anything but pretty. Their hairis nearly always fringed over the forehead and temples, while at theback it is drawn into a knot, from which one end invariably straggles, giving a most untidy effect. The wealthier women wear their fingernails very long, in some instances almost as long as the fingeritself, and often this nail is protected by an artificial shieldof silver. All the women have their ears pierced, and many of themwear a round bone or stick, resembling a cigarette in shape and size, thrust through the aperture. Altogether they are as unlike Europeanwomen as one could well imagine, and I do not blame the Sultan forlooking forward to white wives in the hereafter, though I hope thecelestial harem won't have to blacken its teeth!

There was one beauty in Bongao, however, a slave girl of eighteen, so graceful and lithe that her every attitude suggested a bird justalighted for an instant from a flight through space. Her dark eyeswere fringed by the longest of black lashes, and even her stainedteeth could not detract from the curves of her pretty mouth. She hada self-satisfied consciousness of her own attractions, and was asimperious and overbearing as any American beauty, stamping her tinyfoot in rage at our photographer's lack of haste in taking her picture, and once walking away from the camera with a disdainful toss of herhead. When, after much persuasion, she was finally induced to return, it was only to scowl sullenly at everybody with the most bewitchingill temper, poised so lightly that the very wind seemed to sway herslender figure back and forth like a flower on its stalk. 

We called her the Belle of Bongao, and said all manner of nice thingsabout her, which she repaid with a bold stare from under thosewonderful lashes, and a contemptuous manner which said as plainlyas words that American women were not much to look at, what withtheir ugly clothes and still uglier faces. She was glad she wasn't solarge and clumsy, and that her teeth weren't white, nor her throat allscrewed up in high bandages, and she smiled a little as she thought ofher own attractions, for the Belle of Bongao had not learned she wasa beauty for nought; and then, too, had she not cost eighty dollars, Mexican, the highest price ever paid in Tawi Tawi for a slave? Smallwonder the little beauty rated her charms high. 

It was in Bongao we first made the acquaintance of Toolawee, thechief _vigilante_ of Sulu. It seems this personage had been sent tothe Tawi Tawi Islands as pilot of the launch _Maud_, which, underhis careful seamanship, was then lying high and dry on a coral reefwithin sight of the little garrison. Pirate under Spanish régime, chief of police under American administration, Toolawee is knownto fame throughout the archipelago, though perhaps most of hisreputation depends upon Mr. Worcester's delightful account of himin "The Philippine Islands. " As all may remember, Toolawee actedin the capacity of guide, philosopher, and friend to Mr. Worcesterand Doctor Bourns on their second visit to Sulu, many moons beforeour occupation of the place. Toolawee was at that time acting as"minister of war" to the nominal Sultan, having for reasons of hisown become a renegade. Mr. Worcester says of him:

"A Moro by birth and training, he had thrown in his lot with theSpaniards. As a slight safeguard against possible backsliding, hewas allowed a fine house _within the walls_, where he kept severalwives and some forty slaves. Arolas reasoned that, rather than loseso extensive an establishment, he would behave himself. Later we hadreason for believing that the precaution was a wise one.... 

"He was considered a 'good' Moro, and we were therefore interestedin several incidents which gave us some insight into his realcharacter. After satisfying himself that we could use our rifles witheffect, he made us a rather startling business proposition as follows:'You gentlemen seem to shoot quite well with the rifle. ' 'Yes, wehave had some experience. ' 'You say that you wish to get samples ofthe clothing and arms of my people for your collection?' 'Yes, wehope to do so. ' 'Papa' (the Moros' name for their governor-general)'told you if you met armed Moros outside the town to order them tolay down their weapons and retire?' 'Yes. ' 'Papa does not understandmy people as I do. They are _all_ bad. When we meet them, do not askthem to lay down their arms, for they will come back and get them, and probably attack us; just shoot as many of them as you can. Youcan take their weapons and clothing, while I will cut off their heads, shave their eyebrows, show them to papa, _and claim reward for killingJuramentados_. ' Toolawee never really forgave us for refusing toenter into partnership with him on this very liberal basis. 

"Just before our final departure from Sulu, he presented himself beforeme and remarked, 'Señor, I want to buy your rifle. ' 'But, Toolawee, 'I replied, 'you do damage enough with the one you have; what do youwant of mine?' 'My rifle is good enough to kill _people_ with, butI want yours for another purpose, ' my good Moro made answer. Pressedfor details, he confided to me that he had heard 'papa' was soon goingback to Spain, and, after the governor left, he should be '_afuera_'_i. E. _ offshore, waiting for victims. He explained that he neverfired at the people in a canoe, but shot holes in the boat itself, sothat it would fill with water. The bamboo outriggers, with which allPhilippine boats are provided, would serve to keep it from actuallysinking, and the occupants, being up to their chins in water, couldeasily be despatched with the _barong_, thus economizing ammunition;and he added, 'My rifle makes but a small hole in one side of a canoe, senor, while yours would make a much larger one, and the ball wouldgo clear through. ' Toolawee was nothing if not practical. "

While in Bongao, a Moro dance was given in our honour at the houseof the governor's interpreter, a German, who at the time was away ona business trip. His wife, a plump and jolly matron of Moro descent, did the honours, and smiled her good-natured, indiscriminating smileon one and all, shaking each cordially by the hand and indicatingwhere we should sit by many motions of her fat, brown wrists andmany shrugs of her still fatter shoulders. Unlike other Moro women, our hostess's hair was neatly arranged, her teeth were beautifullywhite, and her costume, which consisted of a nondescript skirt andloose dressing sacque, much affected by Spanish women throughout theislands, was daintily clean. 

The other occupants of the big room were Moro--unadulteratedMoro--fifty or sixty of them, all in gala dress, the women squattedon the floor, the men leaning against the side of the house, and allstaring with unabashed interest in our direction, while we staredback at them quite as interested. 

Every man there was armed with at least a _barong_ stuck into his broadsash, and many of them boasted a _kris_ and _campilan_ as well, whilethe brilliant colours of their costumes, and the still more gaudy_sarongs_ of the women, made them resemble a gathering of strangetropic birds, our European apparel looking singularly dull and soberbeside their scarlets, greens, and purples. Over this strange sceneflickered the dim light of cocoanut-oil lamps, and outside a showerbeat softly against the trees, and the moon looked down at us whitelyfrom a cloudy sky. 

Presently a weird noise broke in upon our conversation. The orchestrahad begun to play. Now, Moro music is strangely unrhythmical toEuropean ears, consisting as it does of a monotonous reiteration ofsound, even a supposed change of air being almost imperceptible toone unaccustomed to the barbarous lack of tone. The Moro piano is awooden frame, shaped like the runners of a child's sled, on which arebalanced small kettle-drums by means of cords and sticks. These morenearly resemble pots for the kitchen range than musical instruments, but each is roughly tuned, forming the eight notes of the scale. Women, crouching on the ground before this instrument, beat out of it awailing sound with shaped sticks, while on larger kettle-drums, hungby ropes from a wooden railing at one side, two men accompanied the"piano, " an old woman in the background drumming out an independentair of her own on an empty tin pan. 

Meanwhile the dancing had begun, or rather the posturing of the body, for the feet and legs are used but little in the Moro dances, whichconsist principally of moving the body and arms rhythmically and tomusic, the wrists always leading gracefully. 

Among the women this attitudinizing was very pretty, the banglestinkling on their round arms, while the _sarong_ half-revealed, half-concealed the curves of their figures. Most of them danced withtheir heads turned away, but whenever the evolutions of their measuredstep brought them face to face with us, they would hold up the _sarong_so that it concealed all but the eyes, evidently a survival of the_yashmak_, for Moro women do not hide their faces at all times fromthe gaze of men, as do the women of India. 

When the men danced it was far less graceful, and at times borderedon the grotesque. They contorted and twisted themselves out of allsemblance to the human body; they made their abdominal muscles riseand fall with the music; they seemed at times to put the body out ofjoint, and then reset it properly with jerks and jumps and suddenfierce movements; they twitched, and twisted, and twirled, hardlymoving their feet from the floor. 

Then came sword-dances with naked blades, when some young Moroadvanced and retreated, leaped high in the air, or crouched on theground, waving his _barong_ or _kris_ aloft, now retreating, nowcoming uncomfortably close to the little party of unarmed Americans, the flickering light gleaming redly on the glittering knife, andreminding one, with a horrid insistence, that the time and place wereideal for a wholesale slaughter. 

As the necessities of the dance took the last of these lithe youthsfarther away, I must confess to a feeling of relief, which mounted toa nervous joy when, after apparently slaying his enemy and grinding himunder heel, the dancing combatant gave place to a chubby youngster whostamped, and twirled, and gestured himself into our very hearts. Thisbaby, for he could not have been over four years old, was also a primefavourite with the Moros, who yelled out their delight at his prowess, and even clapped their hands and jumped about in their enthusiasm. Butthe baby was stoically calm, and moved not a muscle of his littleround face in response to their greetings. 

Then came the old Maharajah, who had set his price on the Americanwomen. Wrinkled, white-haired, and toothless, he danced amidstgreat applause; and after him a tiny girl posed most picturesquely, throwing out her plump, dimpled wrists, on which twinkled innumerablebangles. Waving each wrist in turn, the little maid would fasten uponit a serious gaze, as if she were a snake-charmer and each arm wasa serpent, her hand representing the head, which waved ever back andforth restlessly and in time to the strange music. 

Before leaving, a mock marriage was performed for our benefit by theone-eyed Pandita. As is the custom at such times, all the Moro women, including the bride, who is never present at her own wedding, werehidden behind an extemporized curtain. On the ground before thiscurtain sat the Pandita and the prospective bridegroom, the baresoles of their feet touching and their hands closely clasped beneathan enshrouding cloth. The Pandita then chanted or intoned a service, the bridegroom occasionally joining in, and not infrequently someoutsider introduced a facetious expression or joke, which was greetedwith uproarious delight by the others, the Moro sense of humour beingapparently well developed. 

Of course, the mock marriage ended here, but we were told that at thispoint of the service in a real wedding the groom would go behind thecurtain and seize his bride, who was supposed to struggle violently toescape. She would then be carried to the groom's house, and for threedays the feasting and merry making would continue--for everyone but thehappy pair, as according to custom, the bride must quarrel violentlyduring this time with the groom, and not allow him to come near her, though when he finally leaves her alone, she must bitterly weep andlament. At the expiration of the three days, this charming state ofaffairs is discontinued, and they are considered legally married, and thereafter may be as happy as they are capable of being. 

On leaving the interpreter's house to walk back to the ship's boat, we were lighted by a misty moon which gave the effect of twilight, and in our half lethargic state could hardly be sure that what we hadseen that evening was not, after all, a dream or a strange hypnoticmemory--the dancing Maharajah, the Pandita performing the marriageceremony, the terrible sword-dance, and the little snake-charmerfascinating her own plump hands! Was it possible such things hadoccurred in the twentieth century and on American soil?

Chapter X

TAMPAKAN AND THE HOME STRETCH

Our last day in Bongao the Governor secured a little pearling launch, the _Hilda_, and took several of the _Burnside_ people on a jauntto the island of Siminor, as it is written on the map, or Siminol, as it is called by the natives. Siminol is about ten miles south ofBongao, and our destination was the town of Tampakan. It was a misty, moisty afternoon, with a sharp salt smell to the air, and through thehaze distant mountains loomed spectre-like, or else melted into blueclouds on the horizon. 

After a two hours' run, during which the _Hilda_ wheezed and puffedlike a fat old woman in a tight frock, we reached Tampakan, andanchored as near the shore as was practicable, blowing our whistleto attract the attention of the villagers. In a few moments several_praus_ and _bancas_ were poled out to the ship by a motley array ofhalf-clad Moros, big, brown, lithe fellows, each with a turban orfez topping off his black hair, and all armed with a goodly arrayof sharp knives. Over the side of the launch they swarmed, talkingexcitedly with our interpreter, the chief _vigilante_ of Bongao, andreminding one strongly of their piratical forebears. Many of thesevery men had been pirates in Spanish days, and not one of them butwas a descendant of some marauder of the high seas. 

The three hundred yards that we had to be poled to shore from the_Hilda_ was through water not more than three feet deep, and over abed of pink and white coral, which could be plainly seen through thecrystal clearness. At low tide one can walk out over this submarinebeach, but the Moros say that the rocks, seaweed, and coral lose muchof their beauty when not seen through a lens of water. At the timeof our visit it was such high tide that even with the native _praus_and the little rowboat from the launch, we were unable to make a goodlanding, so the men jumped ashore in imminent danger of a wetting, while we women were carried, one by one, through the surf. 

A villainous looking gentleman, whose costume consisted of skin-tightMoro trousers and an American bath towel, was introduced by ourhost as the head man of the town, and he shook hands all around, quite solemnly and conscientiously, as if it had been a religiousrite imported to Tawi Tawi by these strange white people. 

Meanwhile the entire male population of the place gathered about us, and we found them in very truth a murderous looking lot, armed tothe teeth with _barongs_ and _krises_ and _campilans_, while noneof us had any visible means of self-protection. There were a fewpocket revolvers, however, hidden under the officers' blouses, andwell hidden, the Governor having warned us to take no arms of anydescription to Tampakan, for while money would have been no temptationto these people, they would not have hesitated long to kill one fora Krag rifle or a Colt revolver. 

After the head man had religiously shaken every newcomer's hand, our officers began bargaining with him and with his people for theirknives, and the crowd of men around us grew every moment greater, with not a woman in sight. There were men in complete Moro costume, handsome and picturesque; others ruining their appearance by theaddition of a hideous balbriggan undershirt, sandwiched between tighttrousers with innumerable buttons and a brilliantly coloured turban;while still others, in little else than a fez and breech-clout, seemed not a whit abashed. The children were either quite naked, orwrapped in _sarongs_, faded by the sun and weather to a dull harmonyof their once too brilliant reds and greens. 

Finally on the outskirts of the crowd I caught a glimpse of threeMoro women, and forced my way to them, shaking hands and smiling asaffably as possible. They shook hands in return, rather awkwardly, but answered smile with smile, talking excitedly in their nativetongue, and seeming surprised that I could speak only a word or twoof Malay, without doubt a more agreeable language than that harshand unintelligible one in which the white officers were bargainingfor _barongs_ and _krises_. 

Over the stone fortification a short distance away I had a glimpse oftree tops and the steep, slanting roofs of nipa houses, while at thegate stood still another group of women, most of them dressed fromthe waist to the knees only. Motioning my three friends to follow, I approached these women, whereupon they took fright and hid behindthe nearest house. That is, all but one old crone, too feeble to run, who tremblingly awaited her fate until, reassured by the manner ofthose I had talked to outside the wall, she lifted up her voice involuble Malay, evidently telling the others that the strange creatureneither bit nor scratched, whereat they all came back, first slowlyby ones and twos, and then more rapidly, until they stood around mein a ring at least twenty deep. 

As women have a language of their own the world over, we understoodeach other quickly; and how friendly they were, and how delightedwith my clothes and all the little accessories, the hat, the veil, the belt, the collar. Next they were amazed at my teeth, and pointedto their own blackened ones, and then to mine, pushing forward littlegirls under ten to show that only children should have white teeth, while I, despite my extreme age, still sported such evidences ofyouth. Was it possible I considered myself a child? Or was I youngerthan I looked? Next my skin was marvelled at, and they took my handsin theirs and shouted with good-natured laughter at the differencein colour between us, for despite two and a half years of tropic tan, my skin, compared with theirs, was very light. 

Before I realized what they were doing, they had unbuttoned the cuffof my shirt-waist and pushed the sleeve a little way up my arm, evidently anxious to see if I were white all over, while at thesame moment a small girl of twelve, married or of marriageable age, as one could tell from her stained teeth, knelt down on the groundat my feet and was apparently examining my shoes. 

Suddenly she gave a startled cry, and before I could prevent her, lifted my skirt and petticoat to the ankle, revealing a small expanseof black lisle thread stocking. For a moment there was an intensesilence, followed by a low murmur of astonishment, which soon grewinto a veritable roar of displeasure, and the women no longer beamedapprovingly, but gathered together on one side, regarding me withgreat disfavour. 

I was dumfounded at this sudden change of manner, and could notaccount for it in any way, until I saw some of the blackest among thempointing to their own bare legs with apparent pride, and then turningscornfully and motioning in my direction. Did they object to my wearingstockings? Or was it possible they had mistaken the stockings for skin?

Acting on this very improbable suggestion, I demonstrated that theblack outside covering could easily be peeled off, whereupon there wasgreat amazement, and once again the women crowded around in deifyingadulation. They had thought their American idol had worse than clayfeet, that the feet were black, blacker even than their own duskyskins, and their relief was obvious at finding the dark flesh but aclose fitting covering. 

So it was I was again restored to favour, and the women with swift, shy gestures fingered my dress and hat, my army belt, and the red silkhandkerchief at the throat of my sailor collar, saying, "Mariloa, mariloa" over and over, which in their tongue means "pretty" or"good, " depending on how it is used. 

They laughed at my shoes, spreading out their flexible toes thatI might see how much more comfortable feet were unshod, and thenpointed to their hands, indicating that it were quite as sensibleto wear shoes there as on the feet, which made me sorry some of ushad not worn gloves. Also I was much amused to notice that afterbiting even so lightly of the fruit of knowledge, most of the womenabout me had drawn up the folds of the _sarongs_, tied so artlesslyaround their waists, and fastened them securely under the armpits, so that they were clothed quite decorously from shoulder to knee. 

There was one beautiful little girl among the many plain ones inTampakan. She could not have been over ten years old, and her heavyeyebrows were shaved into a narrow black line above magnificenteyes, shaded by phenomenally long lashes. Her features were regularand finely cut, her mouth being particularly pretty, and when shesmiled, which was seldom, her red lips disclosed even little teeth, glistening and white. Her very hair, fringed heavily above her brow, was soft and fine and hung almost to her knees in a dusky, ripplingcloud, while both tiny ears were pierced, the left one boasting anivory stick about the size and shape of a cigarette, and the othera roll of red rags, which barbaric custom served only to enhance herwildwood tropic beauty. 

The child's _ena_, or mother, was evidently very proud of her daughter, and through the interpreter, told me that within a year the littlemaid was to marry a datto in a neighbouring town. A very great honour, to be sure, and then her pretty, gleaming teeth will be blackenedand filed into an arch, her eyebrows shaved off completely, and attwenty-five the little beauty will doubtless have been transformedinto a wrinkled, loathsome old hag, and perhaps a grandmother to boot!

At the windows of a house under which we stood, women, who for somereason did not mingle with the others of the village, peered down at uscuriously, some holding up their _sarongs_ to cover all but the eyes, and some frankly interested, with uncovered faces; while still othercreatures, of nightmare ugliness, their skins plastered with a whiteflour paste, their eyebrows shaved, and their teeth newly blackenedand filed into shape, incurred the displeasure of their respectivelords and masters by appearing at the window even for a few momentsat a time, it not being Moro etiquette that these recent brides ofthe neighbourhood should be seen until a later period. 

About this time Half-a-Woman and her mother appeared on the scene, theAmerican child, with her golden hair and white skin, enthusing the Morowomen to the utmost, while the tall slenderness of the mother excitedtheir voluble admiration. But neither mother nor daughter appreciatednatives, except as accessories to the landscape, so they delayed noton the order of their going, and audibly marvelled that I could beinterested in such filthy wretches, insinuating that a carbolic bathwould be necessary on our return to the ship. But the Moro women, unconscious of any criticism as to their personal neatness, smiledat the _Americanas_ delightedly, telling me through the interpreterthat it would take two or three Moro women to make one as tall as thequartermaster's wife, who looked very young indeed to have attainedso great a height!

When the officers had completed their purchases, they started throughthe village on a tour of inspection, and at their approach my womenfriends beat a hasty retreat, scattering in every direction like somany quail; but as we proceeded along the one street of the town, accompanied by a veritable army of native boys and men, I saw atthe windows of different houses many familiar faces, all grinningcheerfully in response to my nods of recognition. 

The houses of Tampakan are built on one side of this broad street, and are small nipa shacks on stilts, with steps of bamboo logs, and steep thatched roofs, while back of this first row of housesstands another row, and back of that still another. At the far endof the street two or three houses are built at right angles to therest, and it was here that beautifully woven _petates_, or sleepingmats, were offered for sale, some of them white with appliques ofred and blue cloth in curious designs, and others of split bamboo, the patterns being woven in with different colours. 

These mats were most reasonable in price, none of them costing overa dollar and a half, and some very pretty ones were valued at onlyfifty cents apiece, but for sanitary reasons we were obliged toforswear them, unique as they were, for they had all been in use, and we had seen more than one leper among the villagers, and numerousevidences in scars and sores of loathsome skin diseases. 

Embroidered turbans, _jabuls_, and _sarongs_ were also offered forsale, as were chow-covers and tall pointed hats, while one man withgreat pride produced for our inspection a pressed glass sugar bowl, that variety which one does not have to examine or tap with thefinger to prove counterfeit. It was pressed glass with no intention todeceive, the kind one runs across in the dining-room of country hotels, or at cheap department stores. That it was appraised highly in Siminol, however, was beyond question, and on every side swarthy faces watchedeagerly to see what impression it would make upon us, though the ownerhimself assumed a nonchalant air, as became the possessor of so rarean article of virtu. It had evidently been in Siminol a long time, andwas possibly stolen from a trading-post on some piratical expedition, or looted from a Spanish planter's home during a raid on a coasttown, or more prosaically acquired in exchange for curios. Howeverthat may be, it was considered a rare bit of bric-a-brac in Siminol, and the possessor was counted a most fortunate man among his fellows. 

There were many beautiful _barongs_ bought that day, the nativeswillingly exchanging them for money, which the Governor of Bongaodeclared was a unique way to disarm an enemy. American gold wasespecially appreciated, and the natives passed a piece around fromhand to hand with an absolutely childish delight in its yellow beauty. 

One of my purchases I paid for with a new five dollar gold piece, and before turning the money over to the Moro, held it for a momentpendent from my ear to suggest an earring, pointing at the sametime to one of his wives, who was standing in the doorway of theirhouse. The man was delighted with the suggestion, as were numerousother Moros who had seen the pantomime, and the woman in questionclapped her hands and laughed aloud. I have often wondered whetheror not she received that earring, and if it became a universal customin Tampakan to wear money thus. 

One of the officers, while drawing out some change from hispocket to pay for a very handsome and expensive _barong_, cameacross a gold-plated spread eagle, such as officers wear on theirshoulder-straps. It was worth perhaps twenty-five or fifty cents, butit glittered alluringly in the sunlight, and one of the Moros, withwhom he had been bargaining, made a dive for the bit of metal, callingon his companions to look at it. After a swift examination the owner ofthe _barong_, to the officer's intense surprise, offered him the knifein exchange for the worthless bauble. Noting the American's hesitation, and misinterpreting it, the Moro added an embroidered turban to theknife, and waited in breathless expectation for his answer. 

The officer still hesitated what to do, and then, through theinterpreter, explained that the eagle was of no monetary value, andthat he could not accept so expensive a knife or such a handsome turbanin exchange for it. The Moro seemed astonished, but appreciated thereason, and had his first lesson in the apothegmatic saying that allis not gold which glitters. Later the eagle was given to the Bongao_vigilante_, who pinned it to the front of his fez, for was he nota protector of the peace under the great American government?

To one side of Tampakan stood a plot of ground used as a cemetery. Thiswe saw from a distance only, the newly made graves presenting quitea gala appearance, decorated as they always are with bright colouredumbrellas, these being usually of yellow. When a Moro is buriedhis grave is protected from the sun and rain, and must be watchedcontinually night and day for a period of three months, doubtless tokeep the corpse from being defiled by man or beast. 

At about six o'clock we left Tampakan, being followed to the boats bythe entire male population of the town, even to toddling, naked boybabies, while the women hung out of their windows in imminent danger ofa fall and shouted strange things at us in their own tongue, which theBongao _vigilante_ interpreted as "Good-bye, nice people, come again. "

It was almost dark when we reached the _Hilda_, and she immediatelyput off for the ship, though seeming literally to creep along, herengine wheezing even more painfully than earlier in the afternoon. Atthat rate we should certainly be late for dinner, and all were hungryfrom the trip across. 

But a more serious contingency awaited us, for within a half-hour afterstarting, the native fireman came up on deck, his face blanched withfear, to say the boiler would not work, and that unless we could anchorat once we should be swept out to sea on the strong current. Soundingswere immediately taken, and the water found very deep, so, draggingour anchor, and with our last remaining bit of steam, we reached aplace shallow enough for anchorage. It was literally the last gaspof the engine that put us in safety, for a moment more and we shouldhave been adrift on the trackless sea. 

Of course the next thing to be done was to send up distress rockets, with which we had fortunately provided ourselves, that the _Burnside_, whose lights we could faintly see far, far over on the horizon, mightknow of our predicament; but as it was not yet dark enough for herto distinguish our signal against the sunset sky, we decided to saveour ammunition until there was no danger of its not being seen fromthe ship, there being but three rockets aboard the _Hilda_. 

Those few minutes of waiting seemed preternaturally long, andwhen the first rocket was finally sent up, everyone watched, withalmost feverish impatience, for the _Burnside's_ return signal. Oneminute passed in breathless silence; another minute, during whichwe shivered slightly with cold and excitement; ten seconds more, and a sudden flash in the direction of the ship, which we took to bea search-light answer to our rocket of distress, was greeted with asimultaneous yell of delight. But our joy was dampened suddenly bysome one suggesting that the search-light might have been merely acoincidence as to time, and that the ship was in reality using it, asoften happened, for other purposes. Then, too, as this same Jeremiahpointed out, a distress rocket would always be answered by a rocket, or at least by a Coston signal. 

There was a general lowering of personal temperature at this, and afew moments later, with even less confidence than we had sent up thefirst rocket, a second one was launched. But this proved a failure, and went down instead of up, covering the water with a shower ofgolden sparks, which hissed and sputtered angrily on the green wavesthat were rocking the little _Hilda_ back and forth as if she hadbeen a cockle-shell. Of course there was no answer to this signal, for the ship could not have seen it at her great distance. 

In the meantime the tide was going out so rapidly that we soon foundourselves in only two fathoms of water, the _Hilda_ drawing oneand a half fathoms, while every few minutes the bottom of the launchground ominously on the rocks below. The pilot of the little craft wasstretched out on the covered hatchway, frightfully seasick from thechurning motion of the boat, when the native engineer, ghastly withterror, reported to the Governor what we had for some time suspected, namely, that we were anchored on a coral reef. To stay there muchlonger was out of the question, but as the boiler would not work, the only other alternative was to let the boat drift out to sea onthe tide. 

While we were all ostentatiously cool, I think there was not oneamong us but mentally computed just how long it would take fora hole to be knocked in the bottom of the boat, leaving us at themercy of those cruel, green waves that licked at the _Hilda's_ sideswith foaming tongues, eager for their prey. Our Jeremiah added tothe general cheerfulness by advancing an enlivening theory to theeffect that the Siminol Moros would undoubtedly surround us ere long, attracted by our futile signals to the ship, and brought up pleasantvisions of swarthy pirates, under the leadership of our interpreter, making us walk the plank, or fighting against us to the death on adeck slippery with our own blood. 

Only one more rocket left! How carefully it was hoisted to the topof the awning, and how circumspect was the man who applied a lightedcigarette to the fuse, while the rest of us breathlessly awaited theresult. What if it, too, should prove a failure? The very thoughtwas terrifying. But there went the rocket--up, up, up, --a steadilymounting streak of red, which seemed to touch the dark dome of theheavens before breaking into a shower of golden sparks. Eagerly wewatched the ship for some answering sign. The seconds seemed likehours, the minutes like days. But at last, way over in the distance, a rocket from the _Burnside_ split the darkness, and we looked at oneanother silently, too deeply moved for cheers, knowing it was onlya question then of a race between our ship's launch and the hungry, hurrying tide. 

After a bit we laughed and joked a great deal to make the momentspass more quickly, while our host told good yarns and recited someof Eugene Field's inimitable verse in an inimitable way, to a runningaccompaniment of the waves dashing against the side of the launch andher occasional bumping on the rocks below. So long as most of us liveI fancy that "Casey's Table d'Hôte" will be associated in our mindswith that night on the coral reef. 

At last in the distance we saw the red, white, and blue Coston signalof the _Burnside's_ launch, its skipper doubtless asking us for aguiding light, our lantern on the masthead not being visible overa mile. For a moment we were at a loss what to do, our last rockethaving been used to signal to the ship, but some one took a newspaperwhich had been wrapped around a package, divided it in two, soakingone half of it in machinery oil from the engine-room. This greasypaper was then put on the end of a fishing-spear, and, when lighted, it made a glorious blaze, which was immediately answered by a secondsignal from the ship's launch, which changed its course, making for usmore directly. A little later, in answer to another signal, we lightedthe paper remaining, and in reply to still another, some waste soakedin oil did duty as a light. By this time the launch was near enoughfor us to distinguish its whistle, to which of course we could notreply, having no steam. Meanwhile the tide was very low. "Nine feet, "announced some one, sounding, and the coral grated harshly under ourkeel. A moment more and the launch might be too late. 

But just then came another flash out of the gloom, so near that we werestartled, a shrill whistle, and the rescuing party was at hand. Veryhurriedly the passengers were transferred to the _Burnside, Jr. _, and the _Hilda_ was towed to a safe anchorage, where she was leftfor the night. 

The ride back to the ship was a long one, and we struck a tide-riphalf-way there, which drenched us all to the skin and tossed thestaunch little craft back and forth, as if she had been a chip onthe water. But at eleven o'clock we climbed aboard the _Burnside_, after having given the Powers-that-Be and our many friends a frightwhich made them threaten us with the brig if it ever happened again. 

Fortunately for us, our first rocket had been seen from the ship, else the launch might have been too late to rescue us, and what we hadtaken for a gleam from the search-light was in fact a Coston signal, our distance from the _Burnside_ not enabling us to distinguish itsred and blue lights, the white alone carrying that far. 

A good dinner, finished long after midnight, so rested us that, beingyoung and foolish, we went ashore with our host of the afternoon, merely for a farewell glimpse of Bongao, retiring at ever so littleo'clock in the morning, and not very long before the engines beganto puff and pant, preparatory to our trip northward. 

Then followed a month of cable repairing, which took us again toZamboanga, Iligan, and Cagayan. A little stretch was also laidconnecting Oslob, Cebu, with the Dumaguete land line, and later acable laid nearly two years before on the southeast coast of Luzonwas thoroughly overhauled and put into shape. This cable connectedPasacao and Guinayangan, or Pass-a-cow and Grin-again-then, as wealways dubbed the towns. 

It was on our way to Pasacao from Iligan that we had our last glimpseof old Mount Malindang, or, as the sailors called it, Mount NeverPass, because it was so seldom off our horizon. All day the sea hadbeen oily smooth, and fish jumped out of the water continually, thesea-gulls swooping down upon them and carrying them off in theirtalons. The sailors had been holy-stoning the decks and paintingevery bit of available woodwork white, preparatory to our entranceinto Manila Bay, and the cable machinery for the nonce was still, the native employees lounging about the lower decks, playing monteor strumming their guitars in idle joy. 

At sunset we all went aft to see Malindang for the last time. Tothe southeast it stood stolidly against the flushed sky, a whitecloud about it, reminding one of some old Indian chief wrapped inhis blanket, passively watching the departure of the pale-faces whohad invaded his mighty solitude. To the north were Negros, Cebu, andSiquijor; to the south Mindanao; and even far-distant Camaguin to theeast, with a faint wisp of smoke from its volcano. Then night cameupon us suddenly and blotted out Mount Never Pass--perhaps forever. 

After our experiences in the far south, we found Oslob, Pasacao, andGuinayangan strangely uninteresting, although at the beginning of ourcable trip I have no doubt we should have enjoyed them hugely. Therewere the same curious natives who dogged our every footstep; thesame nipa shacks surrounded by palms and bamboos in the same dazzlingsunshine, of which no words or symbols or formulas could give one anidea. There were the inevitable churches with decorations of fadedartificial flowers and much tarnished tinsel, the same wooden imageswith large eyes and simpering little mouths, the same glaring chromosof the Virgin and her angels. 

In Oslob the church was further decorated by brown velvet portièresbeing painted at each side of the long windows, an obvious advantagein the event of house-cleaning, while the wooden pillars were alsostained to resemble marble. At the time of our visit women knelt onthe bare floor at their prayers, all wearing stiffly starched whitelinen veils, which did not entirely conceal their fleshly interestin ourselves, the while they told their rosaries with busy fingers. 

Guinayangan had a wooden belfry to one side of its church, the bellstherein being made of metal arms captured from the Moros many yearsbefore. We also noticed, on entering the church, a palanquin shapedaffair at one side of the door. This, we were told, was used bythe priest in processions, when altar boys dressed in scarlet andwhite robes carry him thus enthroned, two other boys walking aheadof the procession and two behind, all bearing candles in candelabrataller than themselves, and all dressed in scarlet and white likethe bearers of the palanquin. It was used as well for a confessional, and to carry the priest to and from visits of extreme unction. 

Guinayangan also boasts a shipyard, which is nothing more than a roughshed, the implements being most primitive in construction. Withouteven ways, not to mention the absence of means, it is said that largesailing ships are made there, two of them being in the harbour atthe time of our visit. 

For several days we hovered in the vicinity of Guinayangan and Pasacao, cutting and splicing, splicing and cutting, while we idle ones ofthe quarter-deck unanimously decided that this lower corner of LuzonIsland comprised the prettiest landscapes we had seen on the trip, consisting for the main part of wonderful mountains covered with aluxurious tropical growth of trees and shrubbery, these perpendicularforests springing out of the water with scarcely any intervention ofbeach between their green sides and the sparkling sea beneath them. 

In places the mountains were bare of trees, suggesting forest firesin the past, but in the distant past, as the patches of ground werecovered with grass, the exact tender shade in which the young Springclothes herself at home. In many of these rifts between the treesnipa houses were tucked away, adding to the charm of the landscape, and the multifarious shades of green to be found on these hillsideswere further diversified by shrub-like trees with a faint red tingelike furze, and by still others with a silvery sheen to their leaves. 

It was while paying this long-laid line into the tanks, whenlooking for faults, that wonderful sea growths were brought up onthe cable, especially in comparatively shallow water, revealingvarieties of submarine life undreamed of in our philosophy. Therewas white coral, and coral in shades of pink, and red, and violet;there were sea-cucumbers and jellyfish; shrimp of tiny proportionsand scarlet in colouring; barnacles of every description; curiousshells of fairy-like proportions; seaweeds and grasses and moss ofexquisite delicacy, making the cable look in places as if it were arope of tiny many coloured blossoms. The small girl of the _Burnside_was enchanted with the pretty playthings sent her by the mermaids, and gathered the gaily tinted wonders into a box for safe-keeping, but before the passing of another day they had lost their beauty, and, moreover, smelled up to very heaven, and had to be thrown overboard. 

But at last the Signal Corps completed its work on thePasacao-Guinayangan cable, the final splice was made, and the bightdropped overboard, whereupon we were off for Manila, stopping _enroute_ at Pasacao to ascertain if all were well with the line. This wason Good Friday, and the officers who went ashore said that natives, dressed to represent the Twelve Apostles, roamed the streets and atgiven intervals flagellated one poor chap who had been elected torepresent Judas for the time being. The native padre assisted in thesemi-religious function, and all seemed more interested in it as adiversion than impressed by its devotional significance. 

The rest of the day we sailed over absolutely peaceful water, withscarcely a ripple on its crystal surface, swinging in and out of themyriad wooded islands, peninsulas, and capes that make the southernpart of Luzon so ragged and uneven on the map, and thence into theChina Sea, where we floated, sky above and sky below, for hours, anchoring off Manila on the following forenoon, just in time to spendEaster Sunday, April 7th, at the capital. 

And so ended our cable trip and those pleasant days in the far SouthSeas. The huge tanks on the forward deck of the _Burnside_ yawnedhungrily for the five hundred knots of cable now lying in thosedistant waters, linking together the strange lands we had seen _enroute_, and as we stood for the last time looking down into thoseempty tanks, tar-stained and reeking with moisture, I was stronglyreminded of Mr. Kipling's "Song of the Cable:"

 "The wrecks dissolve above us; their dust drops down from afar-- Down to the dark, to the utter dark, where blind white sea-snakes are. There is no sound, no echo of sound, in the deserts of the deep, On the great, gray, level plains of ooze, where the shell-burred cables creep. Here in the womb of the world--here on the tie-ribs of earth-- Words, and the words of men, flicker and flutter and beat. "

 THE END.