The Adventures of Piang the Moro Jungle Boy Part 10

Piang had been given the honor of renaming the boats. The smallest one bore the name of his mother, Minka. The next was dedicated to the memory of his tribe's greatest hero, Dato Ali, and characteristically, on the bow of the flags.h.i.+p, beneath the boy's feet, glittered the bright gold letters, "P-I-A-N-G."

EIGHTH ADVENTURE

THE JURAMENTADO GUNBOAT

The transport _Seward_ was approaching Jolo. Far in the distance the sunset tinged the coast with myriads of delicate tints, softening the harsh outline of the jungle. A flock of wild pigeons hovering over the town, suggested domestic peace, which was far from the actual state of affairs in that hotbed of intrigue. Gla.s.ses were trained on the isolated garrison, a mere speck of civilization, hurled at the foot of the jungle, and the excited tourists covered themselves with glory by their foolish questions.

Queer, dark-skinned people in dirty, many-colored garments, looking like a rainbow fallen in disgrace, greeted the newcomers in sullen silence, their disapproval very evident. A quarantine officer boarded and asked for the young lieutenant who was to join the Siasi garrison.

"h.e.l.lo, Lewis! There is some uprising in Basilan. Jekiri again, I guess. They want you up at headquarters immediately."

The chug-chug of the engine was the only sound as the trim little gunboat _Sabah_ slipped along. Lewis had been given command of a squad of cavalry and ordered to proceed to Basilan to put down any outbreak that might threaten. "Juramentado," was whispered, and his orders were not to allow the troops to become involved but to quell any trouble that was brewing.

"A pretty big order for a shave-tail (greenhorn) Lewis," General Beech had said at parting, "but I bet you and that dark shadow of yours will make good." The hearty handclasp and kind smile warmed the young officer's heart. General Beech was unusually young for his post as division commander, and he had endeared himself to his followers by his kindly manner and dignified directness, and Lewis would have faced death for him.

"Thank you, sir," was all that he said, and "the dark shadow" salaamed according to his custom.

That night as the Americans swung along under the dome of brilliant stars, a question arose as to the meaning of juramentado.

"Piang," Lieutenant Lewis said, "tell us about this custom of your people, won't you?"

Bashfully the boy hung his head and wriggled his toes. He was ashamed of his fierce people since the good American had taken him into his home, but they prevailed upon him to explain, and among them they gathered the following story from his funny, broken English:

When a Moro wearies of life and wishes to take a short cut to paradise, he bathes in a holy spring, shaves his eyebrows, clothes himself in white and is blessed by the pandita. The oath he takes is called _juramentar_ (die killing Christians), and he arms himself with his wicked knife and starts forth. Selecting a gathering, well sprinkled with Christians, he begins his deadly work, and as long as he breathes, he hews right and left. Piang told them that he had seen one strong Moro juramentado pierced by a bayonet, drive the steel further into himself, in order to reach the soldier at the other end of the gun, whom he cut in two before he died.

The horror on the faces of his listeners made Piang pause, but they urged him on.

"Since we are headed toward Jekiri's sanctum, I guess it behooves us to get all the dope goin' about these fellows," interjected a recruit.

Piang's big, black eyes filled with mystery when he described how the juramentado rides to the abode of the blessed on a shadowy, white horse, taller than a carabao, just as dusk is falling. Indeed, he a.s.sured them that he had seen this very phenomenon himself and s.h.i.+vered at the recollection of the unnatural chill and damp that crept through the jungle while the spirit was pa.s.sing.

"Bosh, Piang, you mustn't believe those fairy tales now. You are a good American."

"Sure, me good American, now," grinned the boy.

There is nothing to differentiate the island of Basilan from the many others in the Sulu group. The natives seemed far from hostile, however, and Lieutenant Lewis remarked upon their docility to Sergeant Greer.

"Don't let 'em fool you, sir; they're not to be trusted," he replied.

"Oh, Sergeant, I think we are all too scared of the dirty beggars. If we ever stop dodging them, they will stop lying in wait for us."

The old man's face did not reveal his misgivings, but he wondered where this young upstart would lead the men and inwardly cursed the war department for sending troops into the jungle under the command of a baby. He was soon to change his opinion of this particular "baby."

Camp was pitched near the water's edge in a tall cocoanut grove that supplied them with food and water as well as shade. The ch.o.r.es over, liberty was granted to explore the island. The sergeant shook his head; he seemed to feel the inexperience of the new officer and overstepped the bounds of discipline when he warned him again of the treachery of the natives, advising him to keep the men in camp.

"That will do, Sergeant," replied the lieutenant. The old man stiffened into a salute, wheeled, and disappeared down the company street.

At sunset retreat was sounded, and after all the men had been accounted for, they gathered around the fires. Picturesque natives mingled with the jolly soldiers, bartering and arguing over trifling purchases. Through the warm fragrance, unfamiliar sounds kept reminding Lewis that he was far from home. The twilight deepened into night, and pipe in hand, he reviewed the strange scene. Folks at home were celebrating Christmas Eve. Somewhere the snow was falling, bells jingling, and a mother's prayers were being whispered for the far-away boy in the Sulu jungle. Little Piang was squatting at his feet, silently watching the scene, happy because he was near his master. Suddenly the boy jumped up, dashed into the crowd, and yelled:

"Juramentado!"

A tall Moro, without any warning, had begun to shriek and whirl, cutting to and fro with his terrible campilan, and before any one could prevent, he had felled two troopers. With a howl, Lewis plunged into their midst, pistol leveled, but before he could pull the trigger, the Moro buried the sword in his own vitals and pitched forward, dead.

"See, another!" cried Piang.

Just in time a bullet from the lieutenant's revolver silenced another deadly fanatic. They had slipped into the gathering, well concealed beneath enshrouding green sarongs, but Piang's quick eye had detected them before they had a good start.

"Piang has saved us from a terrible row, boys," said Sergeant Greer, and when the wounded were cared for, the rough soldiers tossed the graceful boy on their shoulders and paraded through the camp, much to the delight of the hero.

"I go to find the sultan to-morrow, sir?" asked Piang. "Him at Isabella, and I must give him Kali Pandapatan's message."

"Well, Piang, I am with you. I'm going to face that old codger and tell him what I think of his fiendish tricks of killing us off by this beastly juramentado, when he claims to be at peace with America."

Lewis learned many things during the trip, and Piang delighted in guiding his friends through the jungle he loved so well, through the gra.s.s eight feet high, under trees laden with strange fruits. Monkeys were swinging in the trees chattering and scolding the intruders.

"You want monkey, sir?" asked Piang.

"Can you catch one without hurting it?"

"You watch Piang," chuckled the boy. The others hid, and Piang struck a match. The tree, full of curious little people, shook as they scampered about trying to see what Piang was doing. He paid no attention to them, and as he struck match after match, they gradually crept nearer. s.h.i.+elding the flame from the inquisitive creatures, he excited their curiosity until they were unable to resist, and soon one hopped to the ground. Another came, and another. Piang paid no attention to the visitors, continuing to hide the flame in his hands. Lewis almost spoiled it all by laughing outright, for it was indeed a ridiculous sight to see the little wild things consumed with curiosity. Walking upright, their funny hands dangling from the stiff elbows, they advanced. One venturesome little gray form clinging to the branch overhead by its tail, timidly touched Piang's shoulder. It paused, touched it again, and finally confidently hopped upon it, all the while craning its neck, making absurd faces at the sulphur fumes. Two little arms went around Piang's neck; a soft little body cuddled up against him, and all the while the monkey twisted and turned in its efforts to discover the mystery of the flame.

The click of a camera sounded like a gunshot in the intense stillness, and up the trees went the little band in a flash, all but the prisoner in Piang's arms.

"Great, Piang," called Lewis. "I hope the picture will be good, for it was the strangest sight I ever saw in my life."

"Oh, me love monkeys," replied the boy, stroking and soothing the frightened creature. "You want this one?"

"No, let the little beast off, I couldn't bear to cage it up." A banana and some sugar repaid the monkey for the experiment and after he was free, he followed the travelers, chattering and begging for sweets.

When they came to Isabella, capital of Basilan Island, Piang scurried off in search of the sultan. The men amused themselves watching the excitement they created. An American soldier is a wonderful and dreadful thing to these wild folk.

"The sultan, he out in other barrio. Me catchim." This being interpreted meant that Piang would guide them to his house.

When they finally came to a clearing, Lewis wondered why Piang stopped in front of a filthy hut, half-way up two cocoanut-trees; he was impatient to be off, as he wanted to reach the sultan's palace before dark. Piang was arguing with a dirty woman cleaning fish in the river.

"Piang, what's the idea? Let's get on," impatiently said Lewis.

"This His Excellency Paduca Majasari Amiril Sultan Harun Narrasid's house," replied Piang with awe.

"Gee, what a name!" exclaimed Lewis. "And to go with that dugout, too. Say, Piang, I suppose we could call the old chap Pad for short?"