260 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
{[FeB. 17, 1906. 

“I know he wants something,’ said Pershing 
to me later when he came in for a good night 
smoke, “but what it is the Lord only knows, and 
I can’t guess. The only thing that he has said, 
so far, which amounts to anything is to make a 
complain about Bullard’s outfit”—which was 
building a road from the coast to Marahui on the 
other side of the island—‘but that’s all talk and 
not what he is here for, and I can’t figure out 
what it is.” 
All the next day the Moros talked and smoked 
and chewed betel nut but never a word did they 
say as to the real object of their visit, and we 
had about come to the conclusion that their pres- 
ence really was only due to the desire of Ahmi 
Mannibeling to make a social call on his old 
friend when, on the afternoon of the second day, 
like lightning from a clear sky, Ahmi Manni- 
beling said: 
“Pershing, which would you rather have, this 
tent filled with gold or the friendship of every 
Moro around Lake Lanao?” and Pershing knew 
the time had come. 
Without hesitating a second, which would have 
been ruinous, he answered: 
“l would rather have the friendship and be at 
peace with the Malanaos than to have every tent 
in this camp filled with gold. It is the dearest 
wish of my heart.” 
“Mopiar! Mopiar!” cried the Moros, laughing 
and clapping their hands and nodding to one an- 
other. 
“Then,” said Ahmi Mannibeling, “set the Sul- 
tan of Binadyan free, return the arms you cap- 
tured at Fort Pandapatan, and pay a hundred 
pesos apiece for the rifles we now have of yours, 
and every Sultan and Datto about the lake will 
come here and visit you and take the oath of 
blood brotherhood to the Americans on _ the 
Koran.” 
The proposition was tempting, of course, very 
tempting, for it offered a solution to the whole 
problem, but at too great a loss of prestige, and 
was not to be entertained for a minute. 
Pershing explained to them that it would be 
impossible to return the arms taken at Fort Pan- 
dapatan for the reason that they had already 
been destroyed or sent to Manila. “These 
arms,” said he, “were taken in fair fight. What 
is the Moro law in such cases? Do not the arms, 
prisoners and other things taken in battle belong 
to the victors? The rifles you have of ours were 
not taken in battle but were obtained treacher- 
ously by your people, who, pretending to be our 
friends, attacked us and secured them in that 
way. While it is the desire nearest my heart, as 
I have said, to see the Lanao Valley once more 
at peace, and the Americans and the Moros 
bound to each other by ties of friendship founded 
on that respect all brave men feel for each other, 
still I cannot accept your terms, much as I desire 
peace, because they are too humiliating. 
“For every man you have we have hundreds, 
and for every rifle of yours we have thousands; 
why then should we return the arms we have 
taken in fair fight, and which, according to your 
own laws, are ours, and pay you for the return 
of those you have taken from us by treachery ? 
No, a thousand time no. But I will do this. You 
return the two rifles and the cartridges Ahmi 
Benanning took from the men on the trail and 
have the Sultans and Dattos come here and visit 
me and swear friendship on the Koran, and I 
will release the Sultan of Binadyan and allow 
Ahmi Benanning to go scatheless. More than 
this I cannot do.” 
_ But the Moros wouldn’t agree to this proposi- 
tion and that afternoon took their departure. 
Another week went by during which scarcely 
a day passed but some Moro of distinction came 
in with a proposition for a compromise looking 
to the release of the Sultan, but Pershing was 
firm and nothing but the production of Ahmi 
Benanning and the return of the rifles would do. 
Things drifted along in this way for a couple 
of weeks more during which the Moros never 
ceased their efforts to obtain their chief's free- 
dom, and then one morning the Rajah Muda, of 
Banadyan, appeared with the rifles and the in- 
formation that they had waylaid Ahmi Benan- 
ning the night before when he was returning 
from a visit to one of his wives and had cap- 
tured him after a fierce fight in which he had 
been so badly wounded that he died a few hours 
later. 
“His body,” said the Rajah Muda, “is now on 
its way here, and it is hoped that the American 
commander will be graciously pleased to release 
the Sultan.” 
“All right,’ Pershing answered, “I'll release 
him when the body gets here, if it turns out to 
be the man we want.” 
Sure enough, about an hour afterward four 
Moros came in sight carrying something that 
looked like the carcass of a pig slung on a bam- 
boo, but which, on closer inspection through our 
glasses, proved to be the body of a man. 
Staggering under their load the bearers came 
grunting up to Pershing’s tent and dropped their 
burden on the ground in front of it, whereupon 
the burden very promptly sat up and called 
weakly for Leon, one of our interpreters. 
At this unexpected and most disconcerting 
proceeding on the part of the supposed dead man 
the eyes of the Moros started from their sockets, 
as if they had seen a ghost, and then the Rajah 
Muda and the four bearers took to their heels 
and simply burned holes in the air until they 
reached the high grass, into which they dove 
head first, and, so far as I know, through which 
they may be running yet, for we never saw them 
again. 
The story the victim told was a gruesome one, 
indeed. It seemed that the night before he was 
returning to his home in Genassi, after having 
carried a note from his master, the Sultan of that 
place, to Said y Ducimen at Bayang. His way 
took him through Binadyan, which lies between 
the two places, and when about half way across 
he was set upon by some of the Banadyan people 
and made a prisoner. His captors took him to 
the cotta of the Sultan, where he was bound to 
a post and left without food or water until noon, 
when the Rajah Muda had come to him and 
asked if he would accompany them to the Ameri- 
can camp and say that he was Ahmi Benanning, 
promising him a large reward if he would do so. 
He told them that he was known to a number of 
people in our camp, and that it would be useless 
for him to try and pass himself off for so great 
a chief as Ahmi Benanning, for he was sure to 
be recognized by his friends among us, where- 
upon they fell on him with their knives, and after 
receiving a few blows he lost consciousness and 
did not come to until the bearers had entered the 
limits of our camp. Guessing that they believed 
him dead and were taking him to Pershing, he 
remained quiet until they dumped him on the 
ground, when he called for Leon, as has been 
told, who he was sure would recognize him. 
“And now would the commander of the Ameri- 
cans please give him something to eat, as he was 
very hungry, having eaten nothing since the 
morning before.” 
The poor fellow was the most horribly muti- 
lated human being I think I have ever seen, nor 
would I have believed it possible for a man to 
survive so many and such frightful wounds had 
I not seen it for myself. I shall not go into de- 
tails, as they would be too revolting; sufficient 
to say that he had fourteen wounds, any one of 
which would have probably killed a white man 
instantly. One of these wounds the surgeons 
pronounced unique in surgical history. This was 
in the back of the neck where he had been struck 
with a waved kris in such a way that the spinal 
column had been cut partly through without in- 
juring the spinal cord. In slinging him to the 
pole to carry him to camp his head had been 
fastened so that his weight had broken the al- 
ready weakened spinal column, leaving the cord 
still intact; and this was only one of the wounds 
he had received. He was quickly sent to the 
hospital, where three surgeons spent an hour and 
a half sewing him up, and everything possible 
done to save his life and then, as he still com- 
plained of being hungry, he was given some 
boiled rice. which he ate with apparent relish, 
afterward falling asleep. 
About 8:30 that evening he waked and asked 
to be placed on the ground so he could roll from 
side to side, as is the custom with the Moros 
when about to die. His request being granted 
he lay there, his head covered with his sarong, 
rolling first one way and then the other, occa- 
sionally uttering a plaintive “Ai, Ai,” for about 
fifteen minutes, when he turned on his back, 
folded his hands and his soul passed out of his 
poor wrecked body and went to meet its Maker. 
The Moros, having once more failed in their 
attempts to release the Sultan by trickery, again 
resorted to diplomacy, and Pershing, seeing that 
it was hopeless to try to get Ahmi Benanning, 
who we learned had permanently left the country 
and taken refuge in a stronghold in the moun- 
tains, and having recovered the rifles, which was 
really our main object, agreed to meet them half 
way. A treaty was drawn up in which we made 
certain concessions and promises in return for 
certain others on their part, the principal items 
being the release of the Sultan by us and the 
submission of the hostile Moros by. them. 
A number of copies of the treaty were pre- 
pared and sent by runners to the various Sultans 
and Dattos affected and arrangements made for 
a meeting at our camp to formally ratify the 
treaty before a Pandita and our chaplain, and to 
swear on the Bible and Koran to keep the con- 
ditions thereof. : 
One evening, a day or two before this meeting 
was to take place, Pershing and I sat in his tent 
having a quiet little celebration over the happy 
and successful termination of his plans, for we 
had obtained the consent of the Moros to al- 
most everything we had been anxious to bring 
about. If I remember rightly, it was over our 
second bottle of warm champagne—the occasion 
was a very joyous one indeed—that I remarked: 
“Good Lord, old man, suppose anything should 
happen to Binadyan between now and the day 
after to-morrow. Nothing in the world would 
convince the Moros we hadn’t done it on pur- 
pose.” 
“T know it,’ said Pershing, “and it’s keeping 
me awake nights thinking about it. But what 
can happen? The old man knows he is going to 
be turned loose in a couple of days, and therefore 
isn’t very likely to try to escape, and I don’t see 
how anything else can happen.” 
But alas! the next day the guard tents were 
moved a few feet to let the ground on which 
they had stood dry out—a very important mat- 
ter in the tropics where you can’t be too careful 
about sanitary measures. The Sultan was asleep 
when it came time to move his tent and the sen- 
tinel, instead of speaking to him and arousing 
him that way, prodded him with the butt of his 
gun, for to a great many of the enlisted men, 
and, I am ashamed to confess it, not a few of 
the officers, a Moro, be he Sultan or slave, was 
nothing but a nigger, which greatly incensed his 
highness. This happened early in the morning, 
and later, when his breakfast arrived, he refused 
to touch it—an ominous sign had we but known 
it. That afternoon the Sultan appeared in the 
door of his tent and stood looking out over the 
hills toward his home, as he often did. The © 
sentinel on post at the time was the same who 
had incurred his anger in the morning. While 
the old man stood there another member of the 
guard in passing made some remark to the sen- 
try, who turned his head to reply, taking his eyes 
off his prisoner for a second, but it was enough. 
Quick as thought a club, which the old man had 
obtained by pulling his bed to pieces and had 
been holding concealed behind his back as he 
stood in the door, crashed on the sentry’s head, 
felling him like an ox, and before anyone could 
interfere, the rifle, which had fallen from his 
nerveless hands, was in the possession of the 
Moro, who pointed it at the nearest soldier and 
pulled the trigger, but no revort followed. 
Through some fortunate mischance the safety 
latch was up and the bolt locked, and in another 
instant the Sultan was lying on the ground 
pierced by a dozen balls, and our chance for the 
immediate pacification of the Lake Moros had 
taken unto itself wings and vanished into thin 
air. 
Everything was done that could be to save the 
old man, but it was hopeless from the first. At 
least half a dozen Krag bullets had passed 
through his body, and that night, about 9 o'clock, 
he died. 
Word was sent to his sons, who arrived before 
the end and listened to his dying declaration, in 
which he said he had gone “jura mentado” be- 
cause of the hurt his pride had sustained at being 
prodded by the sentinel. 
