Adventures of Piang the Moro Jungle Boy

by Mrs. Molesworth

  FIRST ADVENTURE

  THE CHARM BOY

  In the warm Celebes Sea, four hundred miles south of Manila, lies theromantic, semi-mysterious island of Mindanao, home of the Moro. Forthree centuries Spain struggled to subjugate this fierce people,with little or no success, and she turned them over to America witha sigh of relief. Perpetual warfare is the pastime of the Moro; itis his sport, his vocation; and the Mother Jungle hurls a livelihoodat his feet. Food, clothing, shelter are his birthright.

  One of the most powerful tribes of Moroland is ruled by Dato (chief)Kali Pandapatan. Far up in the hills dwells this powerful clan,arrogant and superior in its power. Piang, the chosen of Allah,dwells among them; haughtily the boy accepts their homage as his due,for he is destined to become their ruler some day. His prowess andbravery are the boast of his people, and the name of Piang is knownfrom one end of Mindanao to the other.

  The tribe was assembled for the ceremony. Within the hollow squarestood Dato (chief) Kali Pandapatan and old Pandita (priest) Asin. Therewas a rustle of expectancy among the onlookers; their interest wasdivided between the two solitary figures, silently waiting, and ahut, much bedecked with gaudy trappings and greens. On all sides thesilent jungle closed in around the brilliant throng, seeming to bearwitness against mankind; men might force a tiny clearing in its veryheart after years of struggle and work, but the virgin forest sang on,undisturbed, watchful.

  The grass flaps, forming the door of the hut, moved. Like a soft windcaressing the palm-trees, a murmur rustled through the crowd:

  "It is he!"

  Children scrambled away from restraining parents to get a better view;dogs, filled with uneasiness by this strange silence, whined. Thestillness was unnatural. Distant cries of a mina-bird floated to thisstrained audience; the river, muttering its plaints to the listeningrushes, sounded like a cataract in their ears.

  Into the midst of this crowd walked a stately, graceful youth. Thedusky goldenness of his skin was enhanced by his rainbow-huedgarments. From waist to ankle he was encased in breeches as tight asany gymnast's pantaloons; they were striped in greens and scarletsand had small gold filigree buttons down the sides. A tight jacket,buttoned to the throat, was fastened with another row of buttons,and around his waist was gracefully tied a crimson sash, the fringedends heavy with glass beads and seed-pearls. A campilan (two-handledknife, double-edged), and a pearl-handled creese (dagger) were thrustinto the sash. With arrogant tread he advanced, the ranks dividinglike a wave before an aggressive war-prau. His piercing black eyesexpressed utter indifference, and he ignored those gathered to witnesshis triumph. Only once he seemed to smile when the little slave girl,Papita, timidly touched his arm. The rebuke that fell upon her from theothers, brought a frown to the boy's face, but he continued to advanceuntil he stood beside Dato Kali Pandapatan and Pandita Asin. Here,like a sentinel giant, bereft of his nearest kin, one monster treeremained standing. It seemed to whisper to its distant mates, whonodded answer from their ranks at the edge of the clearing. Underthis tree Piang paused, gazing fixedly at his beloved chief.

  "Piang," said Kali, "the time has come for you to prove that you arethe chosen of Allah."

  A perceptible rustle followed this.

  "On the night of your birth, the panditas announced that the charmboy, who was to lead the tribe to victory, would be born beforethe stars dimmed. Your cry came first, but there was another, also,fated to come to us that night. The mestizo (half-breed) boy, Sicto,opened his eyes before that same dawn, and you are destined to provewhich is the chosen Allah." Anxiously the Moro men and women gazedat their idol, Piang. His manly little head was held high, and thepowerful shoulders squared as he listened.

  The sun, but lately risen, bathed the multitude in its early lightand chased the light filigree of moisture from the foliage. Throughthe branches of the solitary tree, wavy sunbeams made their way toflicker and play around Piang, and one bold dart seemed to hesitateand caress the mass of glossy, black hair.

  "Sicto!" called Kali. There was another murmur, but very differentfrom the one that had preceded Piang's coming. From the same hutcame forth another boy. A little taller than Piang, was Sicto, leanand lank of limb. His skin was a dirty cream color, more like thatof the Mongolian than the warm tinted Mohammedan. His costume wasmuch like Piang's, but it was not carried with the royal dignity ofthe other boy's. Sicto's head was held a little down; the murky eyesavoided meeting those of his tribesmen, and his whole attitude gavethe impression of slinking. The high cheek-bones and slightly tiltedeyes bore evidence of the Chinese blood that flowed in his veins,and the tribe shuddered at the thought of Sicto as charm boy. Headvanced with a shambling gait.

  "Sicto, it is given that you shall have your chance." Kali Pandapatanspoke loudly, a frown on his brow. "Piang is of our own blood, andwe, one and all, wish him to be our charm boy, but there shall be noinjustice done. Born under the same star, within the same hour, it isnot for me to decide whether you or Piang is the Heaven-sent." Turningto the pandita, Kali whispered something. The old man nodded andadvanced a few steps, saying:

  "My people, I shall leave it to you, whether or not I have made a wisedecision. There is no way for us to prove the claim of either of theseboys, so I am sending them to seek the answer for themselves." Asinpaused, and the crowd moved. "On yonder mountain dwells the wisehermit, Ganassi. He has lived there for many years, apart from man,alone in the jungle with beast and reptile.

  There are no trails to his haunt; no man has seen Ganassi for ageneration, but that he still lives we know, for he answers our signalfires each year and replies to our questions." Turning to the two boys,he addressed them directly: "The mountain where he dwells has beennamed after him, Ganassi Peak, and friends through the hills willdirect you toward it. You shall both start at the same time, but bydifferent routes. One leads through the jungle, over the hills; theother follows the river to its head-water, the lake. Old Ganassi willguide the real charm boy to him; he is great; he is ubiquitous. Haveno fear of the jungle or its creatures, for he will be with you."

  Amazement and joy were written on Piang's face. He was to penetratethe jungle at last, alone! His heart thrilled at the thought of theadventures waiting for him there, and with radiant face he turnedtoward the inviting forest.

  "Piang! Piang!" resounded through the stillness, as the excited Moroswatched him.

  Sicto stood, head down, wriggling his toes in the sand. He did notlike the idea of the lonely jungle, or the thought of the long harddays between him and Ganassi Peak, but he did not speak.

  With solemn ceremony the pandita prepared to anoint the boys accordingto the rites of the tribe. A slave boy ran lightly forward and sankon his knees before the pandita. On his head he bore a basket coveredwith cool, green leaves. Praying and chanting, the priest uncoveredthe basket, revealing two beautiful dazzlingly white flowers.

  "The champakas!" cried Papita in amazement as the rare flowerswere exposed. An admonishing hand was placed over her lips. SlowlyAsin raised the flowers, heavy with dew, above the two boys, and theclear, crystal drops fell upon their heads. Across the sky trailed aflock of white rice-birds; as they flitted across the clearing, theirshadows leaped from one picturesque Moro to another; a twig snapped,startling a baby, who cried out. The spell was broken.

  The chant was taken up by the entire tribe, and slowly at first, theybegan to revolve around the central figures. As their excitementgrew, the pace quickened, until they were whirling and gyratingat a reckless rate. Like a pistol-shot came the command to cease,and quietly all returned to their original places. Kali Pandapatanraised his hand for silence.

  "I shall throw my creese into the air. Sicto, you may have firstchoice. Do you choose the point, or the flat fall?"

  Sicto considered:

  "If the creese falls without sticking into the ground, I shall choosemy route first."

  The crowd instinctively pushed a little closer as Kali tossed theshining blade into the air. A gasp, forced from between some anxiouslip, broke th
e stillness. Every eye followed the course described bythe knife, and when it fell, clean as an arrow, the blade piercingthe earth, there was a sigh of relief. Piang was to have first choice.

  "Piang, it is given that you shall choose. Will you proceed by theriver or take your chances with the jungle? One route is as safe asanother, and only the real charm boy can reach Ganassi."

  "I will go by the river," Piang answered quietly, with great dignity.