Anting-Anting Stories, and Other Strange Tales of the Filipinos Read online

  THE CAVE IN THE SIDE OF CORON

  A "barong" is a Moro native's favourite weapon. With one deft whirl,and then a downward slash of the keen steel blade he can cleave theskull of an opponent from crown to teeth, or cut an arm clean fromthe shoulder socket.

  When I was sent with a squad of brave men from my company toreconnoitre from Mt. Halcon, in the Island of Mindoro, and the forcewas ambushed, the way I saw the men meet death will always make mehate a Moro. Why I was spared, then, and bound, instead of beingkilled like the men, I could not imagine. Later I knew.

  The Moros had no business to be on Mindoro, anyway. Their home was inMindanao, far to the south, but three hundred years of Spanish attemptto rule them had left them still an untamed people, and the war betweenthe two races had been endless. Each year when the southwest monsoonshad blown, the Moro war-proas had gone northward carrying murderand pillage wherever they had appeared. When the Spanish were nottoo much occupied elsewhere they fitted out retaliatory expeditionswhich left effects of little permanence. That year the Moros hadfound not Spaniards but a small force of American troops, sent southfrom Manila, and from them had cut off my little scouting squad. Itmade no difference to them that we were of another nation. They carednothing for a change in rulers. We were white, and Christians; thatwas enough. We were to be slain.

  The leader of the Moros was a tall old man with glittering eyes setin a gloomy face. I watched him as I lay bound on the deck of one ofthe war-proas; for, fearing attack I suppose, soon after my capturethe sails had been spread and the fleet of boats turned to the south.

  "Feed him" the chief had said, when night came on, and pointed tome with his foot. I thought then I had been saved from death forslavery, and deemed that the worst fate possible, I did not know theMoro nature.

  On the afternoon of the fifth day out, we passed Busuanga andapproached a small rocky island which I afterwards learned wasCoron. So far as could be seen no human habitation was near, and farto the south stretched the unbroken waters of the Sulu Sea. The chiefgave an order in the Moro tongue, and a black and yellow flag was runup to the mast head. In response to the signal all the proas of thefleet joined us in a little bay at the end of the island, and droppedanchor. At one side of the bay it would be possible to land and climbfrom there to the top of the island, from which, everywhere else,as far as I could see, a sheer cliff came down three hundred feet towhere the waves beat against the jagged rocks at its base.

  The smaller boats which had been towed behind the larger craft werecast off and brought alongside the chief's proa. I was lifted intoone and rowed to a place where we could land. My feet had been untied,but my hands were still fastened behind my back. Two Moros grasped meby the arms and guided me between them. They would not let me turnmy head, but I could hear the voices of men following us. The chiefled the way. He did not speak or pause until we had reached the levelsummit of the island. When he did speak it was in Spanish, which hehad learned that I understood. We were halted on the very edge ofthe precipice. Far down below the little fleet of war-proas floatedlightly on the water, the black and yellow signal still flutteringfrom the flag ship. I could see now that the men that had come up thepath behind me had brought a quantity of ropes. Perhaps there werethirty men in all. I wondered what they were going to do with me,but had decided that any fate was better than to be a Moro slave.

  "Men of Mindanao," said the chief, "you know our errand. You know howoften men of our band have been captured by the white men of the northto lie in prisons there, where death comes so slowly that a 'barong'blow would be paradise. The few that have crept back to us, weak,hollow-eyed and trembling, have only come to show us what it meantto starve, and then have died. The sky is just, and gives us onceand again a white man to whom we may show that the prophet's words'an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,' are just. Give the whitedog his due."

  Two men grasped me and wound a stout rope, coil after coil, about mefrom my neck to my feet, until I was as helpless as a swathed Egyptianmummy. One end of another rope was fastened in a slip-noose about mybody, and a dozen of the men, sitting well back from the edge of thecliff and bracing themselves one against another, paid out the rope.

  The chief himself, touching me with his foot as he would have touchedsome unclean thing, rolled me over the brink of the precipice. Thesharp rocks cut my face until the blood came, but that meant littleto a man who expected to be dropped upon rocks just as sharp threehundred feet beneath him.

  Slowly I was lowered down the face of the cliff until, perhaps twentyfeet down, I found to my surprise that my descent had ceased, and thatI was dangling before the mouth of a cave of considerable size. WhileI swung there, wondering what would happen next, the end of a ropeladder flung down from above dropped across the opening in the side ofthe cliff, and a moment later two agile Moros climbed down the ladderand from it entered the cave. From where they stood it was easy forthem to reach out and haul me in after them, as a bale of merchandiseswinging from a hoisting pulley is hauled in through a window.

  Loosening the slip-knot they fastened into it the rope which had beencoiled about my body, and giving it a jerk as a signal the whole wasdrawn up out of sight. Then, binding my feet again, they laid me onthe hard rock near the mouth of the cave, and climbed nimbly back asthey had come. The rope ladder was drawn up, and I was left alone.

  I was to be left there to starve. That was what the chief's "eye foran eye and a tooth for a tooth" had meant.

  From where they had left me I could see the proas at anchor, and seethe rocky point on which we had landed. That night they built a fireon the rocks where I could see it; and feasted there with songs anddancing. Whenever the wind freshened, the smell of the broiling fishcame up to where I was, and I understood then why it was that I hadnot been fed that day as usual on the deck of the war-proa. I began torealise something of the depths of cruelty of the Moro nature. "Began,"I say, for I found out later that even then I did not measure it all.

  In the morning the proas were still at anchor, and during the day andnight there was more feasting. Sometime that day I freed my hands. Ifound that the thongs had been nearly cut. Evidently the men wholeft me had meant that I should free myself. It was easy then tountie the rope which bound my ankles, but weak as I was from hunger,and cramped from being so long bound, it was some time before I couldbear my weight upon my feet. When I could it was the morning of thesecond day of my imprisonment and the third that I had been withoutfood. The men below were sleeping after their carouse, stretched outon the decks of the proas. A sentinel on the rocky point poked thesmouldering embers of the fire and raking out some overdone fragmentsof fish made a breakfast from them and pitched the bones into thesea. Only those who have lived three days without food can understandhow delicious even those cast-off fish bones looked to me. I walkedaway from the mouth of the cave to be where I could not see the maneat. The daylight enabled me to explore the interior of the cavemore thoroughly than I had been able to do before. From a crevice,far within, a tiny thread of water trickled down the rock. It was toothin to be called a stream, and was dried up entirely by the air beforeit reached the mouth of the cave, but I found that I could press myhand against the rock and after a long time gather water enough tomoisten my lips and throat. For even that I was thankful. At leastI should not die of thirst.

  Still farther in the cave I found a pile of something lying on thefloor. I could not see in the dark there what it was, but broughta double handful out to the light. It was a fragment of a militaryuniform wrapped loosely around some human bones. Dangling fromthe cloth was a corroded button on which I could still discern theinsignia of Spain. I flung the horrid relics as far out from the caveas my weak strength would let me, and sank down, wondering how longit would be until the bones and uniform of a soldier of the UnitedStates would lie rotting there beside those of a soldier of Spain.

  A shout from below aroused me. A Moro had seen the fragments of clothfluttering down and had greeted them. The men had landed on the rock
ypoint again, and a party of them were coming up the path. Slung ona pole carried over the shoulders of two of them was a piece of fishnet, through the meshes of which I could see a dozen cocoanuts.

  There was food; delicious food! And they were bringing it to me! Iunderstood it all now. They had not meant to starve me, but onlyto torture me before they took me on to slavery. How good thatwas. Slavery did not seem hard to me now. Slavery was better thanstarvation. Oh I would work gladly enough, no matter how hard the task,if I could only have food.

  The men had passed out of sight, now, climbing upward, and by and byI heard them talking above me. I leaned as far out from the mouthof the cave as in my weakness I dared, and looked up. Yes, I wasright. The bag of cocoanuts was being lowered to me. I could see theblack face of the Moro who was directing the operation, peering overthe edge of the cliff. I sank down, too weak to stand. I thought Imust save what little strength I had to break a nut against the rock,when they reached me.

  I could see the bottom of the fish net bag. Now it was even withthe cave. I could reach it if it was only a little nearer. Why didnot those foolish Moros swing it nearer? I leaned out from the caveagain to try and signal to them.

  What was this I saw? Not one, but twenty black faces grinning down atme with devilish cruelty. And the bag of food that I had waited for,hung by a rope from the end of the pole pushed out from the rock above,swung lazily around and around just beyond my reach. I made a franticeffort to grasp it, and barely saved myself from falling headlong. Thefiendish laughter of the men above was answered by a chorus of shoutsfrom below. I looked down. From the decks of the proas and from aboutthe fire on shore, where another feast was beginning, the Moro menwere watching me.

  Then I understood for the first time the depths of Moro cruelty. Iwas to be baited there until, crazed by hunger, I flung myself to anawful death upon the rocks below. I wondered how many men, perhapsbraver soldiers than I, had gone down there before me.

  I would not. If die I must, I would at least cheat those gibberingfiends of their show. I would die as that other man had done, farin the cave and out of sight. I dragged myself in, drank from thelittle stream of water, and lay down. I must have slept, or lain ina stupor for several hours, since, when I recovered myself again,it was late afternoon.

  From where I lay I could see the bag of cocoanuts swing in thebreeze. Perhaps it had blown nearer and I could reach it. I draggedmyself out to the mouth of the cave again. It was just as far awayas ever, and I too weak now to try to reach it. After a time I beganto realise that there was no noise from the revelers below. I lookeddown. The bay was empty. The proas had gone, the men gone with them,and not a breath of smoke rising from the ashes showed where theirfires had been. They must have put out their fires. Dimly I wonderedwhy. Anyway I had cheated them of their game. They had becomediscouraged, waiting to see me die, and had gone.

  These thoughts were passing weakly through my mind, when suddenly Isaw something which made me stand up, weak as I was. Far out acrossthe Strait of Mindoro a streamer of black smoke showed against thesky. My eyes followed it to where a gray hull rested on the water. Itwas one of our gunboats bound from Ilo Ilo back to Manila. I shouted,faintly, forgetting that miles of space lay between her and myself. Iknew when I stopped to think that she was going from me. Even if shehad come near Coron she had passed while I lay asleep.

  That was why the proas had gone. They had seen the streak of smoke,and slipping behind the island of Coron had gone around Culion,and so on, home.

  I must have slept for some time after that, for when I was nextconscious of anything it was the forenoon of another day, and the cavewas flooded with the bright light of noon. I did not suffer anythingnow. That seemed to have passed. I lay quite easy, and wondered whatit was that had aroused me. After a while I could tell. It was theceaseless twittering of a flock of birds which were flying in andout of the cave. They had not been there before, nor had I seen themabout. They must have come during the night. I thought if I could catchone I would eat it, but I decided it was useless to try to catch them,they darted about so swiftly. By and by I felt sure that this was so,for I could see that the birds were swallows, and there came into mymind a vivid picture of the high beams of my father's barn, away inVermont, when I was a boy, and the barn swallows flashing like arrowsthrough the star-shaped openings far up in the gable ends.

  Two of the birds had lighted on the wall opposite me, clinging to therock. I wondered what they were doing there. Perhaps I could catchthem. I would try. I found that I could rise, and that I was muchstronger than I had thought. Even a hope of food seemed to give mestrength. I crept towards the birds and put out my hand. The birdsflew, and dodging me swept out into the sunlight. I was near enoughthe side of the cave now to see what they had been doing. Fastenedto the rock was the beginning of what was to be a nest.

  Once, years before that, I had been the guest of honor at a tencourse Chinese dinner. After the tiny China cups of fiery liquor,which was the first course, had been drunk, the servant brought onwhat looked to me like fine white sponges boiled in chicken broth. Myhost told me that this was birds' nest soup, the most famous dish ofChina, made of material worth its weight in gold. It came back tome now that he had added that the best nests were gathered in thePhilippine Islands. Little did I imagine then what that scrap oftable conversation might one day mean to me.

  I pulled the nest down and ate it. It looked like white glue, andtasted like beef jelly. I looked for another, and found it and ateit. There were no more. I drank my fill of water, when I could get it,which took some time, and then I lay down and went to sleep. I felt asif I had eaten a full meal. When I woke I could almost have danced,I felt so strong and well again. In my new strength I even tried toreach the bag of cocoanuts, but they hung just as far off as ever,and that was so far no breeze quite swung them within my reach. Nomatter! While I had slept, the birds had been at work, and half adozen half-formed nests were glued to the rocks in easy reach. Theygrew like mushrooms in the night. I pulled down two and ate them. Fordinner I had two more, and one for supper.

  After that I had no cause to suffer, so far as food and water wereconcerned. When the birds built faster than my immediate wantsrequired, I tore the completed nests down before the builders couldspoil them, and stored them away. The birds twittered and scolded,but began to build again.

  How long this would have lasted I do not know, but one morning when Iwoke and came to the mouth of the cave to look out, I saw that in thenight a Chinese junk, with broad latteen sails, had dropped anchorin the bay below.

  The shout of joy I gave came near being my ruin, for when theChinese sailors heard it, and looked up to see a white faced figuregesticulating wildly in a hole in the front of the cliff, so far abovethem they thought, quite reasonably enough, that they had discoveredthe door to the home of the evil one himself, and that one of hisministers was trying to entice them to enter. Fortunately they couldnot flee until the anchor was raised and the sails unfurled, andbefore this was done their curiosity and common sense combined hadconquered their fear. The leader of the expedition, I learned later,had been to Coron before, and now, lighting a few joss sticks as aprecaution, in case I did prove to be an evil spirit, he climbedto the top of the cliff where he could talk with me. He had seenMoro fish nets and proa masts before, and he knew the Moro nature,so it did not take long to make him understand my story, nor muchlonger for him to effect my release, for these Chinese nest-huntingexpeditions go fitted with all manner of rock scaling machinery inthe way of rope ladders, slings and baskets.

  I was very kindly treated on board the junk through all the month theparty stayed there gathering nests, but when the men came to knowmy story, and learned how for two weeks I had lived on nothing butswallows' nests, worth their weight in gold, remember, they used tolook at me, some of them, in a way which made me almost wonder ifsometime when I was asleep they might not kill me, as the farmer'swife killed the goose that laid the golden egg.