Read Ebook: Wanderings in the Orient by Reese A M Albert Moore

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shed together like tigers, jumping high over each other and endeavoring to stab one another with their artificial weapons. In the one fight witnessed both birds were soon bleeding profusely and had lost their desire to fight, so that the crowd called out some word and the cocks were picked up and "sicked" on each other again; this was repeated until one bird had enough and retreated ignominiously to the farthest corner of the pit, amid the shouts of the men who had bet on the other cock. In many cases, it is said, the vanquished bird is killed outright before he has time to retreat.

The sport, while rather exciting, is certainly demoralizing, especially with the betting that always accompanies it.

Such is the life of these simple people. Of course among the less civilized and the savage tribes conditions are very different, and a white man would not dare enter so intimately into the life of a barrio; in fact in some regions it is very unsafe to go outside of the army posts without a proper guard.

As to the character of the civilized Filipinos opinion seems to differ among the Americans of the Islands. That they are not yet capable of self-government seems to be almost universally believed by Americans who have lived among them; and that they are not energetic as a class is only what might be expected in such a climate. Some Americans have a rather high opinion of the moral character and general trustworthiness of the average native; others do not hold such a high opinion of him and consider him the inferior of the American negro, mentally, morally and physically. As students in the University of the Philippines it is said they compare favorably with students in American universities.

Doubtless there is as much variation, mental and moral, among the natives of the Philippine Islands as among the inhabitants of an Anglo-Saxon country, so that one's opinions are apt to be influenced by the class of natives with which he chiefly comes in contact.

After leaving the dock at Manila at sundown we steamed out of the bay, past the searchlights of Corregidor and the other forts which were sweeping entirely across the entrance to the bay in a way that would immediately expose any enemy that might attempt to slip by in the dark, and by nine o'clock we were headed in a south-westerly direction across the China Sea.

The next day we passed through winding passages along the Calamaines group where every hour brought to view new islands of the greatest beauty and of every size and shape. Upon one of these islands is a leper colony which we visited and found most interesting.

Early on the second morning we entered the harbor of the small but ancient village of Tay Tay on the eastern shore of Palawan. Not a white man lives in this inaccessible hamlet and it is seldom that one visits it, as there is no regular communication of any sort with the outside world.

The village consists of a dozen or two native huts along the beach in a very pretty grove of coconut trees. Back of the village is a range of low mountains covered with tropical jungle. The main point of interest is a well constructed fort of stone, built on a small promontory that projects out into the bay. The walls of the fort are very massive and are surmounted at each of the four corners by a round watch tower. On its land side the fort is entered through a narrow gate that leads by a stone stairway to the top of the promontory. On various parts of the walls are carvings and inscriptions showing that the different bastions were built at different times.

Within the fort and overlooking the walls is an old stone church whose roof has long since fallen in. Within the fort is also a large cement-lined, stone cistern to hold water in case of siege. The Spanish inscriptions on the walls show that the fort was begun about 1720, though the mission there was established about 1620. Lying about within the fort are a few large iron cannon that were doubtless used by the Spaniards in repulsing the attacks of the Moro pirates. It was for a refuge from these pirates that this old fort was built nearly two hundred years ago in this tiny, reef-protected harbor, on an island that even now is unknown to a large majority of American people although it is a part of our territory.

On the shore, just back of the fort, is another stone church whose roof has also fallen in; and back of this church is a small thatched bell tower with two very good bells of harmonious tones hanging in it. How long these bells have been silent it is difficult to say, but no priest now remains to carry on the work begun nearly three hundred years ago by the brave padres from Spain, and not a Spaniard now lives in that almost forgotten village. But for the moss-covered and still massive gray walls of the fort and the crumbling ruins of the two churches one would never imagine that this tiny village of brown men had ever been inhabited by subjects of the kingdom of Spain.

In passing out of the harbor of Tay Tay we visited a small volcanic island of curiously weathered and water-worn limestone. Except for a narrow beach the sides of this island are almost perpendicular, and the cliffs are honeycombed with dozens of water-worn caves. Many of these caves are of great beauty, resembling the interiors of stone churches; some extend far back into the dark interior of the island, others are lighted by openings at the top. Many of them are beautifully colored, and in an accessible region would doubtless be frequently visited by tourists, while in their isolated location it is possible that they had never before been visited by white men, unless in the old Spanish days. It is in these and in similar caves of this region that the natives obtain the edible birds' nests so highly prized by some, especially the Chinese. The natives are said to have claims on certain caves, and any one found stealing nests from another man's cave is supposedly dealt with as a thief.

These curious nests are built by swifts against the walls of the dark caves much in the some way as is done by our common chimney swifts, except that instead of cementing a number of small twigs together by a kind of sticky secretion or saliva, the entire nest is made of the sticky substance which dries into a sort of gummy mass. This substance has but little taste, and why the wealthy Chinese should be willing to pay such enormous prices for it is hard to understand.

It is said that the first nest the bird makes in the season brings the highest price because it is of pure material; this nest having been taken the bird builds another, but, having a diminished supply of the secretion, it introduces some foreign matter to help out, and this foreign matter, of course, makes the nest less valuable as food. A third nest may succeed the second, but it has still more foreign matter to still further diminish its value. That the collection of the nests is attended with considerable danger is evident from the vertical, jagged walls of rock that must be scaled, either from below or above, to obtain them.

To those of us who lead busy lives in the centers of what we call twentieth-century civilization, life in a place so isolated from the rest of the world as Tay Tay seems impossible. Yet the inhabitants of this barrio are quite contented and fairly comfortable. They live "the simple life" indeed. While their resources are exceedingly limited their needs and desires are correspondingly few. They never suffer from cold and probably not often from heat or hunger: and they are not cursed with the ambitions that make so many of us dissatisfied with our lives.

It was early Sunday morning when the "Busuanga" dropped anchor in the harbor of Culion Island, one of the Calamaines group of the Philippines, and two or three of us were fortunate enough to be invited to land, for an hour or so, to visit the leper colony that is said to be the largest in the world.

We were met at the tiny dock by the physician-in-charge, Dr. Clements, and by him escorted about the colony. This physician, who has spent long years in these eastern lands, gives the immediate impression of a man of quiet force, and the work he is doing in this seldom-visited island is as fine a piece of missionary work, though carried on by the government, as can probably be found anywhere.

Including the dock a few acres of the island are fenced off, and into this enclosure the lepers are forbidden to enter; otherwise they have the run of the island, but are not allowed boats for fear they would be used as a means of escape.

Within the non-leprous enclosure are located the residences for the doctors and other officials; the living quarters, kitchens etc. for the non-leprous laborers; and various shops and other such buildings.

Passing this minute store we entered the gate of the "forbidden city," and, though there is no danger from merely breathing the same air with lepers, it gave us a rather strange sensation to be surrounded by thirty-four hundred poor wretches who in Biblical times would have been compelled to cry "Unclean! unclean!" We, of course, did not touch anything within the colony, though the doctors do not hesitate to touch even the lepers themselves.

The colony proper is located on a small promontory looking eastward to the harbor and the Sulu Sea. At the end of this promontory is an old Spanish fort of stone with its enclosed church. Most of the Christian lepers are Roman Catholics, though there is a small Protestant church in the colony, in charge of a leprous native minister.

The lepers are brought from the various islands of the Philippines to this colony so fast that it is with great difficulty that they can be accommodated; but all are made comfortable, in fact much more comfortable, in most cases, than they would ever have been at home. Except for homesickness, which cannot, of course, be avoided, they are quite happy, or as happy as any hopelessly sick people can be away from home and friends.

Fine concrete dormitories are supplied, but many prefer to build their own native houses of nipa palm and bamboo. A certain amount of help is given the lepers in building these houses on condition that they first obtain a permit and build in the proper place in relation to the streets that have been laid out.

Besides the dormitories there are several concrete kitchen buildings where the lepers can prepare their food in comfort.

A plentiful supply of pure water is distributed by pipes to various convenient parts of the colony, and several concrete bath and wash houses are conveniently located. A concrete sewage system leads all sewage to the sea.

In this tropical climate it is, of course, unnecessary to provide any means of heating the buildings. At the time of our visit a large amusement pavilion was nearly completed where moving pictures and other forms of entertainment will help pass the time for these poor wretches who have nothing to look forward to but a lingering death from a loathsome disease.

A large number of the patients who are in the incipient stages showed, to the ordinary observer, no effects of the disease. There were others who at first glance seemed perfectly normal, but on closer scrutiny revealed the absence of one or more toes or fingers. Others had horribly swollen ears: some had no nose left and were distressing objects; but it was not until we visited the various wards of the hospital that we saw leprosy in all of its horror. Here were dozens of cases so far advanced that they were no longer able to walk; they were lying on their cots waiting for death to come to their release. Some were so emaciated as to look almost like animated skeletons. Others, except for and sometimes in spite of their bandages, looked like horrid, partially decomposed cadavers. It was a sight to make one shudder and devoutly hope that a cure for this awful disease may soon be discovered. These extreme cases are cared for carefully and their last hours are made as comfortable as possible.

As we came, out three Catholic sisters entered the women's ward to do what they could for the patients there.

At the back of the colony we met four lepers of incipient stages carrying a long box on their shoulders. Just as they came abreast of us they set it down, to rest themselves, and we saw that in the box was another "cured" leper. He was being carried to the cemetery not only "unhonored and unsung" but also "unwept": not a single friend nor relative followed his wasted body to its final resting place. After this pitiful spectacle, added to the horrors of the hospital wards, we were not sorry to turn our steps back toward the boat. As we passed through the fence at the "dead line," going away from the colony, we were compelled to wade through a shallow box of water containing a small percentage of carbolic acid which disinfected the soles of our shoes, the only things about us that had come in actual contact with the leper colony. In this way all visitors when they leave the colony are compelled, not to "shake its dust from their feet" but to wash its germs from their soles.

As an antidote for dissatisfaction with one's lot in life, or as an object lesson for the pessimists who claim there is no unselfishness in the world, or as an illustration of the value of the medical missionary, this little island, lying "somewhere east of Suez" between the Sulu and the China Seas, is not easily surpassed.

When the North German Lloyd steamer "Sandakan" left the dock at Zamboanga she had in the first cabin only three passengers, a Russian of uncertain occupation, a young lieutenant of the Philippine constabulary, and myself. We had, therefore, the pick of the deck staterooms, which is worth while when traveling within ten degrees of the equator in mid-summer.

Zamboanga is the chief city of the island of Mindanao and is the capital of the turbulent Moro province, which includes the well-known island of Sulu with its once-famous sultan.

After a night's run we tied up at the dock of Jolo, the chief town of the island of Sulu. Here my two companions left the ship, so that until we reached the next port, Sandakan, I was the only cabin passenger, and when the ship's officers were prevented by their duties from appearing at the table I had the undivided attention of the chief steward, two cooks, and three waiters. This line of vessels being primarily for freight the "Sandakan" has accommodations for less than twenty first-cabin passengers, and it probably seldom has anything like a full list on this out-of-the-way run from "Zambo" to Singapore. So far as its accommodations go, however, they are excellent, and a pleasanter trip of a week or ten days would be hard to find, in spite of the tropical heat.

While the first cabin list was so small, the third class accommodations seemed taxed to their utmost, and the conglomeration of orientals was an unending source of amusement. They slept all over their deck and appeared happy and comfortable in spite of the fact that they seemed never to remove their clothes nor to bathe; it is probable that to most of them ten days without such luxuries was not a noticeable deprivation.

Leaving Jolo, a picturesque walled city with a reputation for dangerous Moros , we sailed southwest through the countless islands of the Sulu Archipelago, and after a run of about twenty hours passed the high red cliff at the entrance to the harbor of Sandakan, the capital of British North Borneo, and were soon alongside the dock.

Sandakan is a rather pretty little town of two or three thousand inhabitants, including about fifty white people. It extends along the shore for about a mile and in the center has the athletic or recreation field, that is found in all these little towns, as well as the post office and other government buildings. In this central part of the town are also the Chinese stores, usually dirty, ill-smelling and unattractive; but there are no others. In all this region the Chinese seem to have a complete monopoly of the commercial business.

A hundred yards or more from the shore the hills rise steeply from sea-level to a few hundred feet, and over these hills are scattered the attractive bungalows of the white residents. There is also here a handsome stone church, overlooking the bay, with a school for native boys in connection with it. The hills farther from the town are heavily wooded, and the timber is being sawed at mills along the shore road. On the streets are seen men of several nationalities, Chinese, Malays, Moros, East Indians, and occasionally a Caucasian in his customary white suit and pith helmet; but of all these the most dignified and stately is the Indian policeman. He is tall and slender, with frequently a fine black beard; his head is covered with the usual white turban, set off with a touch of red. His gray spiral puttees generally do not quite reach the bottom of his khaki trousers, thus leaving his knees bare. Hanging from his belt is his club, similar to those carried by American policemen, and jangling in one hand is usually a pair of steel handcuffs. In passing white men he often raises his hand in a formal military salute that would be worthy of a major general. Altogether he is a most impressive personage and, with such examples constantly before them, it would seem incredible that the citizens should ever cause a-disturbance. An interesting contrast was seen in a group of men, sitting idly in the shade and watching eight little Chinese women stagger by with a huge tree trunk that would seem too heavy for an equal number of strong men to carry: but this is "East of Suez, where the best is like the worst," whatever Kipling meant by that.

At Sandakan the first cabin passenger list was increased 100 per cent by the advent of a young Danish rubber man--not a man made of young Danish rubber, but a young Dane from Singapore who had been inspecting rubber plantations, of which there are many on Borneo.

In the northeast corner of Borneo is its highest mountain, Kini or Kina Balu, the Chinese Widow, supposedly so named because of the fancied resemblance of its jagged top to the upturned face of a woman. It is really a very impressive peak and, being seen from the sea, it looks its full height of nearly fourteen thousand feet; being exactly under the sixth parallel it is, of course, too close to the equator to be snow-capped. Its position near the coast enabled us to enjoy it as we approached the island from the northeast and as we passed around and down the west coast, so that it was visible for nearly three days. Other mountain peaks of five or six thousand feet are visible along the west coast but they appear insignificant in comparison with old Kini Balu.

Leaving Kudat in the evening we arrived at Jesselton the following morning. This is a town of about the same size and character of location as Kudat, but as the northern terminus of the only railroad on the island it seems much more of a metropolis. It has a clock-tower, too, the pride of every Jesseltonian heart, located in plain view of the railroad station so that there is no excuse for the trains leaving Jesselton more than two or three hours late. There is here again the recreation field and market house, and, of course, the usual Chinese stores and Indian policemen; besides this it is the home town of the Governor of British North Borneo. But the railroad is the chief feature of Jesselton. To be sure it is only a narrow gauge, but it carries people, if they are not in too big a hurry, and freight. The engines are of English type but the cars are--original, surely. There are first and third class passenger coaches, no second class, to say nothing of a baggage "van." The third class cars have simply a rough wooden bench along each side and seat about twenty people. The first class cars are of two types: the first is like the third class with the addition of cushions to the seats and curtains to the windows; the second kind is a sort of Pullman car; it is of the same size, but instead of the benches it has about half a dozen wicker chairs that may be moved about at will.

Having a few hours to spare I decided to take a ride into the country. I had already climbed one of the hills where I could get a view inland to Kini Balu, over miles of jungle where no white man has ever been. But I wanted to see a little of this country, from the car-window at least. So I entered the station and interviewed the station master, a portly official of great dignity. He told me, in fair English, that the train on the "main line" had left for that day but that I could take a "local" out into the country for about three miles. This was better than nothing, so I climbed aboard the first class car of the local that was soon to start. I was the only first-class passenger and I felt like a railroad president in his private car. Soon after starting the conductor entered. He was a tall and, of course, dignified East Indian in turban and khaki uniform. He had the punch without which no conductor would be complete, and, suspended from a strap over his shoulder, was a huge canvas bag, like a mail bag, the purpose of which puzzled me. The fare, he told me, was fifteen cents to the end of the line; on giving him a twenty-cent piece I found the purpose of the canvas bag; it was his money bag, and he carefully fished from its depths my five cents change. The Borneo pennies are about as big as cart wheels so this bag was not so out of proportion as it might seem. In exchange for my fare he gave me a ticket marked "fifteen cents," which he gravely punched. I did not know what the ticket was for as I thought there would hardly be a change of conductors in a run of three miles, but I kept it and in about five minutes the dignified conductor returned and gravely took up the ticket again; this impressive performance was repeated on the return trip.

After leaving the crowded streets of the city our speed rapidly increased until we were traveling at a rate of not less than ten miles an hour, which was fast enough considering there were no airbrakes on the train of three cars, and we had to be ready to stop at any moment when somebody might want to get on or off. Doubtless the "flyers" on the main line of the British North Borneo State Railroad run at even greater speeds than this. The dignity of the officials of this miniature railroad was most interesting, and was almost equal to that of a negro porter on the Empire State Express.

Leaving this railroad center early the next morning we arrived, before dark, at our last stop in Borneo, Labuan. We had added 50 per cent to our cabin passenger list at Jesselton by taking aboard a young English engineer from South Africa.

The Island of Labuan upon which the town of the same name is situated lies just off the northwest coast of Borneo. It came under the protectorate of Great Britain in 1846 and, though small, has a more up-to-date appearance than any of the other towns visited. The stores are mainly of concrete with red tile or red-painted corrugated iron roofs, which, among the tall coconut palms, are very attractive in appearance. There is one main street, parallel to the beach line, that is extended as a modern, oiled road for some miles into the country. Along this road are the very attractive official buildings, each with its sign in front; also the recreation field and the residences of the few white inhabitants. All of the streets are clean and have deep cement gutters on the sides that lead to the sea or to the various lagoons that extend through the town. Water pipes also extend along the streets with openings at convenient intervals. Extensive coal mines are located near the town, but for some reason they were not profitable and the cars and docks for handling coal are now nearly all idle. On one of the lagoons is a rather artistic Chinese temple of concrete, well built and in good repair.

On the main street is a school, and, seeing a crowd of natives at the door, I joined the throng to see what was going on inside. It proved to be the singing hour, and about fifty little Chinese boys, from six to ten years of age, all in neat khaki uniforms, were singing at the tops of their voices, led by a very active Chinese man. The little fellows seemed to enjoy the singing thoroughly, and, after hearing several songs, all in Chinese, of course, to strange and unusual tunes, I was surprised to recognize one of the tunes--it was "John Brown's body lies amoulding in the grave" though what the words were I was unable to tell since, like the other songs, they were in Chinese.

At Labuan the last of our cabin passengers came aboard, two Englishmen, one a mining engineer, the other a government man. Since no more stops were to be made in Borneo, the Sandakan headed in a southwest direction straight for Singapore, and in exactly three days we entered that busy harbor and dropped anchor among the more than two dozen other ocean liners from all parts of the world.

Singapore is one of the busiest seaports in the world and the hundreds of vessels of all sizes and types against the background of handsome white and cream-colored buildings make a very interesting and impressive sight.

Thus ended a most interesting voyage of nine days, through a region seldom visited by any but a few Englishmen who are interested in some way in the development of that, as yet, little developed part of the world. Although it is a trip that is easily arranged by visitors to the Philippines it is one that is seldom taken by the tourist.

In Singapore, it is said, can be seen more races of men than at any other one spot in the world, so that it has been well named "The Melting Pot of the East." It is also sometimes spoken of as "The Gateway of the East," since all vessels bound for ports in the Far East call there.

It is said, perhaps without sufficient historical evidence, that the town was first settled by Malays in 1360 A. D.; but as a port of any importance its history begins in 1819 when it was ceded by Jahore to Great Britain through the instrumentality of Sir Stamford Raffles, whose name is perpetuated in connection with many of the local institutions.

In the early days, in fact until the introduction of steamships, there was much annoyance and danger from pirates at sea and robbers on land, but that of course is now long past and one is as safe here as in any other part of the world.

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