Chapter V.

We all slept in the school-house, for Boné is a Christianized village, and next day, April 28th, made a late start, for it was to be a day of easy stages. By nine o’clock, passing through an undulating champaign country, we reached Aritao, being met at the outskirts by gansa-beaters and also by the Christian school-children with medieval-looking banners, and all in their best bibs and tuckers; the heathen and the Christians mingling apparently on the best of terms. Aritao is an old town, now much decayed, but showing evidences of former affluence. It has a brick church, the bells of which were rung on our approach.

As there is some Government here, of course we had to pay a visit of ceremony, and were accordingly received by the presidente and other dignitaries in an upper chamber, the little children with their banners massing around the gate of the house and forming a really pretty picture. When we were all in, the presidente made the Governor-General and his suite a dignified speech of welcome, very well done, to which Mr. Forbes made answer in fluent and pretty good Spanish. Bubud was then passed about—but this is going too fast! Bubud (called tapuy elsewhere) is an institution in the parts where we now were, and I had been hearing of it for days. It is the native (Ifugao) name of a drink produced by the fermentation of rice, a drink that varies in color and in flavor, according to the care taken in its make, but nearly always agreeable to the palate and refreshing. That offered us to-day was greenish yellow, slightly acid and somewhat bitter from the herbs added. Unfortunately, it will not bear transportation, but we made up for this by carrying off personally as much as was convenient. It had a happy effect on my pony, too: all the way to Aritao he had been slower than the wrath to come, but from this on he showed life and spirit; in fact, he danced and pranced through every town we crossed for some days afterward. I always meant to ask if some one had given him any bubud at Aritao, during the speech-making; on reflection I am inclined to doubt it, but at any rate, in honor of the circumstances, he was known as Bubud the rest of the trip.

A short ride through the charming, smiling country (part of it might have been France), over a really good road most of the way, brought us to Dúpax. On the way we were met by some of the American officials of the province, among them Mr. Norman Connor, Superintendent of Education (Yale, 1900), and by two Belgian priests, De Wit of Dúpax and Van der Maes of Bayombong. The natives met us, all mounted, with a band, so that we made a triumphant entrance, advancing in line to the presidente’s house, while the church-bell pealed out a welcome.

Dúpax must, like Aritao, have been a point of some importance in the past. It has a large brick church with a decidedly Flemish facade, and a detached pagoda-like belfry. Its streets are overgrown with fine soft grass, and its houses had somehow or other an air of comfort and ease. Here we made quite a stop, first of all quenching our thirst with bubud, beer, cocoanut milk, anything, everything, for we had ridden nearly all the way so far in the sun. We then sat down to an excellent breakfast, and smoked and lounged about until two, when fresh ponies were brought, and we set off on a side trip to Campote, where we were to have our first contact with the real wild man, the Ilongot.1

These people, the Ilongots, although very few in number, only six thousand, stretch from Nueva Vizcaya to the Pacific Coast, inhabiting an immense region of forested and all but inaccessible mountains. Over these they roam without any specially fixed habitation. They have the reputation, and apparently deserve it, of being cruel and treacherous, as they certainly are shy and wild. It was these people who killed Doctor Jones, of the Marshall Field Museum, after he had been with them eight or nine months. So recently as 1907 they made a descent on Dúpax, killing people and taking their heads. When they mean to kill a man fairly, according to their ideas, they hand him a fish. This is a signal that he must be on his guard: to refuse the fish is of no use, because by so doing one puts one’s self beyond the pale, and may be killed in any fashion. We heard a story here of a Negrito stealing a pig from two Ilongots who had a Negrito brother-in-law. Failing to recover the pig, they decided that they must have a Negrito head, and so took their brother-in-law’s. Pig-stealing, by the way, in the mountain country is regarded much as horse-stealing used to be out West. Besides the spear and head knife, the Ilongots, like the Negritos, with whom they have intermarried to a certain extent, use the bow and arrow, and are correspondingly dreaded. For it seems to be believed in Luzon that bow-and-arrow savages are more dangerous than spear-and-ax-men; that the use of this projectile weapon, the arrow, induces craftiness, hard to contend against. An Ilongot can silently shoot you in the back, after you have passed. A spear-man has to get closer, and can not use an ambush so readily.1

Now our Government in the Philippines, by and through and because of Mr. Worcester, had made repeated efforts to reach these Ilongots, to bring them in, as it were, and only recently had these efforts met with any success. For one thing, it is a very serious matter to seek them out in the depths of their fastnesses if only because of the difficulty of reaching them; many of them even now have never seen a white man, and would escape, if I recollect aright, on the approach of our people. But in 1908 some fifty of them did “come in,” and, gaining confidence, this number grew to one hundred and fifty in 1909. They, or some of them at least, now sent an invitation to Mr. Worcester to come and see them, and he accepted on condition of their making a trail, saying that they could not expect a man of his stature to creep through their country on his hands and knees. This trail they had built, and they had assembled at Campote, four hours from Dúpax, for this first formal visit; It was the desire of Mr. Worcester that this visit should be happy in all respects; for, if not, the difficulties of intercourse with this people, already great, would be so seriously increased as to delay the civilizing intentions of the Government for many years to come.

We rode off at about two o’clock, passing under numberless bamboo arches, on an astonishingly good road, built by Padre Juan Villaverde. About two miles out we left the road, turning off east across rice-paddies, and then followed a stream, which we crossed near the foot of a large bare mountain facing south. Up this we zigzagged four miles, a tiresome stretch with the sun shining full upon us. But at the top we had our reward: to the south reached a beautiful open valley, its floor a mass of green undulations, its walls purple mountains blazing in the full glory of the afternoon sun. At the extreme south, miles away, we could make out Las Salinas, Salt Springs,2 whose deposits sparkled and shone and scintillated and danced in the heated air. Grateful as it would have been to rest at the top and enjoy the scene, we nevertheless had to turn our backs upon it, for we had yet far to go over an unknown trail, and it was most desirable to get in before dark. So we turned and now plunged into a forest of tall trees so thick overhead and so deeply buried in vines, and creepers and underbrush generally, that just as no light got in from above, so one could not see ten yards in any direction off the trail. This effect was no doubt partly due to the shades of evening, and to our being on the eastern slope of the mountain. And that trail! The Ilongots, poor chaps, had done their best with it, and the labor of construction must have been fearful.3 But the footing was nothing but volcanic mud, laterite, all the worse from a recent rain. Our ponies sank over their fetlocks at every step, and required constant urging to move at all. Compared to the one I was riding, Bubud was a race-horse! Cootes, Strong, and I kept together, the others having ridden on. As the day grew darker and darker, the myriad notes of countless insects melted into one mighty, continuous shrill note high overhead, before us, behind us, in which not one break or intermission could be detected. Anything faster than a walk would now have been unsafe, even if it had been possible, for at times the ground sloped off sharply down the mountain, the footing grew more and more uncertain, and part of the time we could not see the trail at all. Indeed, Cootes’s pony stepped in a hole and fell, pitching Cootes clean over his head, and sending his helmet down the mountain-side, where Cootes had to go and get it. Soon after this, though, the forest thinned perceptibly, the trail grew better, and we met Connor, who had turned back to see how we were getting on, and who informed us we had only one-half hour more before us. Going on, we were greeted by a shout of welcome from our first Ilongot, standing in the trail, subligate, or gee-stringed, otherwise stark naked, and armed with a spear, the sentinel of a sort of outpost, equally naked, with which we soon came up. They were all armed, too, spears and shields, and all insisted on shaking hands with every one of us. You must shake hands when they offer to, an unpleasant matter sometimes, when you notice that the man who is paying you this attention is covered with toenia imbricata, or other rare tropical skin disease.4 Noblesse oblige, here as elsewhere; besides, a consideration for your own skin may require you to put aside your prejudices. The trail now turned down over a broad, cleared hog-back, at the flattened end of which we could see two shacks and a temporary shed for our mounts. Smoke was rising cheerfully in the air and people were moving about. This was Campote.

The purpose of the visit being to cultivate pleasant relations with and receive the confidence of these shy people, the real business of the day was soon opened. Mr. Worcester took his place in the shade of his shack, and proceeded to the distribution of red calico, beads, combs, mirrors, and other small stuff, the people coming up by rancherías (settlements or villages); none of the highlanders seem to have any conception of tribal organization, a condition no doubt due to the absence of communications. A cabecilla, or head man, would receive two meters, his wife one, and others smaller measures. This sort of thing was carefully studied out, so far as rank was concerned, for it would never do to give a common person even approximately as much as a cabecilla. One ranchería would take all red beads, another white, another blue, and so on. Not once did I see a trace of greediness or even eagerness, though interest was marked. The whole thing was conducted in the most orderly fashion, the various rancherías awaiting their turn with exemplary patience.1

The issue over, dancing began. In this only men and boys took part, to the music of small rude fiddles, tuned in fifths,2 played by the men, and of a queer instrument consisting of two or three joints of bamboo with strings stretched over bridges, beaten with little sticks by the women. The fiddles must be of European origin. The orchestra, seven or eight all told, sat in the shade, surrounded by an admiring crowd. Among them was a damsel holding a civilized umbrella over her head, whereof the stick and the rib-points were coquettishly decorated with white horse-hair tied in little brushes, doubtless furnished by our white pony.

The dancing at once fixed our attention. Two or three men, though usually only two, took position on the little terreplein below the shack, and began a slow movement, taking very short, formal, staccato steps in a circle against the sun. Keeping back to back and side to side, they maintained the whole body in a tense, rigid posture with the chest out, head up and thrown back, abdomen drawn in, right hand straight out, the left also, holding a shield, eyes glazed and fixed, knees bent forward. Between the steps, the dancers would stand in this strained, tense position, then move forward a few inches, and so on around the circle. After a little of this business, for that is just what it was, the next part came on, a simulation of fighting: and, as everything before was as stiff, strained, and rigid as it was possible to be, so now everything was light, graceful, agile, and quick; leaps forward and back, leaps sideways, the two combatants maneuvering, as it were, one around the other, for position. It was hard to realize that human motions could be so graceful, light and easy. Then head-knives were drawn, and cuts right, and cuts left, cuts at every part of the body from the head to the ankles, were added to the motion; the man on the defensive for the moment making suitable parries with his shield.

The dance completed, the dancers would advance and face Mr. Worcester, put their heels together in true military fashion, hold their arms out right and left, and make a slight inclination of the head, a sort of salute, in fact, to the one they regarded as the principal personage of the party.

We saw much dancing later on in our trip, but none that equalled this in intensity and character, apart from its being of a totally different kind, Heiser managed, with some difficulty, to take a photograph of the tense phase of one of the dances; it gives a better idea of the phase than my imperfect description.

The dancing was followed by archery, the target being a small banana stem at some thirty paces. This calls for no especial comment, except that many hits were made, and many of the misses would have hit a man. More interesting was an ambush they laid for us, to show how they attacked. While collecting for it, to our astonishment the entire party suddenly ran in all directions at top speed and hid behind whatever offered. On their return, in four or five minutes, they explained that a spirit had suddenly appeared among them, and that they had had to run. On our asking how they knew a spirit had turned up, they asked if we had not noticed leaves and grass flying in a spiral. As a matter of fact, some of us had, a very small and very gentle whirlwind having formed for a second or two. They had seen it, too, and that was the spirit.

It was now mid-day; we had tiffin, and began preparations for our departure. The various arms, shields, and other things we had bought were collected to be cargadoed back to Pangasinán. Among them, alas! were not two beautiful head-knives, which their wearers had absolutely declined to part with on any terms whatever. They resisted the Governor-General even. I give a photograph here of a knife and scabbard that Connor sent me on later. It is a handsome one, but not as handsome as those two jewels!

Our last performance was to look at the garden and to see the school at work, making thread and rope, weaving mats, and so on. I take it that this school was really the significant thing at Campote, apart from the significance of the occasion itself. We spent but little time over it, however, our interest in the arts of war having left us only a few minutes for those of peace. Nevertheless, here is a beginning that will bear fruit, and in the meantime Connor rides alone and in safety among these wild people, which proves a good many things, when you select the right man to do your hard work.

Mr. Worcester, as we rode off, expressed the liveliest satisfaction with the meeting. These people, returning to their rancherías, he said, would talk for a year of their treatment at the hands of the Americans, of the gift of palay (rice) to four hundred people, for two days, to say nothing of two vacas (cows) and of other gifts. Next year, he hoped, half of them would come in; besides, the start made was good; the presence of so many women and children was a good sign, and equally good was the total absence of old women. For these are a source of trouble and mischief with their complaints of the degeneracy of the times. They address themselves particularly to the young men, accusing them of a lack of courage and of other parts, taunting them with the fact that the young women will have none of them, that in their day their young men brought in heads, etc. Thus it has happened, especially when any native drink was going about, that trouble has followed. It is the practice, therefore, of our Government when arranging these meetings to suggest that the old women be left at home, and if so left, it is a good indication.

When I got back to the presidente’s, everybody had turned in, and the house was dark. However, I found a bed not occupied by anyone else, but of my bedding there was not a sign. So I stretched out on the petate1 of my bed, only to wake up later shivering with cold, which I tried to remedy by fishing around for cover in a pile of straw mats, from which I extracted what turned out in the morning to be a jusi table-cloth, through which you could have shot straws. It is altogether a mistake to imagine that one can not be cold in the tropics.

We were now on the borders of the Mountain Province; literally one more river to cross, and we should turn our backs on Nueva Vizcaya. And with regret, for it is a beautiful smiling province, of fertile soil, of polite and hospitable people, of lovely mountains, limpid streams and triumphant forests. In Dampier’s quaint words, spoken of another province, but equally true of this one, “The Valleys are well moistened with pleasant Brooks, and small Rivers of delicate Water; and have Trees of divers sorts flourishing and green all the Year.”1 Its people lack energy, perhaps because they have no roads; it may be equally true that they lack roads because they have no energy. However this may be, the province can and some day will grow coffee, tobacco, rice, and cocoa to perfection; its savannahs will furnish pasturage for thousands of cattle, where now some one solitary carabao serves only to mark the solitude in which he stands.

We crossed the stream about seven in the morning, May 1, and opened out on an immense field, which we estimated at about thirty-five hundred acres, a whole plantation in a ring fence, and offering not the slightest suggestion of the tropics in its aspect. The ground now broke and we went on down to a bold stream so deep that those of us riding ponies got wet above the knees and were almost swept down by the current. The cogon grass in this river bottom was the tallest I ever saw, some clumps being well over twenty feet high. Then we began to climb till we reached another divide, across the stream at the foot of which was Payawan, our immediate objective. Payawan consists of two shacks and a name. Here we were to have had our first meeting with the clans of the Ifugao, but through some misunderstanding they took the place of meeting to be at Kiangan, some, miles further on; so we all rested a while, and some of us took a swim in the little river we had just crossed, finding the water on first shock almost cold, but delightful beyond belief. Cootes and I were quite satisfied with the pool we found near the shack, but Strong and the rest thought they saw a better one downstream, so they crawled in the water around a small cliff, reached their pool, and then had to walk a mile and a half through the cogon and in the sun to return, there being no getting back upstream. Now, if there is anything else hotter on the face of the earth than a walk through the cogon in the dry season with the sun shining vertically down, it has yet to be discovered.

At Payawan we were met by Captain Jeff D. Gallman, P. C, Lieutenant-Governor of the Sub-province of Ifugao, accompanied by one of his chieftains, who made a splendid picture in his barbaric finery. Erect, thin of flank and well-muscled, he had a bold, clear eye and a fearless look; around his neck he wore a complicated necklace of gold and other beads; each upper arm was clasped by a boar’s tusk, from which stood out a plume of red horse-hair. His gee-string was decorated with a belt of white shells, the long free end hanging down in front, and he had his bolo, like the rest of his people, in a half-scabbard—that is, kept by two straps on a strip of wood, shaped like a scabbard. But all these were mere accessories; what distinguished him was his free graceful carriage, the lightness and ease of his motions, the frankness and openness of his countenance.

Our rest over, we pushed on through a beautiful forest, unlike any other seen so far in that it was open. The trail was excellent, and rose steadily, for we had to cross a sharp range before making Kiangan. I shall make no attempt to describe this exquisite afternoon: but there was a breeze, the forest tempered the sun’s rays a good part of the time; and, as we rose, range after range, peak on peak opened on our view, valley after valley spread out under our feet until I wearied of admiring. The others had gone over the trail before, and looked on nature with a more matter-of-fact eye. At the top of the range I noticed an outcrop of fossil coral. Bubud distinguished himself to-day. Gallman, who was trotting immediately in front (and who ought to know his own trails!), called “Ware hole!” just as Bubud put one of his forefeet in it, pitched forward, and threw me over his head, thus establishing a complete breach of continuity between us. However, as long as the thing had to happen, it was a good place to select, for the trail was four feet wide here, and, in case of going over the side, the drop was only eighty or ninety feet, with bushes conveniently arranged to catch hold of on the way down. This was Bubud’s solitary mishap, and it was not his fault.

Past the divide, the trail became a road over which one might have marched a field battery, so broad and firm and good was it: we were nearing Kiangan. Presently we turned a low spur to the left, and the Ifugao town burst upon our view. It was the headquarters of a Spanish Comandancia in the old days, and here Padre Juan Villaverde lived and worked, seeking to convert the people, and to teach them to grow coffee and to plant European vegetables. The mission, however came to naught, leaving behind no trace visible to the casual traveller, save a few lone cabbages: the garrison maintained here was massacred to a man, the native who surprised and cut down the sentry being pointed out to us the next day. Kiangan was celebrated in Spanish times, and even more recently, as the home of some of the most desperate head-hunters of the Archipelago. But, thanks to Gallman, head-hunting in the Ifugao country is now a thing of the past.

The town stands on the top of a bastion-like terrace, thrust avalanche-wise and immense between its pinnacled mountain walls; the site is not only of great beauty, but of great natural strength, like nearly all the other considerable settlements we saw on this journey. The two mountain walls approach somewhat like the branches of the letter V, having between them, near their intersection, as it were, the natural bastion mentioned rising from the bed of the Ibilao River, hundreds of feet below, and some thousands of yards distant. The whole position is on a large generous scale; it would have appealed to the ancient Greeks. And so, of course, we yet had some distance to go, and now made our way through rice-paddies, echeloned on the flanks of the spurs that came down to meet us. These rice-terraces (sementeras), the first I had seen, at once excited my interest, to the scorn of Pack, who bade me wait until we had come upon the real thing: these were nothing. It turned out he was entirely right; but I thought them remarkable, and anyway they were most refreshing and cooling to look at, after our long hot ride. The sound of running waters, the sight of the little runlets bubbling away for dear life, of the tall rice swaying to the breeze, the acropolis before us with its clumps of waving bamboos, of nodding bananas, and the soft afternoon light over all, the combination made a picture that, will live in my recollection. The impression immediately formed was that of a scene of quiet peace and beauty, more or less rudely shocked the following day. As we drew nearer and nearer we were welcomed by arches of bamboo decorated with native flowers and plants, and guarded by life-size anitos2 of both sexes in puris naturalibus, cut out of the tree fern, but with no connotation whatever of indecency. For these statues are either an innocent expression of nature, or, what seems more likely, an expression of Nature or phallic worship.

We had now got up to the parade of the cuartel (quarters or barracks) and were greeted by shouts from the people gathered to welcome us. The chief who had met us at Payawan, and who, on foot, had beaten us into Kiangan, appeared in all his bravery and with a prolonged “Who-o-o-o-e-e!” commanded silence. He then mounted a bamboo stand some twenty feet high, with a platform on top, and made us a speech! Yes, a regular speech, with gestures, intonations, and all the rest of it. For these Ifugaos are born orators, and love to show their skill. Accordingly, thanks to Mr. Worcester’s appreciation, orators’ tribunes have been put up at points like Kiangan; it is strange that the Ifugaos had never thought of it themselves. This tribune, by the way, was ornamented with tufts of leaves and grasses at the corners. When the speaker had done, he clapped his hands over his head, and all the people followed suit.

Later on Gallman, who speaks Ifugao like a native, interpreted for us. The speaker told his people that a great honor had been done them by this visit of the “Commission,” and that, besides, the great apo3 of all had come, too. His arrival could not fail to be of good luck for them, as it meant more rice, more chickens, more pigs, more babies, more good in all ways than they ever had had before. As other speeches began to threaten, on a hasty intimation from Mr. Forbes we moved on to our quarters, preceded by the escort of Constabulary.

This detachment, composed entirely of Ifugaos, would have delighted any soldier. They certainly excited my admiration by the precision of their movements, their set-up, and their general appearance. A Prussian Guardsman could not have been more erect. There are five companies of Constabulary in the Mountain Province, each serving in the part of the country from which recruited, and each retaining in its uniform the colors and such other native features as could be turned to account. Thus the only “civilized,” so to say, elements are the forage cap and khaki jacket worn directly over the skin; otherwise the legs, feet, and body are bare; the local gee-string is worn, with the free end hanging down in front. Here at Kiangan each man has below the knee the native brass leglet, and on the left hip the bultong, or native bag, a sporran, indeed, showing the local influence in its blue and white stripes. Thus accoutered, the first impression formed was that these troops were actually highlanders; on reflection, this impression is correct, for they are highlanders in every sense of the word. I obtained permission to inspect the detachment after the honors were over, and found their equipment and uniforms in admirable condition. Of their discipline, everyone spoke in the highest terms; indeed, we had next day, as will soon appear, an example of this quality. Their loyalty to the Government is unquestioned. These mountaineers are all, as might be expected, hardy, strong, able-bodied, and active; in fact, the physical qualities of these mountain people are remarkable. But at Kiangan, as elsewhere, it was noticeable that discipline, regular habits, regular food, had improved the naturally good physical qualities of the people. The Constabulary appeared to me to be physically better than the tribe from which they were drawn. I noticed, too, that after protracted wearing of the khaki the skin of the body was several shades lighter than that of the legs.

We now entered our quarters, being those of Lieutenant Meimban, the native officer in command. Here, too, we met Mr. Barton, the local school superintendent. His predecessor had had to be relieved, because one day, as he was going up the trail, an Ifugao threw a spear “into” him, as they say in the mountains, and he consequently got a sort of distaste for the place, although it was clearly established in the investigation that followed, and carefully explained to him, that it was all a mistake, and that the spear had been intended for somebody else. Mr. Barton is doing a useful work here in devoting his spare time and energy to a study of the Ifugao religion with its myths and mythology. He told me that he had so far defined seven hundred different spirits and was not sure that he had got to the end of them. The publication of Mr. Barton’s research is awaited with some avidity by the Americans living in the Province, as enabling them to have a better control of the people through their religious beliefs.

We had not long been seated in our quarters before a deputation of chiefs with their gansas and a large number of bubud4 jars entered, and offered us bubud to drink. Very soon our visitors began to dance for us to the sound of the gansa, their dance being different from that we had seen a few days before at Campote. As, however, the next day was one dance from morning to night, I shall not spend any more time upon this affair, except to say that, turn about being fair play, Cootes got up and gave such a representation as he was able of a pas seul. When he had done, our visitors started anew, and the gansas proving irresistible, Cootes and I joined in. The steps, poise of body, motion of the arms and hands are so marked and peculiar that a little observation and practice enabled us in a short time to produce at least a fair imitation; indeed, so successful were our efforts that we were informed we should be invited to dance on the morrow before the multitudes! This brought us up standing, and it was time anyway. So our chieftains took their leave, their bubud jars remaining in our charge. These jars are worth more than a passing mention: the oldest ones come from China, and are held in such high esteem by the Ifugaos that they will part with them for neither love nor money. According to the experts, some of them are examples of the earliest known forms of Chinese porcelain, and are most highly prized by collectors and museums.5

We put up our mosquito-bars this night, the only time on the trip, but I think without any necessity. So far we had not seen, heard or felt a single fly or mosquito, and were to see none until we struck civilization once more in the Cagayán Valley.