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Updated: June 20, 2025
That his converts were many and their faith was strong and sure is attested by the universality of Mohammedanism in these southern islands, and the exclusive use of the Arabic characters in the writing of the people. On the afternoon of March 3d, we anchored off Bongao. On our port side, and well forward, lay the wrecked Maud nearly filled with water.
Why not pawn her husband, awaiting her next visit to Bongao, for although she was married to him, he was still a slave in the eyes of the law, and she could redeem him at her pleasure.
Altogether she was in a deplorable condition, but in a few days was raised by the combined efforts of our first officer, his crew, and the soldiers of the fort. Meanwhile, we were all idlers on the Burnside, and in consequence enjoyed our visit there to the utmost. Despite the fact of its remoteness from civilization, or perhaps because of it, we found Bongao most attractive.
That no ill-will is harboured against the Americans may be seen by the large crowd of Balambing natives who weekly market their wares at Bongao, and the invariable respect shown by them to the uniform. Americans go freely without arms all over the island.
Small wonder the little beauty rated her charms high. It was in Bongao we first made the acquaintance of Toolawee, the chief vigilante of Sulu. It seems this personage had been sent to the Tawi Tawi Islands as pilot of the launch Maud, which, under his careful seamanship, was then lying high and dry on a coral reef within sight of the little garrison.
On the first day out we saw no land at all, but the second day many coral groups appeared to the east and south of Bongao. Among others were Manuk Manuk, surely a name to conjure with! Then there was also Balambing, which on our ship chart was marked PIRATES! Think of sailing piratical seas in this prosaic twentieth century!
In return for his consideration, I must admit that he was the best dressed Moro we saw in Bongao. On the day in question he wore a suit of gray drill, made with the conventional tight trousers and vest-like coat, broken out at regular intervals in an eruptive fever of gorgeously coloured embroidery.
There was one beauty in Bongao, however, a slave girl of eighteen, so graceful and lithe that her every attitude suggested a bird just alighted for an instant from a flight through space. Her dark eyes were fringed by the longest of black lashes, and even her stained teeth could not detract from the curves of her pretty mouth.
The early light showed the ocean in the distance, and at the same moment sounds behind made Piang listen anxiously. "They are coming, Papita; we must hide." As Piang headed for the bank, he noticed a thin stream of smoke trembling above Bongao. He paused and trained his eye on the blur. Suddenly he dug his paddle into the water. "Papita, quick! The Sabah is coming!"
While in Bongao, a Moro dance was given in our honour at the house of the governor's interpreter, a German, who at the time was away on a business trip.
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