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And they take naturally to sports, these highlanders. Success has crowned Mr. Worcester's efforts; in witness whereof this very concourse of Banawe may be cited, where over 10,000 persons, mostly unarmed, mingled freely with one another without so much as a brawl to disturb the peace.
Here we first saw the rice-terraces for which these mountain people are justly famous, that is, terraces climbing the mountain-side. But of weapons we saw none. Change in aspect of country. Mount Amuyao and the native legend of the flood. Rice-terraces. Banawe. Mr. Worcester's first visit to this region. Sports. Absence of weapons. Native arts and crafts.
This digression brings us a little nearer to Banawe; we leave the terraced hills behind us, after noting how free of all plants the retaining-walls are kept, the sole exception here and there being the dongola, with its brilliant leaf of lustrous scarlet.
Indeed, it requires some time and reflection to realize how splendid this piece of work is: it is almost overwhelming to think what these people have done to get their daily bread. In contemplation of their successful labors, one is justified in believing that, if given a chance, they will yet count, and that heavily, in the destinies of the Archipelago. Banawe was first visited by Mr.
At Banawe we saw more examples of native arts and crafts than we had heretofore. For example, the pipe is smoked, and we saw some curious specimens in brass, much decorated with pendent chains; others were of wood, some double-bowled on the same stem. Some of the men wore helmets, or skull-caps, cut out of a single piece of wood.
Two years ago people would not go to Mayoyao from Banawe, through their own country, save in armed groups of ten to twelve; now women go alone in safety. And it is a significant fact that the Ifugaos are increasing in numbers. Of course, this particular sub-province is fortunate in having as its governor a man of Gallman's stamp.
Appearance of the Bontok Igorot. Incidents. From Banawe we rode to Bontok, thirty-five miles, in one day, May 7th. This day it rained, the only rain we had during the whole trip, although the season was now on. But the disturbance in question was due to a typhoon far to the southward; and as it passed off into the China Sea, so did the day finally clear.
Our first business this morning was to cross the pass on Polis Mountain, some 6,400 feet above sea-level, the highest elevation we reached. As we rode out of Banawe we could see on the wooded sky-line to our right front a cut as though of a road through the forest; it was not a road, of course, but an opening normal to the crest of the ridge.
The quarters of the Constabulary officers were hospitably put at our disposition, and our first enjoyment of them was the splendid shower. Banawe stands at the head of a very deep valley, shut in by mountains on three sides; the stream sweeping the base of the plateau breaks through on the south.
But at last we threaded our way down, and, turning sharp to the right, rode out on the small plateau that is Banawe, to be saluted and escorted by the Constabulary Guard and to be received by the shouts of thousands. They at once opened on us with speeches, but these were markedly fewer here than farther south.
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